BY BENTLEY TO BORDEAUX (2005)
PODENSAC VILLAGE SHOP
Please dear reader, make no mistake, this is not an epic journey covering a week or so where the participants take turns to describe the daily events and excesses, it is just grumpy old me and my dilapidated, albeit rather racy, 3 / 4 ½ Bentley.
We live just down the road from Bordeaux in the Charente a journey of only a couple of hours or so.
Wine is probably one of the subjects most talked about apart from our Bentleys except for another which I can’t mention in my squeaky clean website!
Everybody has an opinion about wine and because the UK is virtually a non wine producing country a certain undercurrent of snobbery has evolved around this subject, take for example those elaborate boxed uncorking kits and those annoying neighbours who are always out to score points by talking about obscure wines from chateaux that nobody has ever heard of.
It’s just the opposite in the wine producing countries where wine is just there to be drunk and enjoyed without a lot of fuss. Of course there are wine snobs but most of the population buy their wine in plastic containers from wine merchants.
Like any subject under discussion there are always opposite views, nobody could ever reconcile the opinions of the oak and tannin man with the soft fruit man. Who is right? The answer is that they are both right, you like what you are used to.
Unlike other luckier Bentley owners whose vehicles regularly send in copy direct to the editor, my rather tatty steed, probably because It`s a bitsa, has not learned the skills necessary to do this, and if it had, would probably give a rather derogatory account of my actions, so it falls upon my shoulders to bring the following words to your attention.
Firstly I need to give some explanation as to why we needed to make this journey at all, in order to give some meaning to this article.
I’m sure most of us have experienced something along the lines I am about to describe.
Imagine a scene where the whole family has congregated to celebrate the coming of age of son No 1. As Paterfamilias, you had previously been to the local supermarket to buy some bottles of incredibly expensive Chateau Incroyable premier grand cru claret.
Or, you are sitting in a rather Grand restaurant facing the potential Mrs. Bentlyphile No3 who is fluttering her eyelashes at you, having bet her friends this is the occasion that you are going to pop the question, and so it is.
The sommelier, of incredibly haughty demeanour, recommends a rather overpriced wine, but just to show him who’s the boss, you choose the most expensive claret on the wine list, and are rewarded by an admiring glance from potential No3 and a sneer from the sommelier.
But horror of horrors, once the cork is pulled and the wine is in the glasses, the ecstatic smiles give way to doubt as the unmistakable bouquet of battery acid assails the olfactory glands. The taste confirms this, but it can’t be true, this wine is drunk by Royalty and Pop Groups, it must be me, the wine is clashing with my aftershave or mouthwash, but a glance at potential No3 tells you that it is true, wedding bells are off, no self respecting Weybridge lass could ever get hitched to a man with such a bad taste in wine. The somelier tastes the wine and looking down his nose at you pronounces it as excellent. Then the manager and the chef both taste it, slurping the red poison down with indications of pleasure.
Concerning the first case we looked at, the family never talks to you again.
The point I’m making here is that there is absolutely no guarantee that an expensive bottle of wine will taste better to you than a cheaper one, and that the only way to find a wine to suit your palate and pocket is to taste as many wines as you can within your price range. As for buying in supermarkets, where I suppose most of us buy our wines, if one does find a good wine at a reasonable price you can be sure that it will be sold out in a jiffy and never again reappear on the shelves.
As I write this I have in front of me a receipt that I found amongst my papers recently from La Grande Cave Vougeot Nuites-St-Georges for half a case of Nuites St Georges dated 1979, price 267 Francs.
At that time I was working in Provence and used to explore different areas at week ends, and on this occasion, in November, I had stopped for a wine tasting at Cave Vougeot. I was the only customer, and the assistant took good care of me unusually starting off with the best wine which cost an arm and a leg. It was superb! In the end I bought half a case of a cheaper wine but it was excellent and I still regret not filling the car with cases of the red nectar. The other activity during these journeys of exploration was to ask a local in one of the wine villages where I could find a restaurant that served good food at a reasonable price. More often than not I would be directed to a small establishment that only served one menu and a bottle of wine was included; pure magic!
Well, why did I go to Bordeaux? The simple answer is that dissatisfied with the selection and prices of wine in our local supermarkets I took the opportunity to explore the possibilities of the Bordeaux region when the two escargot masquerading as my builders decided to rip off somebody else for a few days.
Rather than just staying at home gnashing my teeth and plunging needles into wax effigies, I prepared the Bentley for our trip to Bordeaux.
I decided to head for Blaye first, a town situated in the Bordeaux region ( The Gironde, as the department is called, as most departments or counties as we would call them are named after the principal river running through them ). Blaye is on the north bank of the rather muddy looking estuary of the Gironde ( of Cockleshell Hero fame) several kilometers upstream of the gigantic nuclear power station, if you look across to the incredibly famous village of Pauillac, in the Medoc, on the other side of the estuary from Blaye, one can make out the chimney stacks of the Shell refinery, which is situated next to the celebrated Mouton Rothschild vineyards.
