Meeting Perrier’s Pigs in Bazoches

I’ve settled into the Sofitel in Dijon, and after another classy meal, and all the email read, it’s time once again to share some slices of La France. I haven’t been in France since 1989, and it’s still got that same je ne sais quois–is it the narrow streets? The little details in the meals like the ‘amuse bouche’ a surprise they present every time before you even get started? Is it the rolling fields of yellow-topped rapeseed, or the castle in the distance that we glimpsed out the window of a farm b&b we visited?

It’s all of this–the physical unspoiled beauty, the graciousness of people we meet (bonjour monsieur! avoir monsieur!), it’s the appreciation, not snobbery, for the finest wines. With the weather in the mid 70s, a spring starved Yankee like me is in heaven. The vines are just a few feet high, and the shoots are just barely coming up soon they will be wrapping themselves around their wires.

Today we had lunch with the Perriers. They own a farm/agritourism b&b right across from le Chateau de Bazoches, an elegant castle once owned by the famous French military architect and writer Vauban. It’s privately owned now but we got to see the elegant insides and then drive out the long tree-lined driveway to the Ferme Auberge de Bazoches, where the Perriers raise pigs and white Charlerois cows.

Rooms here are just 42 Euros a night and one chamber looks out over the chateau which is lit up at night. Lunch was pork from the farm and a local Chardonnay. After coffee, we walked to the barn to meet the excited pigs, who all came running.

Later M. Perrier introduced us to his giant white bull. As to be expected all body parts were intact, and the beast scarfed grain from a bucket while his master smiled.

We took a long drive through the beautiful fields and small villages of Burgundy and got on the famous Routes des Grand Crus. Our driver pointed out the most famous and expensive grapes in the world. The small plot where Romanee Conti comes from, and ends up on shelves for $1000 a bottle. In a cozy cave, the cellarmaster Bernard Pennecot poured some Nuits St. Georges, Pommard and Fixin reds. Kent would have loved it!

He assured us that no matter how much we begged, nobody gets poured the Grand Cru. Even journalists like us couldn’t get him to do it, without plunking down a pile of Euros for the privilege.