Postcard From Arbois

Hi there,

I’ll be dropping stories from Jura and France over the next few weeks, including visits with the vignerons. It has always been my way: when I drink a wine that speaks to me, I have to meet the person who made it. That was true of Claude Buchot, and it was certainly true of Sylvain Jacquot, whose story I shared last week. If you missed it, please give it a read.

Other than that, what did we do in Arbois?

The last time I was in the town, my friend M and I fled shortly after rolling in. When there’s not an insane crush of people descending for wine salons, Arbois is quiet. Very.

We booked ourselves into a smelly hotel. With no dinner reservations, we ended up at Troquet Les Archives, drinking a workhorse Savagnin with a plate of Comté. We begged our way into a few cornichons as well. There were few people there but plenty of drunken energy (not ours). After one sip and a cornichon, I said, “Let’s go back to Burgundy.” Which we did the next day and it was glorious. The moral? Follow your heart.

But that visit aside, my heart does have a big piece of real estate devoted to the Jura. And this time, I was traveling with my friend Ceri.

Oh, the cows were everywhere. The vines were pushing like mad. There was a certain frisson. I was so happy to be back.