The reason for starting at Blaye was a lunch that I had had once, en route to a bourse d’exchange or auto jumble. The glass of wine that I had with the meal was very drinkable and as usual I asked the proprietor who had supplied his wine.
He answered the wine cooperative at Pugnac a short distance from Blaye.
The plan was to start the journey so that we could arrive in Blaye around lunchtime have a lazy lunch and do a spot of wine tasting when the establishments opened around 2.30 pm.
So off we went, weather nice and from our base at Ruffec took the N10, direction Angouleme, to Bordeaux. The N10 has become a superhighway for Spanish and Portuguese lorries en route for the rest of Europe. Oldtimers please note things have changed in France, it`s no longer acceptable to drink and drive, and speeding is frowned upon. Even in sleepy villages the Gendarmes will pull you over and breathalise you between 13.00 and 15.00. If you have a foreign registration you will be less likely to be stopped unless you were speeding. Happily there aren’t so many speed cameras around at the moment in the Charente, but there can be Mobile speed checks with police jumping rather disconcertingly into the middle of the road to direct one into a controle.
The problem with driving a vintage Bentley is the red mist that seems to come down over the eyes once underway. Soon a steady gait can become a gallop and a gallop become full tilt. You know what I mean.
We took great delight in teasing the garlic chewing truck drivers by just torqueing the Bentley up the steep hills in top gear before Angouleme at undiminished pace as their trucks slowed to a crawl.
After 80 kilometers it was time to turn off the N10, and the nose to tail trucks, on to the D250 direction Blaye. After the truck racing track, it was so nice to drive on empty roads. D. roads must be one of the greatest pleasures of France, usually well paved and empty.
After the motorway we encountered the typical scenery of the Gironde, which is kilometer after kilometer of fields of gnarled old vines.
At last we arrived in Blaye at around midday and started to look for a likely restaurant, but this was not so easy. After stopping at a large antique centre which displayed a rather rusty 30’s Renault saloon, I asked the attractive lady in charge, the whereabouts of a good albeit reasonably priced eating establishment. She told me there were several “tres correct” restaurants at Bourg about 15 kilometers west along the river bank a short way from my first wine tasting destination Pugnac.
There was plenty of time to get there before the kitchens closed. Let me explain to those readers that have never been to France that eating hours are sacrosanct. Lunch is usually from 12 till 2 and dinner from 7 till 9. Of course there are variations, Paris for example, but trying to find food outside those hours, except on motorways, is usually fruitless, or should I say, foodless.
We thundered along the river bank road arriving at the very attractive small port of Bourg in good time and parked in the station car park opposite one of the recommended restaurants “ Le Troque Sel”.
This restaurant, like most provincial restaurants, offered several Menus, the cheapest of which was 11 Euros, which is pretty well a standard price throughout the country.
I chose the 11 Euro menu, the starter was tasty fish soup with croutons and cheese followed by the main course, a local fish steamed on a bed of carrots. I waited a few moments for the vegetables to arrive but when they didn’t come, a closer inspection of the plate, revealed miniscule portions of pureed and deep fried vegetables. It was a light and delicious meal, with intense flavours, just right for lunchtime. To complement the meal I had a glass of the excellent local white wine, when asked, Madame told me that the wine was available from the local Cave de Bourg Tauriac which I didn`t visit on this occasion.
Slipping the B box into first, I started out on the gentle drive from Bourg to Pugnac, a few minutes through fields of vines and we turned into the car park of a large factory, this was “les vignerons Des Coteaux De Pugnac” a wine cooperative.
At last I was going to taste the “real thing”. Entering the sales department I viewed with pleasure the huge vats of wine each with it’s own filling nozzle reminiscent of a petrol filling station. The French, ever practical; view the consumption of wine as a normal everyday occurrence and take along plastic containers to be filled from these very vats. The table wines contained in them can be very good, and at around a Euro a litre, a real bargain.
Now the drama unfolded, the lady in charge of sales was either xenophobic or the chemistry wasn’t right, I could feel negative vibrations and when I asked for a wine tasting she reluctantly served me from a wine box or “bag in box” as it’s known in France. The wine tasted oxidized, she tried another wine but this tasted the same. When I explained this to her she did not offer to open any fresh boxes, then I tasted the white wine “Les Greliers” at 2 Euros 60 this was a good buy, so I told Madame that I was going to buy a case. Her sarcastic reply was that wine tasting was free and that I didn’t have to buy anything.
After this downturn things had to get better, so we set course to one of the holy shrines of claret, St. Emilion. Following the D669 to St Andre De Cubjac and then the D670 to Libourne where we were shocked to read the roadside signs which gave the awful statistic that 35 people had been killed on this road in the last three years.
