Every Monday, discover new wines, regions, and ways to understand this fermenting sea.
Munching Vidal Blanc on Keuka Lake, New York
Tag Archives: St-Emilion
Extracted from St-Émilion’s underworld (last post), our EU Austerity Drinking Tour continues above ground. Too sick to drink, we wander. Gates and walls gird every corner of this hill-town.
You almost expect a bouncer with sunglasses to stand there. But when each bottle costs a thousand bucks, these vines become too valuable for tourists to traipse through and take selfies (#vineyardselfies).
Almost bored by all the brilliance, we walk around another Romanesque ruin abutting another Grand Cru vineyard.
But then, on the city’s edge, we also discover the birthplace of macarons. In 1620, while Pilgrims were landing in Plymouth, this bakery started selling macarons. Continue reading
Today continues Monday’s EU Austerity Drinking Tour of St-Émilion: Bordeaux’s citadel to Merlot. Flu still numbs our adventurers’ palates, so we opt for a city tour instead of wine. The whole city is a UNESCO site, so why not?
We pass more wine-shops than people. The Roman “Cadene” Gate begins our slippery descent into the ancient core. It is a hodgepodge of eras with a home from 1291. *meh!*
We stumble past our less adventurous tourers, nearly falling in our rush. Then we mass into a small pocket: i.e. town square. An ancient market gapes to our left. Continue reading
This Monday’s EU Austerity Drinking Tour sends us to St-Émilion: right bank home to Bordeaux’s greatest, Merlot-based reds.
After some credit card, train-related malarkey, we leave the city of Bordeaux and cross into Entre-Deux-Mers.[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWoq7cUdgAA&w=560&h=315%5D
That flatland is Entre-Deux-Mers (not Pomerol…dummy). As its name implies, it is the land “between two seas”: the Garonne and Dordogne Rivers. It’s a great region for value Bordeaux. But our aim is Saint-Émilion, hanging over the Dordogne’s right bank.
Soon, châteaux actually start looking like Châteaux and not somewhat homely barns.
Landed, we leave the train with a few other tourists. One road points to town. Our march uphill begins. Continue reading