To the hills hugging Beaune

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There’s nothing like the warm embrace of every corner of France. And to no one’s surprise the vineyards of Burgundy were no less enchanting than those of the Languedoc, Bordeaux or Côtes-du-Rhône. After a slightly torturous (think Griswoldian if you’re familiar with the National Lampoons Vacation movies), Nat, Jake, Ree and I arrived to spend the New Year holiday with friends. It was a special five days of learning and seeing what made Pete and Laura fall in love with this corner of the world when they took their first vacation in the region as a couple a decade plus ago.

Driving into the valley that hugs the city of Beaune, you simply nod in contentment. Yes, you are in France. And, yes, some good wines await. Given that my days of Queen Wino are behind me, I spent more time taking in the atmosphere and enjoying the culinary craftspersonship for which France is famous. Idling down the streets of Beaune’s old city, I studied each shop; checking out what delights they had to offer. One store teased with dozens of homemade jams and marmalades; another with pâtés and rillettes of all sorts. I quickly filled my basket with some foie gras that had integrated chestnuts as a surprise. Then I went back to the first shop for some of those jams: who knew what a treat pêche de vigne preserves are? The peaches apparently grow on trees in orchards that are interspersed with the vineyards; hence “peach from the vine”. The taste = amazing.

Moving on from the shops, my entourage and I filed into the local Saturday market, where we marvelled at the endless possibilities put forward by local cheese-makers. Sharp goat cheeses or milder sheep cheese. The decor of special moulds or ash that just make French cheeses special. Alongside that you have the piles of veggies that the season delivers; mainly more root vegetables but still some quite tasty tomatoes and greens here and there.

Of course trapsing through Beaune is not complete without some time spent people watching. We met many of the locals taking a moment to get away from the holiday table and exercise their legs a bit. Then, there was that special lady all in gold: I couldn’t tell if she was just going home from last night’s soirée or perhaps she was early in heading out to her next one. As I wandered the city streets, some likely there since the Middle Ages, I ducked into the main church to make a quick prayer for continued good health and safe travels as we would soon drive home into the new year. The peaceful calm of that long-standing house of worship stood in stark contrast to the bustle of the markets outside and tourists and locals mingling to celebrate the close of 2022.

Of course my reminiscing wouldn’t be complete without some comments on the amazing meals: be it the home-cooked ones (Pete’s lasagne and wild board ragout, plus Laura’s sinfully delicious chocolate cake) or the culinary treats found in local restaurants. I got to enjoy some Burgundian escargots and also had a lovely veal dish in the local brasserie down the hill from our holiday home (Chez Baxter).

Yes, this retreat to the hills of Burgundy was just what the doctor ordered when in came to regrouping to have the strength to face 2023: socialising with friends in an inviting stone farm house; saying hello to Manilow (either a horse or donkey, I was never sure which animal bore that name) when out for walks; or just taking in some amazing sunsets. Good friends and good food are really all we need to get by.

Côtes du Rhône … where memories meet and happiness flows

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Since I was a teenager, France has had a special power for me. It’s “meant to be-ness” has always made it feel safe. And celebrating a good friend’s birthday in Provence in September served as an important reminder of the need to cherish special certainties.

The givens of Pete fixing amazing food while tormenting me incessantly, or Jakub telling silly dad jokes, or Natalie being armed and ready with rosé, or Laura acting as the voice of reason. Not to mention Jean making sure we were all looked after and the house in order.

An insane route to the farmhouse we were staying at had me less than certain how our celebratory week in Provence would end up. But France, this time the southern part, did not disappoint. The smell of lavender, the rugged mountains hugging our local horizon, and the poplar or sycamore-lined roadways … they all told me that life was as it should be.

It’s funny that the French created the term je ne sais quoi. Because that’s how I often feel when describing why I am at home there. It’s an “I don’t know what” sentiment. I’m never 100% certain why but I always feel welcome when I move through the fruit and veggie markets, when I sit down for un crême, or when I escape inside a house of worship that dates back to the times of The Crusades. The beauty of the Rhone Valley immediately tells visitors, without their knowing why, that everything will be all right.

Our corner of Provence that we hid out in that week afforded us the best that France has to offer. Great wines from the ancient land of Popes (a Châteauneuf-du-Pape or a Gigondas) accompanied most of our meals. The shops welcomed us with the culinary artisanry that only the French can deliver: sumptuous sausages of the Camargue, excellent terrine de foie gras, or rillettes … food shopping in France is unique. Just brush off your French vocabulary from college days and enquire after which local farmers supply the shops and to what periods these agro-culinary traditions date back.

It’s in these moments that you slowly come to understand that the “I don’t know what” may just simply be a proud love or passion for traditions in food-making, animal-raising and store-owning that transcends time. Perhaps, it’s because the river lies nearby. But in the Rhone Valley and that area of France, there’s a fluidity: a phantom of centuries of trade routes that connected Ancient Rome to the Iberian peninsula. When you submit to the region of Provence, you feel these transitory moments. Of wine poured into glasses across the years, of floral scents being gathered for perfumes that would sweeten numerous decades, or of frankincense emanating from churches that would bring the religions of the Holy Land to the Empire’s marchlands.