Not that this deterred the French drivers, as we were soon being “buzzed” by grannies barely able to see over the top of the steering wheel, and a builders van towing a cement mixer the driver seeming determined to read the small print on the spare tyre. Tailgating is now outlawed in France but it is still an irritating occurrence here, where drivers ignore all possibilities of overtaking and seem to attempt docking procedure with the back of your car.
Happily at Libourne we were able to give our tailgaters the slip and as always took the direction of the town centre in order to see how the town looked. Lots of narrow and one way roads later we took the D244 direction Pomerol to check out that place with such an evocative name, we found the village but where were all those grand chateaux? Well there didn’t seem to be any that jumped into my line of vision, so we abandoned the search and continued on the D243 the short distance to St. Emilion.
It was time to find a place to stay for the night, the Bent was ok. But I needed a nosebag and a pile of hay. We stopped at a Disney like chateau with rather an awful extension tacked on at the front. Asking the rather charming receptionist the tariff I was dismayed to find it was on the same level as Paris on a Rugby final day.
I made my excuses and left, spurring the Bent into the centre of St Emilion, another horror, most of the town looked bomb damaged with narrow cobbled streets and every other shop offering wine tasting. This was tourist overkill. I steered the Bent to the tourist office where I asked for a list of accommodation, the girl at the desk spoke English and was very helpful. All the Hotels in town were booked or too expensive; she recommended a chateau at Roques near Lussac, about 8 km away, which was more reasonably priced. While she was phoning the hotel, I picked up a brochure about the wines of St. Emilion and where the vineyards that did wine tasting were situated, I was appalled, some actually charged a fee and others offered wine tasting courses at a price, the gorge was rising in my throat, I had to get out of this town.
We took the D122 to Lussac and arrived at the chateau of Roques and knocked on the door, there was nobody there. After a short wait, a young man walked up the drive wearing a shirt that was rather oil stained. He unlocked the door and gave me the key to my room, this was rather pleasant with a very nice view over acres of (you’ve guessed it) gnarled old vines.
There was a restaurant at the chateau, but because it was low season, there was only one menu available. I always like a choice if possible, so after freshening up, the Bent was again coaxed around the local roads and villages in search of a suitable restaurant but with no result. Back again at the chateau, I descended the fine stone staircase to discover the whereabouts of the dining room. This was located in a superb mellow stone vaulted chamber with fine acoustics which meant that one could hear a pin drop and in the silence, the chewing of other diners.
The highlight of the evening was not the food or wine, which were very forgettable, but the diners at the next table, an Englishman and a Frenchman. Not that I wanted to listen in, but I was a captive audience.
The Englishman was into duck and the Frenchman, speaking passable English, was obviously his supplier in France. The conversation turned to wine and the Frenchman was almost in tears as he commented that because of foreign competition wine exports were down again this year. Just a footnote here; foreign wines are seldom sold in French supermarkets so that most French people are unaware of their existence and quality, and blithely go on thinking that French wines are the best in the world. We Brits are so lucky that we don`t live in a wine producing country and are able enjoy wines from around the world.
Ascending the nice stone staircase I made my way to my room, and prepared for bed, at last sinking into the soft mattress, awaiting the blessed oblivion of slumber.
It was alas, not to be that easy, as the occupant of the adjoining room entered I realized that the walls between the rooms were paper thin as I could virtually hear him scratching and turning over in bed. Before losing consciousness I remember thanking the Gods that there was not a pair of newly weds ensconced in that room.
The next morning Breakfast was served by the retainer, still in the oil stained shirt, and after settling the account, the Bent was fired up and allowed to warm up while I consulted the map; it was decided to make our way to the Graves area of Bordeaux one of my favorite tipples.
From Roques we took the D17 to Puisseguin where we stopped at another wine factory displaying the title: Les Producteurs Reunis de Lussac Saint Emilion, Puisseguin Saint Emilion. It was 9:30 in the morning.
The charming saleslady took me through several different wine tastings of various qualities, for example, one could buy a Bordeaux superieur AOC en vrac for 1 euro 50 a litre, however I chose to buy a case of Chateau Le Grillon Bordeaux Superieur, a medal winning wine, which was on promotion and a bargain for 3 euro 20 a bottle.
We trundled towards downtown Bordeaux on the D936 in order to visit the Bonnet Renaulac car museum at Begles situated just off the ring road. At Begles there was no museum to be found and I stopped at the Mairie or town hall to ask the whereabouts of this museum only to be told that it had closed down and all the cars dispersed.
