For this unrepentant Francophile, arriving in Dijon is somewhat like making it to Mecca. Dijon being the main city in Bourgogne (Burgundy), it is home to mustard, yes, but more so the very best food and produce in France. Bourgogne is home to escargot, boeuf Bourgogne, coq-au-vin, Bresse chicken, Oeufs en meurette (poached eggs in Burgundian red wine sauce), Gougère (cheese puffs), and kir and Crème de Cassis. And we can’t really talk about this region without discussing the most highly sought after wines on the planet made from Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. Dijon is a medieval city with 600-year-old buildings—like the one we are staying in—stunning churches, and beautiful nature. There is also one of the very best museums in France here, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon. Surprisingly, to me at least, Bourgogne isn’t that popular with tourists.

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Before I get to our time here thus far in Dijon, I want to start off by addressing a larger topic that many Americans ask me about: The French people. We all know the stereotypes about them. My parents told me about visiting France many years ago and how rude everyone was to them, and I have double-, triple-, quadruple-heard the same story from people my own age about their parents’ experience. So maybe there was some truth to it. My own experience has been the opposite. Everyone—I mean everyone—has been nothing but kind, charming, and patient with us. Asking us questions about where we’re from or how we like France. It doesn’t matter where in France, either. They were wonderful to us in Paris, and they are wonderful to us here in Dijon, maybe more so. Not because they are nicer here per se, rather it seems they just have more time to chat.

I have been practicing French every day for three years on Duolingo. Sometimes I might put in an hour or two and other times I may just do five minutes to keep my streak alive. That said, my French is very weak. As anyone who spends a lot of time on Duolingo knows, it makes you a great reader of the language you are learning, and a decent grammarian, but not necessarily a good speaker. I can go to the museums and read the placards without any necessary translation. Restaurant menus? Please. I could read those before Duolingo, but yes, I can read them fluently. Speaking? Dealing with the firehose of French coming at me at warp speed? Ha. The poor French people look at me with such empathy as I stand frozen staring at them helplessly unable to process it fast enough before I fall into some kind of language coma. They immediately switch to English. Sigh. Or worse, I speak French to them, and they just answer me in English. Double sigh. Or my favorite, they see me coming and just speak English to me immediately. Embarrass-sigh.

I get so bummed out about this. I think that my French must be hurting their ears. But I also know that it’s not really that—well, maybe a little—it’s just that they just want to make things easier. They are naturally kind, no matter what you’ve heard. Even the old ladies who correct my accent. So, this really addresses two falsehoods. The first is that, yes, in fact, most French people speak some amount of English, and second, that the French are truly kind and wonderful people. I love them. I love their culture. Their formal nature and the way they interact with each other. Their innate politeness, their special care for their environment, the way they make everything they do beautiful. They are quiet people, they whisper on trains and in restaurants. Quality really matters to them and the time it takes to do things right is expected and understood to be part of the ritual of life. Chien-hui says, “They are the Japanese of the West.” I take her word, and I know she certainly means it as a compliment to both cultures.

Back here in Dijon, we recently visited Les Halles, an indoor market where vendors sell fresh produce, meat, cheese, and fish. In the USA, this would be a barn-like structure at best (I am looking at you Dekalb Farmers Market) or just a street-takeover on a Saturday in your local city or town. Awesome. But here in France it’s on an entirely different level. The hall in Dijon was designed by Eiffel’s firm—yes, that Eiffel—the large arches are decorated with animal motifs and symbolic themes relating to the market halls: heads of game and poultry, fish and eel, each for different part of the hall. Ceres, Goddess of the harvest and Hermes, God of trade and commerce, decorate the columns. The roof is strongly inspired by that of the central market halls of Paris, made of iron works and glass. The light pours in and illuminates this perpetual cathedral to food.

Inside Les Halles everything you’ve heard about the quality of food in Europe, particularly France, is absolutely one-hundred percent true. We keep buying strawberries everywhere we go in France because they all taste different. Did you know that there are different levels of strawberriness? Some are earthy and creamy, some are candy-like and sweet, and some are tiny but pack a walloping flavor. Every time I taste a new one it makes me laugh. The magnificence of the bread and pastry is cliché to even discuss, and then there is the cheese! I don’t think I can find the words to describe the intensity level of the Comté cheese here. Or the Morbier. We bought a roasted chicken last night and it’s same thing—the chickenness of it was just overwhelming. I continually say, OMG!, here in France. And so do the French, themselves. You hear it. Mon Dieu! Indian food, Vietnamese food, Italian, it just doesn’t matter. The quality level is 11 everywhere you go in this country.

Buckwheat crêpe with Emmental, ham, and a egg.

Clockwise: Saucisson with pepper, Morbier Lait from Jura, Comté from Burgundy, and strawberry and thyme fruit paté. Vezelay goat cheese in the center.

And there is the wine. Burgundy. Bourgogne. It’s revered, and nearly religious to many people around the world. The Burghounds, the prestige seekers, the trophy hunters, the investors. There are so many different types of people buying so little wine. The region is relatively compact, and they can only produce so much of the stuff, so it’s a classic supply and demand scenario. Back home, I rarely drink it because, frankly, I can’t afford to. If I splurge on a bottle, I usually buy a “lesser” appellation like Fixin, Marsannay, Santenay, or Mercurey. I say lesser, when what I really mean are less expensive, not quite as prestigious, village level reds. The whites are often even more expensive, but I have been lucky enough to drink a few in my life. Chassagne-Montrachet, Puligny-Montrachet, Meursault, Corton-Charlemagne, Grand Cru Chablis. These wines made from Chardonnay just vibrate my soul. Mon Dieu!

But because I am here in the heart of Bourgogne, the prices, while not cheap, do allow me to upgrade the level of Burgundy I am drinking. Thus far, I have had a couple of Premier Cru Volnays and one very tasty Pommard, two of my favorite Côte de Beaune wines, and one dark and intense Nuits-Saint-Georges from the Côte de Nuits. The bottle shops here are like Starbucks back in Seattle, one almost around every corner. As if that weren’t enough, there are intimate wine bars run by passionate individuals like that of La Cave Se Rebiffe. There is also the Cité Internationale de la Gastronomie et du Vin, the massive food and wine complex with several great restaurants, a movie theater, a cookbook store, a kitchen supply shop, a boulangerie, cheese shop, teaching classroom, outdoor seating and gardens, and the best part, La Cave de la Cité, a massive tasting room with over 250 Enomatic machines for dispensing tastes of wine. I loaded up a card and quickly drained it tasting all kinds of great Burgundian wine that I normally wouldn’t allow myself to purchase.

Tomorrow, we head to the city of Beaune, about a half-hour train ride south. Beaune is the epicenter of Burgundian wine country. We’ll get off the train, visit the famous Hospices de Beaune, have some lunch in town, and of course, do as much tasting as we can before we return for our dinner reservation in Dijon at 7:00 p.m. at a very nice restaurant called Mr. Wine. Then we’ll rent a car on Wednesday and drive through the entire Côte d’Or as we visit the private Domains that we’ve arranged tastings with by email in my broken French.

I think you’re getting the picture by now about Burgundy and wine. In Dijon, le vin c'est la vie, which is why I’m so dang happy here.

Finally, Bourgogne

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Finally, Bourgogne

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