There’s never a single, clear cause for the serenity and happiness flowing along the Rhone in Provence, but I’m certain it has something to do with the land always seeing to residents’ and visitors’ basic needs. You eat well. You drink well. And you relax as time nourishes you with the riches of the region’s traditions.

Laissez-vous en profiter de ce que la région vous offre.   

The sweetest part of Armenia is its fruit

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I was looking at some pictures today and noticed that a year ago this time, I was a week away from getting sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer in Armenia. In my village of Hovtashen in the Ararat region south of Yerevan mulberries (թտւթ) were everywhere. It was a strange, amusing experience. I knew mulberries from my childhood in Missouri. Taste-wise, they were tolerable, but I had never been particularly fond of them. Yet somehow, as with many of life’s simpler experiences in Armenia, the local mulberries were different. They seemed sweeter and there were two kinds: dark and white ones. I had never seen white ones elsewhere. On top of that I learned that Armenians also distill their mulberries and make a very potent alcoholic drink from them. Some might call it brandy in the way people tend to call the distillate from plums in central and eastern Europe plum brandy (locally referred to there using a variation of the word slivovice deriving from the word slivka for plum). Otherwise, in the color sense, it looks what a Missouri kid like me would have called plum moonshine, i.e. it has a color more akin to vodka. All the same, the stuff is strong. And, as I tend to do with the plum brandy from Moravia, I drank a shot first thing in the morning when I felt a cold or sore throat coming on. Just one shot, mind you.

With that intro, I wanted to highlight some of the fruit experiences I enjoyed when I was living in Armenia. So let’s begin.

Apricots / ծիրան

Apricots are synonymous with Armenia: even the orange hue in the country’s flag is referred to as apricot orange. And then there’s the taste: one that can’t be described. They are so rich, sweet and juicy and can be put to many uses. Of course, they can be eaten fresh from the tree or from the markets (if you’re a city dweller). I would always eat them with my host dad Artur when we had evening coffee. Apricots are also used to make a drink/juice referred to as կոմպոտ (compote), which is truly a thick fruit juice and not the jam-like fruit dish we know in English-speaking countries. In addition to that, apricots are dried and stored for the winter: still, the dried fruit has a flavor and juiciness that makes you think it was harvested not more than a week ago. Finally, there is the prized apricot jam that Armenian women all over the country make during late spring. I smuggled two jars of that home to give to friends.

Figs / Թուզ

These are one of my favorite fruits anytime I can get them: fresh from the market or picked from a bush in the wild. Like the mulberries mentioned above, there are two versions: the green ones and the purple/dark ones. I’m generally partial to the purple ones, as they are the variety I know from visits to the beaches of the Mediterranean. On various islands, it was common to pick a handful of figs during pitstops when returning after a day of swimming and sun. There is something about fresh figs that makes them feel like a guilty pleasure; the fact that the vendors at the outdoor markets in Vanadzor would slip me a couple extra when I was shopping always made my day.

Melons / ձմերտւկ (watermelon) and յեմիշ (cantaloupe)

By late June, melon season had arrived in Armenia and sidewalks everywhere were stocked with them. Of course, they were sold by local fruit-vegetable merchants, but it appeared that seasonal melon-vending was a way to generate cash for a number of other entrepreneurial locals as well. And thank goodness for that. Melon was another summertime staple for my coffees with Artur. Depending on what was available, we would chomp on cold watermelon with our rich, dark Armenian coffee, or we would enjoy the spicy flavor and scent of cantaloupe: both added to the spoils we collected from the family garden; specifically, the cherries.

Cherries / Բալ

As with most countries I’ve lived in, both sweet and sour versions of cherries can be found in Armenia. They are also eaten fresh or cooked for jams. And in some cases, the locals make them into the juice (compote). I actually grew quite fond of them as a nice way to round off my evening meal; a slightly healthier version of dessert. It was a joy to partake of cherries so as not to stuff myself with too much of the delicious Armenian գաթա (gata cakes) or with Armine’s delicious pastries and éclairs.

I’ve rambled on too long. But if you make it to Armenia, treat yourself to the wide variety of fruits in the outdoor markets. You won’t regret it.

Tasting Armenia

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Since I was a child, I’ve loved gardening. At times it was a chore, when I had to go pick green beans in 30°+ C heat or if I had to weed through rows of carrots. But most of the time it was a way to escape: school life, family disputes or just the general noise of the world. Spending time with families in south central Armenia’s Ararat region, and in the northern Lori region, took me back to those childhood memories; specifically, I had the chance to help harvest an abundance of herbs that I would learn were essential staples in Armenia’s cooking vocabulary.