We followed the ring road south and with great difficulty found the turn off onto the N 115 direction south, the contrast was incredible, at one moment we were jostling along with the Spanish and Portuguese trucks and then suddenly we were on a quiet road running between fields of vines. After several kilometers the vines gave way to pine trees but soon we were turning over the motorway onto the N113 which followed the south bank of the river Garonne and brought us to another Holy shrine, the Graves and Sauternes regions.
We followed this road all the way to Toulenne which is considered the limit of the Graves vineyards; then headed back towards Bordeaux along the same road in search of a restaurant. Stopping at a wine tasting establishment at Barsac, on the edge of the Sauternes region, the gentleman in sales did not have any wine open; did not offer to open one in my honour, so I left without buying anything. Crossing the river to Cadillac, a well preserved fortified town, no eatery was located where the Bent could be safely parked, so we went back across the river again and proceeded towards Podensac where there was a Maison du Vin to be visited. At this seat of learning, which resembled a Disneyesque chateau, I wandered down the corridors but nobody attempted to make me welcome, so I left again and spurred the Bent towards the centre of the village where there was a restaurant.
At the restaurant I ordered the 11 Euro menu with mutton and green beans as the main course. Making a mental note to have my teeth sharpened as I chewed on the meat, however the glass of wine that I had ordered with the meal was very good and the proprietor told me that of course it was a local Graves wine. The Vin De Table served by these restaurants is bought in bulk or en vrac as they say in France. He gave me the card of Chateau Navarro situated at Illats 3 km down the D11.
So off we went and arrived at the chateau, the appearance of which belied its description, as it was just a large farmhouse with a large tin shack on one side. I was welcomed by a large dog and Madame Biarnes the owner, she agreed to let me taste her wines and led me into part of the farmhouse where the bottles of wine were stored. It had been a long time since the last tasting as the glasses were all dusty, but non plussed, Madame rinsed out a glass under the tap, opened a bottle of the “Cuvee Speciale” 2000 Rouge and filled and handed me the glass for tasting. The bouquet of the wine exploded in my mouth and at 7 Euros 65 a bottle it was a real steal, so I bought 3 cases. Madame opened a bottle of Chateau Suau a grande cru classe 2001 sauternes, another very drinkable wine but at 15 euros10 it was a bit over a pensioner’s budget, but I splashed out and bought a case.
Madame was a quick talking salesperson and was probably congratulating herself on this sale but it was the excellent quality of the wines that really sold them to me.
It was already 3 pm and I decided to forgo the intended visit to the Medoc region of Bordeaux situated on the south bank of the Gironde estuary for another time, as this would entail crossing the Gironde estuary by the Aquitaine bridge which seems to be under permanent roadworks with major delays, and would mean another night away from home.
Frankly we just wanted to get away from the endless fields of gnarled old vines, so we set course along the D20 to Libourne passing through the vineyards of the Entre Deux Mers region and then on to the D674 to La Roche Chalais which took us out of the Gironde and the gnarled old vines.
Back to the Charente again, eschewing the motorway, continuing along the D674 direction Angouleme the roads became wider, emptier and straighter. The Bent was a bit laden with crates of wine which occupied the passenger floor and seat and had the unnerving effect of sliding against my arms and legs, and hindering the steering if we took a corner a little too lively.
At last a stretch of good straight road, the throttle was bottomed and the bulletproof engine rasped into life swiftly gathering speed, the Phoenix cam coming on song, the wind buffeting my hair and the aroma of partially burnt fuel wafting into the open cockpit. We were doing over a 100 mph to the musical accompaniment of the cases of clinking bottles, the Bent was as steady as a rock, but I wasn’t, we were still accelerating but I cut the throttle in a blue funk, palms clammy, until the speed sank to a level commensurate with a white haired old grandad.
We drove rather sedately with fields of sunflower stubble on each side and the occasional pocket of unharvested sunflowers with droopy dark heads, passed through picturesque villages constructed from golden limestone and roman tiles so reminiscent of the South Of France. Soon we were home and I was able to do justice to the opened bottle of Graves madam Biarnes had given me as a gift.
So what did we achieve? We were barely able to scratch the surface. The wine industry is gigantic, with thousands of so called Chateaux which range from a Ludwigian fantasy castle to a ramshackle tin shack. The illustrations on the wine labels should be taken with a pinch of salt. Hype is rampant in the wine industry, and with such an incredible selection of wines and “Chateaux” that one has never heard of, there is no shame in choosing a bottle at your local supermarket which has the best artwork on the label, it really is such a lottery.
I did visit the Medoc area on a later occasion; and when I have the time I will let you in on what happened on that trip.
There is a delicious wine at a reasonable price to suit everybody; the only snag is that it might take some finding. Good hunting!
If there are Bentley folk living in the Charente or Charente Maritime please mail me Perhaps we can do some tyre kicking together.
This article was written for the BDC review around 2006 but never submitted
We live just down the road from Bordeaux in the Charente a journey of only a couple of hours or so.
