A Gift for the Green Walnut Lady

Before we went to the market this morning

Every weekend for months now I have been meaning to drop off a bottle of vin de noix with the lady who supplied me with the nuts last year. Throughout the year she sells a variety of things from her farm in Grenoble, but her principle specialty is walnuts, they must have a large orchard of walnut trees. Mushrooms in the fall, dried nuts offered throughout the winter, various veggies coming from her garden, always asparagus in the spring.

I inquired once in the past with a man who sometimes used to work her stand about getting some green ones, and he gruffly turned me away, but it was because he didn't get it. Last year in passing I noticed that this woman had a bunch of green walnuts back behind the table in a bucket, and she was a bit taken aback when I asked oh please could I buy some. She was a bit surprised that I make vin de noix, maybe because of my accent.

I was very glad to have found them without any effort whatsoever. In years past I have gone to great effort to get the green nuts and people always made a big deal about making me meet them at some particular place or come and pick up the order under constraining circumstances. Last year's vin de noix was made with this lady's walnuts, the ones that serendipitously fell into my lap.

Next Sunday is the festival of St. Jean, which is also the day that traditionally people pick the green walnuts in Grenoble. I have been told this by several producers over the years, and I am not exactly sure why they always choose this particular weekend, except that it's always around the beginning of summer. The Festival of St. Jean always falls on the third Sunday of June. The vin de noix is an extra that comes from these green nuts.

The festival itself has its roots in the pagan celebrations surrounding the summer solstice, but in the time of Clovis, our dear Burgundian newly converted king, the pagan festivals became the festival of St. Jean the Baptist. Many a festivity takes place on this day, especially in this region, where Clovis followed his bride the Burgundian princess Clothilde into Roman Catholicism. From a more local perspective, there is also the neighborhood in the 5th arrondissement of Lyon called St. Jean, named after the cathedral there, and they always have big parties involving lots of merrymaking the third weekend of June.

This morning I put my name, address and phone number on a card and tied it to the bottle with some red string that Callan gave me before she moved to New York. I thought it would be better than just giving the lady the unmarked bottle. That's fine for friends and family, but since I am merely a a familiar face to her, I thought it might be better to idenitfy myself with the gift and let her rest assured I wasn't some kind of crazy. Loic of course thought I was being silly even for giving her a bottle to begin with, since she is not someone we socialize with. But I had been meaning to do this since winter and every time I always forgot to take a bottle with me on the way out the door to market.

Today at the market, we went to her stand where she had some cherries out, and I presented her with the wine. I told her that last year the batch had turned out particularly well, and I wanted her to have a taste of the product of her own nuts. It was such a nice moment between us, and she promised to bring me more nuts next Sunday. Loic was amazed and mused aloud on our way home, wondering why she seemed so incredibly happy to have received the bottle of vin de noix from me, in fact more incredibly happy than anyone he had ever seen at receiving a bottle of one of our home made fortified wines, ever.

I explained to him that when you show to a producer that they mean something in your life, that their product is a part of your family tradition, and show to them that you appreciate their product and come to know them through connections like this, it warms their heart. A lot.

So you know what we'll be doing next Sunday. If you want to make Vin de Noix this year, here are two recipes from my kitchen notebook, one for a liqueur, and one for a lighter aperitif drink.

Burgundy, Part I

One idea ....

Burgundy. The Bourgogone. I used to think of heavy overly wine-laden rich floured sauces that put people to sleep. I used to think of this region as a good place to have a large bulbous glass of either wan and sugary stuff, or heavy earthy wine closed up secret and tight like a monk would encase the bones of a saint. The good ones teased me with a promise of heavenly bliss years down the line. I always had a feeling of a bit of remorse and dread that I could not ever afford to buy it once its flavors had opened up and its character had reached full majestic maturity (this was before we had the cave of course, now at least we can hope...). I believed that Burgundy was a place to have a gargantuan ladle of meaty stew, to drink young robust wine before its time and to lie down and take a nice long nap, but I was wrong.


If you do make Lyon home base for a gastronomic discovery tour, a day trip to the Burgundy is completely do-able and actually a wonderful idea. There are things to find there that depart completely from anything you'll find in in this city. One hour's drive north can take you to the heart of it. Burgundy of course would never claim to be a part of Lyon, although you might find some restaurants in the more touristy areas that feature their interpretations of Lyonnais specialties. There are other things to look for in the Bourgogne.

When I think of the English word Burgundian, history professors' lectures still linger. Of course my imagination ran wild as tales were recounted. Images marched rote through my mind in mnemonic detail on timelines. Now they are like flashbacks: Medieval armor clad knights jousting. Battles with Huns, Roman conquests, and landscapes ravaged by war and betrayal. Joan of Arc was kidnapped by the Burgundians and sold to the English to be burned at the stake. Did you know that? Thick short towers constructed in the dark ages, viciously defended by Cisterian monks and the intrigue behind little spy holes in six foot thick stone walls. Moats and draw bridges. Big breasted wet nurses lined up along their beds of hay while the mothers lined up with their own swelling bosoms along banquet tables creaking with gluttonous feasts hosted by the hordes of megalomen ready to swear their oath and take power, or die. And well of course, the cheese. But that came later. Lord, Please forgive me for my indulgences in Burgundian cheeses. Well, At least I won't get osteoporosis.

The land of Bourgogne has in fact been divided, conquored, traded, given up, fought for, granted as gifts by kid Charlemagne, sectioned off, sold, raped, tunneled through by force of the sword, and been host to long periods of mayhem and slaughter. It is a land that has been defended by its men, women, and children to the very tooth. It still is.

Aside from its land having been a geographically strategic buffer between warring factions and capitals in times of shifting boundaries and conquests, the Bourgogne in essence is the epicenter of the creation of French identity. In Burgundy the land has always been of infinite importance. The terroir. You can see this pride in Burgundian eyes today.

In the 21st century, when you go and breathe the air there and take a look around, the shadows and time lines and not so mysterious gratuitous violence in the history of this region is swept away on an early summer breeze. The historical matrix is filled out with a whole new spectrum of lightness, color, lyme and mineral rich steppes. Telling you what makes Burgundy different from the rest and how I think it does interact with Lyon may inspire you to give some real Burgundian cooking a try once you get back. It might make you think a little bit more about the wine, especially the whites, which can be surprising and beautiful.

You have to ask why so much precious stereotype has been dismissively penned over and over about the gastronomy of Burgundy region and why they can't seem to get much further than you know, those dishes. Is it that the people who wrote about didn't actually go there to write about it, or did they only speak from the voice of distant memory? Were they working on a huge work that was tiring them and in a hurry to get on down past through and to the next Michelin starred restaurant where they might be coddled and felt more appreciated and less - defended against? I haven't figured it out yet. But it won't stop me from giving Burgundy a try this summer.

In terms of research material, In French, there are a few interesting tomes that record old original cooking from the region in the ancient collections reading room at the municipal library here. I will get some inspiration from them, but the real discovery this summer will come from actual kitchens there. Hopefully I will have a chance to absorb the stories that normally hover like halos around people cooking in them.

My approach will begin with the wine and as I discover dishes that use that kind of wine, I'll ask the women who prepare them in their kitchens to show me how its done in their homes. This is the only way, really.

Next article, The White Burgundy Wines (don't worry, the food and recipes will come!)