Farewell To Burgundy
Tomorrow we’re off to Lyon for a couple of days, if we don’t blow away first. Last night and all day today we’ve been fighting winds of over 100 kilometers per hour. Since normally we walk everywhere, and since, abnormally, the car wouldn’t start today, we’ve been right out there getting way too familiar with the kind of wind I’ve heretofore only seen on TV news coverage of some hurricane. It’s the kind of wind that blows the hair right off your head, gets sand in your throat, and keeps you awake at night wondering whether the house will still be standing in the morning. But like the endearing face above, we’re here and planning to stay that way, a bit battered, still hanging in there.
And I’m noticing that I still have a lot of beautiful pictures of Burgundy to show you, or rather, a lot of pictures of the beauty of Burgundy. To my amazement, not even one has anything to do with wine. Food, yes.
An Epoisse-lovers best dream. I did eat there, and no, there is no such thing as too much Epoisses.
Tiny mignardises at Bernard Loiseau. I feel really lucky to have been able to eat there too, and if you’re ever in the neighborhood, treat yourself to their excellent menu and service.
Lovely window squash. These I didn’t eat, except with my eyes.
Stone walls were everywhere,
and spring was thinking about springing, but not yet ready to make the commitment.
Then, to my surprise, a chapel commemorating the commitment Americans made to saving France during the first World War.
I want to go back to Burgundy, all green and gorgeous, if only for the wine. And the snails, since not one snail crossed my path or my plate this trip, and that’s just not right. So much France, so little time.