Wine is probably one of the subjects most talked about apart from our Bentleys except for another which I can’t mention in my squeaky clean website!
Everybody has an opinion about wine and because the UK is virtually a non wine producing country a certain undercurrent of snobbery has evolved around this subject, take for example those elaborate boxed uncorking kits and those annoying neighbours who are always out to score points by talking about obscure wines from chateaux that nobody has ever heard of.
It’s just the opposite in the wine producing countries where wine is just there to be drunk and enjoyed without a lot of fuss. Of course there are wine snobs but most of the population buy their wine in plastic containers from wine merchants.
Like any subject under discussion there are always opposite views, nobody could ever reconcile the opinions of the oak and tannin man with the soft fruit man. Who is right? The answer is that they are both right, you like what you are used to.
Unlike other luckier Bentley owners whose vehicles regularly send in copy direct to the editor, my rather tatty steed, probably because It`s a bitsa, has not learned the skills necessary to do this, and if it had, would probably give a rather derogatory account of my actions, so it falls upon my shoulders to bring the following words to your attention.
Firstly I need to give some explanation as to why we needed to make this journey at all, in order to give some meaning to this article.
I’m sure most of us have experienced something along the lines I am about to describe.
Imagine a scene where the whole family has congregated to celebrate the coming of age of son No 1. As Paterfamilias, you had previously been to the local supermarket to buy some bottles of incredibly expensive Chateau Incroyable premier grand cru claret.
Or, you are sitting in a rather Grand restaurant facing the potential Mrs. Bentlyphile No3 who is fluttering her eyelashes at you, having bet her friends this is the occasion that you are going to pop the question, and so it is.
The sommelier, of incredibly haughty demeanour, recommends a rather overpriced wine, but just to show him who’s the boss, you choose the most expensive claret on the wine list, and are rewarded by an admiring glance from potential No3 and a sneer from the sommelier.
But horror of horrors, once the cork is pulled and the wine is in the glasses, the ecstatic smiles give way to doubt as the unmistakable bouquet of battery acid assails the olfactory glands. The taste confirms this, but it can’t be true, this wine is drunk by Royalty and Pop Groups, it must be me, the wine is clashing with my aftershave or mouthwash, but a glance at potential No3 tells you that it is true, wedding bells are off, no self respecting Weybridge lass could ever get hitched to a man with such a bad taste in wine. The somelier tastes the wine and looking down his nose at you pronounces it as excellent. Then the manager and the chef both taste it, slurping the red poison down with indications of pleasure.
Concerning the first case we looked at, the family never talks to you again.
The point I’m making here is that there is absolutely no guarantee that an expensive bottle of wine will taste better to you than a cheaper one, and that the only way to find a wine to suit your palate and pocket is to taste as many wines as you can within your price range. As for buying in supermarkets, where I suppose most of us buy our wines, if one does find a good wine at a reasonable price you can be sure that it will be sold out in a jiffy and never again reappear on the shelves.
As I write this I have in front of me a receipt that I found amongst my papers recently from La Grande Cave Vougeot Nuites-St-Georges for half a case of Nuites St Georges dated 1979, price 267 Francs.
At that time I was working in Provence and used to explore different areas at week ends, and on this occasion, in November, I had stopped for a wine tasting at Cave Vougeot. I was the only customer, and the assistant took good care of me unusually starting off with the best wine which cost an arm and a leg. It was superb! In the end I bought half a case of a cheaper wine but it was excellent and I still regret not filling the car with cases of the red nectar. The other activity during these journeys of exploration was to ask a local in one of the wine villages where I could find a restaurant that served good food at a reasonable price. More often than not I would be directed to a small establishment that only served one menu and a bottle of wine was included; pure magic!
Well, why did I go to Bordeaux? The simple answer is that dissatisfied with the selection and prices of wine in our local supermarkets I took the opportunity to explore the possibilities of the Bordeaux region when the two escargot masquerading as my builders decided to rip off somebody else for a few days.
Rather than just staying at home gnashing my teeth and plunging needles into wax effigies, I prepared the Bentley for our trip to Bordeaux.
I decided to head for Blaye first, a town situated in the Bordeaux region ( The Gironde, as the department is called, as most departments or counties as we would call them are named after the principal river running through them ). Blaye is on the north bank of the rather muddy looking estuary of the Gironde ( of Cockleshell Hero fame) several kilometers upstream of the gigantic nuclear power station, if you look across to the incredibly famous village of Pauillac, in the Medoc, on the other side of the estuary from Blaye, one can make out the chimney stacks of the Shell refinery, which is situated next to the celebrated Mouton Rothschild vineyards.
The reason for starting at Blaye was a lunch that I had had once, en route to a bourse d’exchange or auto jumble. The glass of wine that I had with the meal was very drinkable and as usual I asked the proprietor who had supplied his wine.