Dill / Սամիթ

This is one of my favorite herbs. Although, I find it to be quite divisive when it comes to people’s culinary tastes. Most of my friends either LOVE it, or they HATE it. I belong to the former group and was always delighted when my host family would send me back to my home in the north with a sack full of dill. It’s great for salads and soups. Or it’s nice for flavoring dishes like boiled potatoes (which I saw and tasted a lot when visiting southern Poland during the time I lived in the neighboring Czech Republic). I love that many countries seem to have their different takes on how to use dill. Whereas the Armenians would often use it to flavor carrot, cucumber or lentil salads, the Czechs use it as the base for a wonderful white sauce served with braised beef koprovka or as the main herb in a potato-mushroom soup called kulajda.

Coriander / Համեմ ու Գինձ

This is another herb that tends to polarize. I usually can’t get enough of it and I was delighted to find it in abundance in the gardens and markets of Armenia. It is interesting that the locals tend to use herbs in two specific ways when cooking, and you would often see them eat coriander in such fashion. There is the traditional method of chopping the herb and integrating it into salads, sauces or soups. However, Armenians also tend to serve a plate of kanachi (կանաչի), the general term for greens, with most of their meals. It is common to take fresh herbs from this plate: coriander, dill, tarragon, green onion or purple basil and work that into rolled up “sandwich” of sorts made with their traditional bread lavash (լավաշ).

Tarragon / Թարխուն

I never really saw tarragon used other than it being chomped on while raw, e.g. taken from the kanachi plate. I found it enjoyable in small doses; specifically, for its peppery-, anise- or licorice-like flavor. It was a nice addition to a sandwich made during khorovats (խորոված), the Armenian version of barbeque. Plus, it was interesting to see that someone somewhere had come up with the idea to make tarragon soda pop. The bright green color was equal parts intriguing and scary, while the soda was refreshing: again in small doses.

Purple Basil / Ռեհան

I never quite found a suitable use for this herb. We had it in heaps in my childhood gardens and flower beds in northern Missouri. However, I find it to be more assertive than sweet green basil, and thus more difficult to cook with. Most of the time, I took this colorful herb and chopped it up for use fresh garden salads I would make; also using it in sparing quantities.

Mountain Thyme / Լեռնային ուրց

This is one of the sweetest surprises to be found during hikes along the mountain ridges in the Lori region where I lived. It’s a cute, unassuming plant and, when the wind is right, it sweetens the air of the peaks and valleys as you meander through the passes along Armenia’s northern mountains. There, mountain thyme is abundant and it’s always tempting to grab a couple of handfuls to take home to dry: for later use in flavoring meats and various baked vegetable dishes.

Making my way through the market (memories from life in Vanadzor)

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Some of my favorite memories of life in Armenia relate to food.  Armenians are a wonderfully hospitable people and anywhere you go, you will be offered something to eat and drink.  For me, personally, my best memories relate to trying to wind my way through the long market streets to pick up supplies for my weekend cooking.

Armenian outdoor markets come to life especially on weekends, but they are equally busy during weekdays.  In my city, Vanadzor, the market often seemed to spill out on to the main street and fruit and vegetable vendors popped up wherever the sidewalks offered space. I tended to be a big fan of the local greens. Never in my life had I seen such variety and freshness. My typical shopping basket included fresh spinach, cilantro, dill, basil (usually the purple variety, as sweet basil was not as common), romaine lettuce, bib lettuce, tarragon and green onions. I generally tried to spread my shopping across multiple vendors: this allowed me to get to know different people working in the markets and also to test the quality of different goods.

One of my guilty pleasures, when doing my market shopping, was picking up some fresh button mushrooms for later use in garden salads or for making omelets.  I have no idea where the local farmers grow their mushrooms, but they had such a wonderful aroma and flavor.  Sometimes I questioned whether I had been shopping in the wrong markets in Europe (I had lived in Prague prior to traveling to work in Armenia), or whether Armenians simply had a magic touch in growing my favorite fungi.

Another joy of my market days was using my shopping time to get to know vendors.  Usually, they addressed me in Russian because at 6’4” (194 cm) in height and with fairly pale skin, they knew immediately I wasn’t from their area.  So after a few words in Armenian and convincing them that we’d understand each other better in their language as opposed to the Soviet import, we quickly began our taste-testing and language learning sessions.  The fun of the whole process was trying to decide afterwards whether I’d indeed learned new Armenian words or if some Russian had perhaps slipped in.  I’m pretty sure that terms like malina (raspberry), boloki (radish) and jemish (cantaloupe/honeydew melon) are not 100% Armenian.

I will always treasure recollections of my time wandering through the Vanadzor shuka (market – շուկա). Taking a few extra moments to talk with the stall owners always led to small joys like better prices on meat or samples of different fruits. Also, once I had become a regular customer to a handful of street vendors, I would sometimes get an extra potato or two with my purchase or get some extra apricots for the fruit bowl on my living room table.

I highly recommend dropping by an outdoor market if you find yourself travelling through Armenia. If you make the summer season, make sure you load up on the super-delicious tsiran / ծիրան (apricots), dzmeruk / ձմերուկ (watermelon), and my personal favorites: purple or green tooz / թուզ (figs).