He answered the wine cooperative at Pugnac a short distance from Blaye.
The plan was to start the journey so that we could arrive in Blaye around lunchtime have a lazy lunch and do a spot of wine tasting when the establishments opened around 2.30 pm.
So off we went, weather nice and from our base at Ruffec took the N10, direction Angouleme, to Bordeaux. The N10 has become a superhighway for Spanish and Portuguese lorries en route for the rest of Europe. Oldtimers please note things have changed in France, it`s no longer acceptable to drink and drive, and speeding is frowned upon. Even in sleepy villages the Gendarmes will pull you over and breathalise you between 13.00 and 15.00. If you have a foreign registration you will be less likely to be stopped unless you were speeding. Happily there aren’t so many speed cameras around at the moment in the Charente, but there can be Mobile speed checks with police jumping rather disconcertingly into the middle of the road to direct one into a controle.
The problem with driving a vintage Bentley is the red mist that seems to come down over the eyes once underway. Soon a steady gait can become a gallop and a gallop become full tilt. You know what I mean.
We took great delight in teasing the garlic chewing truck drivers by just torqueing the Bentley up the steep hills in top gear before Angouleme at undiminished pace as their trucks slowed to a crawl.
After 80 kilometers it was time to turn off the N10, and the nose to tail trucks, on to the D250 direction Blaye. After the truck racing track, it was so nice to drive on empty roads. D. roads must be one of the greatest pleasures of France, usually well paved and empty.
After the motorway we encountered the typical scenery of the Gironde, which is kilometer after kilometer of fields of gnarled old vines.
At last we arrived in Blaye at around midday and started to look for a likely restaurant, but this was not so easy. After stopping at a large antique centre which displayed a rather rusty 30’s Renault saloon, I asked the attractive lady in charge, the whereabouts of a good albeit reasonably priced eating establishment. She told me there were several “tres correct” restaurants at Bourg about 15 kilometers west along the river bank a short way from my first wine tasting destination Pugnac.
There was plenty of time to get there before the kitchens closed. Let me explain to those readers that have never been to France that eating hours are sacrosanct. Lunch is usually from 12 till 2 and dinner from 7 till 9. Of course there are variations, Paris for example, but trying to find food outside those hours, except on motorways, is usually fruitless, or should I say, foodless.
We thundered along the river bank road arriving at the very attractive small port of Bourg in good time and parked in the station car park opposite one of the recommended restaurants “ Le Troque Sel”.
This restaurant, like most provincial restaurants, offered several Menus, the cheapest of which was 11 Euros, which is pretty well a standard price throughout the country.
I chose the 11 Euro menu, the starter was tasty fish soup with croutons and cheese followed by the main course, a local fish steamed on a bed of carrots. I waited a few moments for the vegetables to arrive but when they didn’t come, a closer inspection of the plate, revealed miniscule portions of pureed and deep fried vegetables. It was a light and delicious meal, with intense flavours, just right for lunchtime. To complement the meal I had a glass of the excellent local white wine, when asked, Madame told me that the wine was available from the local Cave de Bourg Tauriac which I didn`t visit on this occasion.
Slipping the B box into first, I started out on the gentle drive from Bourg to Pugnac, a few minutes through fields of vines and we turned into the car park of a large factory, this was “les vignerons Des Coteaux De Pugnac” a wine cooperative.
At last I was going to taste the “real thing”. Entering the sales department I viewed with pleasure the huge vats of wine each with it’s own filling nozzle reminiscent of a petrol filling station. The French, ever practical; view the consumption of wine as a normal everyday occurrence and take along plastic containers to be filled from these very vats. The table wines contained in them can be very good, and at around a Euro a litre, a real bargain.
Now the drama unfolded, the lady in charge of sales was either xenophobic or the chemistry wasn’t right, I could feel negative vibrations and when I asked for a wine tasting she reluctantly served me from a wine box or “bag in box” as it’s known in France. The wine tasted oxidized, she tried another wine but this tasted the same. When I explained this to her she did not offer to open any fresh boxes, then I tasted the white wine “Les Greliers” at 2 Euros 60 this was a good buy, so I told Madame that I was going to buy a case. Her sarcastic reply was that wine tasting was free and that I didn’t have to buy anything.
After this downturn things had to get better, so we set course to one of the holy shrines of claret, St. Emilion. Following the D669 to St Andre De Cubjac and then the D670 to Libourne where we were shocked to read the roadside signs which gave the awful statistic that 35 people had been killed on this road in the last three years.
Not that this deterred the French drivers, as we were soon being “buzzed” by grannies barely able to see over the top of the steering wheel, and a builders van towing a cement mixer the driver seeming determined to read the small print on the spare tyre. Tailgating is now outlawed in France but it is still an irritating occurrence here, where drivers ignore all possibilities of overtaking and seem to attempt docking procedure with the back of your car.
Happily at Libourne we were able to give our tailgaters the slip and as always took the direction of the town centre in order to see how the town looked. Lots of narrow and one way roads later we took the D244 direction Pomerol to check out that place with such an evocative name, we found the village but where were all those grand chateaux? Well there didn’t seem to be any that jumped into my line of vision, so we abandoned the search and continued on the D243 the short distance to St. Emilion.
It was time to find a place to stay for the night, the Bent was ok. But I needed a nosebag and a pile of hay. We stopped at a Disney like chateau with rather an awful extension tacked on at the front. Asking the rather charming receptionist the tariff I was dismayed to find it was on the same level as Paris on a Rugby final day.
I made my excuses and left, spurring the Bent into the centre of St Emilion, another horror, most of the town looked bomb damaged with narrow cobbled streets and every other shop offering wine tasting. This was tourist overkill. I steered the Bent to the tourist office where I asked for a list of accommodation, the girl at the desk spoke English and was very helpful. All the Hotels in town were booked or too expensive; she recommended a chateau at Roques near Lussac, about 8 km away, which was more reasonably priced. While she was phoning the hotel, I picked up a brochure about the wines of St. Emilion and where the vineyards that did wine tasting were situated, I was appalled, some actually charged a fee and others offered wine tasting courses at a price, the gorge was rising in my throat, I had to get out of this town.
We took the D122 to Lussac and arrived at the chateau of Roques and knocked on the door, there was nobody there. After a short wait, a young man walked up the drive wearing a shirt that was rather oil stained. He unlocked the door and gave me the key to my room, this was rather pleasant with a very nice view over acres of (you’ve guessed it) gnarled old vines.
There was a restaurant at the chateau, but because it was low season, there was only one menu available. I always like a choice if possible, so after freshening up, the Bent was again coaxed around the local roads and villages in search of a suitable restaurant but with no result. Back again at the chateau, I descended the fine stone staircase to discover the whereabouts of the dining room. This was located in a superb mellow stone vaulted chamber with fine acoustics which meant that one could hear a pin drop and in the silence, the chewing of other diners.
The highlight of the evening was not the food or wine, which were very forgettable, but the diners at the next table, an Englishman and a Frenchman. Not that I wanted to listen in, but I was a captive audience.
The Englishman was into duck and the Frenchman, speaking passable English, was obviously his supplier in France. The conversation turned to wine and the Frenchman was almost in tears as he commented that because of foreign competition wine exports were down again this year. Just a footnote here; foreign wines are seldom sold in French supermarkets so that most French people are unaware of their existence and quality, and blithely go on thinking that French wines are the best in the world. We Brits are so lucky that we don`t live in a wine producing country and are able enjoy wines from around the world.
Ascending the nice stone staircase I made my way to my room, and prepared for bed, at last sinking into the soft mattress, awaiting the blessed oblivion of slumber.
It was alas, not to be that easy, as the occupant of the adjoining room entered I realized that the walls between the rooms were paper thin as I could virtually hear him scratching and turning over in bed. Before losing consciousness I remember thanking the Gods that there was not a pair of newly weds ensconced in that room.
The next morning Breakfast was served by the retainer, still in the oil stained shirt, and after settling the account, the Bent was fired up and allowed to warm up while I consulted the map; it was decided to make our way to the Graves area of Bordeaux one of my favorite tipples.
From Roques we took the D17 to Puisseguin where we stopped at another wine factory displaying the title: Les Producteurs Reunis de Lussac Saint Emilion, Puisseguin Saint Emilion. It was 9:30 in the morning.
The charming saleslady took me through several different wine tastings of various qualities, for example, one could buy a Bordeaux superieur AOC en vrac for 1 euro 50 a litre, however I chose to buy a case of Chateau Le Grillon Bordeaux Superieur, a medal winning wine, which was on promotion and a bargain for 3 euro 20 a bottle.
We trundled towards downtown Bordeaux on the D936 in order to visit the Bonnet Renaulac car museum at Begles situated just off the ring road. At Begles there was no museum to be found and I stopped at the Mairie or town hall to ask the whereabouts of this museum only to be told that it had closed down and all the cars dispersed.
We followed the ring road south and with great difficulty found the turn off onto the N 115 direction south, the contrast was incredible, at one moment we were jostling along with the Spanish and Portuguese trucks and then suddenly we were on a quiet road running between fields of vines. After several kilometers the vines gave way to pine trees but soon we were turning over the motorway onto the N113 which followed the south bank of the river Garonne and brought us to another Holy shrine, the Graves and Sauternes regions.
We followed this road all the way to Toulenne which is considered the limit of the Graves vineyards; then headed back towards Bordeaux along the same road in search of a restaurant. Stopping at a wine tasting establishment at Barsac, on the edge of the Sauternes region, the gentleman in sales did not have any wine open; did not offer to open one in my honour, so I left without buying anything. Crossing the river to Cadillac, a well preserved fortified town, no eatery was located where the Bent could be safely parked, so we went back across the river again and proceeded towards Podensac where there was a Maison du Vin to be visited. At this seat of learning, which resembled a Disneyesque chateau, I wandered down the corridors but nobody attempted to make me welcome, so I left again and spurred the Bent towards the centre of the village where there was a restaurant.
At the restaurant I ordered the 11 Euro menu with mutton and green beans as the main course. Making a mental note to have my teeth sharpened as I chewed on the meat, however the glass of wine that I had ordered with the meal was very good and the proprietor told me that of course it was a local Graves wine. The Vin De Table served by these restaurants is bought in bulk or en vrac as they say in France. He gave me the card of Chateau Navarro situated at Illats 3 km down the D11.
So off we went and arrived at the chateau, the appearance of which belied its description, as it was just a large farmhouse with a large tin shack on one side. I was welcomed by a large dog and Madame Biarnes the owner, she agreed to let me taste her wines and led me into part of the farmhouse where the bottles of wine were stored. It had been a long time since the last tasting as the glasses were all dusty, but non plussed, Madame rinsed out a glass under the tap, opened a bottle of the “Cuvee Speciale” 2000 Rouge and filled and handed me the glass for tasting. The bouquet of the wine exploded in my mouth and at 7 Euros 65 a bottle it was a real steal, so I bought 3 cases. Madame opened a bottle of Chateau Suau a grande cru classe 2001 sauternes, another very drinkable wine but at 15 euros10 it was a bit over a pensioner’s budget, but I splashed out and bought a case.
Madame was a quick talking salesperson and was probably congratulating herself on this sale but it was the excellent quality of the wines that really sold them to me.
It was already 3 pm and I decided to forgo the intended visit to the Medoc region of Bordeaux situated on the south bank of the Gironde estuary for another time, as this would entail crossing the Gironde estuary by the Aquitaine bridge which seems to be under permanent roadworks with major delays, and would mean another night away from home.
Frankly we just wanted to get away from the endless fields of gnarled old vines, so we set course along the D20 to Libourne passing through the vineyards of the Entre Deux Mers region and then on to the D674 to La Roche Chalais which took us out of the Gironde and the gnarled old vines.
Back to the Charente again, eschewing the motorway, continuing along the D674 direction Angouleme the roads became wider, emptier and straighter. The Bent was a bit laden with crates of wine which occupied the passenger floor and seat and had the unnerving effect of sliding against my arms and legs, and hindering the steering if we took a corner a little too lively.
At last a stretch of good straight road, the throttle was bottomed and the bulletproof engine rasped into life swiftly gathering speed, the Phoenix cam coming on song, the wind buffeting my hair and the aroma of partially burnt fuel wafting into the open cockpit. We were doing over a 100 mph to the musical accompaniment of the cases of clinking bottles, the Bent was as steady as a rock, but I wasn’t, we were still accelerating but I cut the throttle in a blue funk, palms clammy, until the speed sank to a level commensurate with a white haired old grandad.
We drove rather sedately with fields of sunflower stubble on each side and the occasional pocket of unharvested sunflowers with droopy dark heads, passed through picturesque villages constructed from golden limestone and roman tiles so reminiscent of the South Of France. Soon we were home and I was able to do justice to the opened bottle of Graves madam Biarnes had given me as a gift.
So what did we achieve? We were barely able to scratch the surface. The wine industry is gigantic, with thousands of so called Chateaux which range from a Ludwigian fantasy castle to a ramshackle tin shack. The illustrations on the wine labels should be taken with a pinch of salt. Hype is rampant in the wine industry, and with such an incredible selection of wines and “Chateaux” that one has never heard of, there is no shame in choosing a bottle at your local supermarket which has the best artwork on the label, it really is such a lottery.
I did visit the Medoc area on a later occasion; and when I have the time I will let you in on what happened on that trip.
There is a delicious wine at a reasonable price to suit everybody; the only snag is that it might take some finding. Good hunting!
If there are Bentley folk living in the Charente or Charente Maritime please mail me Perhaps we can do some tyre kicking together.
This article was written for the BDC review around 2006 but never submitted
ABOVE, I JUST DISCOVERED IN MY TRAVEL FILE THE BROCHURE OF MDME. BIARNES`S WINES.
UPDATE SEPT 2020
ABOVE, LAST YEAR i OPENED THE LAST BOTTLE OF CHATEAU NAVARRO THAT I BOUGHT ON THE TRIP. SAD TO SAY ,THAT IT WAS`T AS GOOD AS I REMEMBER FROM 2005, OR WERE MY FAILING TASTE BUDS THE PROBLEM!