Dijon Down Under — See Beast Go

We have this one full day in Dijon so of course we are going to drive to Beaune. Besides wine, one of the major things I have always known about Dijon is mustard. And when your honey loves mustard, you take your honey to a mustard factory. I had booked our tickets for early in the afternoon so we can leisurely start our day and enjoy the drive between Dijon and Beaune. I will be honest, I had planned on taking this drive but the start of it was under pretense of something very different. See, we both thought that Dijon mustard was local mustard made in, you guessed it, Dijon. So turns out that all commercial mustard made in Dijon is made with imported mustard seeds from Canada. I know right, my mind was blown as well. The closest local moutarderie is not in Dijon but in Beaune, so on the road we went. The general directions didn’t quite get us there with as much of a time cushion as we had hoped and parking was hot garbage.

I dropped Frank off in front since we had tickets for our reservation and was intending to park down the block. Oh Lawd y’all down the block parking did not exist, neither did several blocks down, or in a different near by area. The lots were full and I couldn’t help but chuckle at our quick last minute decision for Frank to take my phone since it had the tickets and access to cell service. I laugh because I am now driving in circles around a downtown looking area wondering if my attempt to ask directions from locals will go over well since I am now essentially in 1997 in a foreign country. I eventually find parking at a spot where the meter will only take 1euro coins, I have only one, which is not enough to cover the time I need. I sigh and accept my potential fate. I walk towards the town center, I had seen a sign there while driving that pointed towards the mustard factory, and hope for the best.

I head in the direction of the arrow painted with Fallot and eventually see the "Fallot Moutarderie" sign dangling above the sidewalk having been hung from the side of the yellow building, which I doubt is yellow by coincidence. I turn left into the alleyway into La Moutarderie Fallot and see Frank. Seeing him makes all my anxiety melt away, I am calm and okay with the fact that since he has waited for me we are now 25 minutes late for our scheduled tour. We do our little Frank and Beast greeting, and he proceeds to tell me that the person who was going to give our tour in English wasn’t there so we got a refund and were going to be able to do a self-guided tour. Hip hip hoorah y'all! The tour was very informative and even gave us the opportunity to experience kind of what it’s like to be a mustard seed and we also got to attempt making mustard on an animated game. It ended at the actual mustard facility which had even more info but we physically couldn’t stay and read it. The production facilities were in use and the amount of vinegar was so heavy in the air that our eyes were watering and noses were burning. We swiftly made it to the exit and out, took about three minutes to just breathe the fresh cold air, then entered the tasting portion that is offered at the factory.

Not once, not never, did I imagine I would be eating quantities of a condiment as a tasting experience, even in my line of work as a Somm. We tasted spoonful’s of about 10 different mustards and I don’t think we scraped the surface of what they had. We “decided” we needed the Bourgogne Dijon. Folks I use the quotes not because we were coerced but because it was a visceral reaction. We both tasted it and had one of those intense moments where we turned to each other silently, with an expression that mirrored the others, of intense need. In a split second we had both decided this mustard was a need regardless of the opinion of the other, it was pure coincidence that we felt the same way about the same mustard. That my friends, is true mustard love. On a side note, I hate the ketchup in Europe. It’s a sham and a lie. The mayo however is actual aioli, like real aioli. I say this because some people will celebrate flavored aioli and claim garlic aioli as a flavor. Garlic aioli is redundant. That’s like saying tomato ketchup. Insert dead eyed blank stare here. I just can’t with it. Anyways, together we had found our individual meccas of mustard and bought a ceramic jar of it. You know, as a snack, oops I mean, FOR snacks... totally as just a condiment?

After finishing up at the mustard factory we find a shop selling sandwiches, and since the time of siesta is quickly approaching, the closest open wine shop. We pick an über local red, eat our sandwich and make our way (unbeknownst to Frank) to the maison that made the juice in our newly purchased bottle. This is where my full wine geek really gets to shine my loves. We go to the house that our newly acquired bottle has been made, find a random bench to sit on, then proceed to share a half glass while we stare over the brick wall enclosing the grounds. The walls aren't hiding large grounds, it's just a random small street with other houses, nothing out of the ordinary other than a huge garage in the back that has all the wine equipment. Another wave of disbelief hits us, We, little ole us, are drinking a wine that was made across the street from the old bench we are sitting on. It's surreal, the wind in the shade is colder than expected, the wine is fresh and delicious and stirs a curiosity of "What's next?"

I'll tell you what is next, its as much more of that as we can get. We aim back toward the D974, take a right to head North and get our vineyard tour on. Now folks, we planned nothing in advance, couldn't really because of our flexible date needs and since it is harvest the possibility of simply showing up unannounced is not an option. Wineries are busy processing their livelihoods. So vineyard entrances and local shops selling local wine is what we were keeping our eyes open for.

Continuing north on the D974 we immediately turn left to check out Aloxe-Corton, and made that our trend. We weaved east and back west along small roads surrounded by vineyards that in turn were surrounded by vehicles to carry grape pickers and grapes. Harvest is in full swing and in between the rows of vines are bent heads. Horns in the distance announce what we believe is the completion of a harvest. It's incredible to be surrounded by signs and vines of this region that in the past were only on labels. Now here we are seeing sign after sign announcing the regions of wine as it hangs in clusters waiting for its stem to be cut so it can continue its delicious journey to a bottle with a matching label.

Along the way we stop in Nuit-Saint-George (one of my personal favorites!) to stroll around the central area and to stare longingly at winery entrances. Let's be real, also to get more coffee if possible! Luck have it at the southern "entrance" to main center of town we spot Coffee of Paris and make a beeline for it. As we are waking across the street to the café we start to hear a honking in the distance that is getting noticeably closer, and quickly! An odd assortment of vans and trucks descend upon us and the locals, horns on each vehicle honking at random. As they pass by the occupants of the vans and trucks are cheering as they honk, and those with open truck beds are visibly filled with bins of grapes. Going by, the locals cheer back at the parade of pickers and we realize that the honking we have been hearing is the celebration of a finished and successful harvest! We belatedly clap in joy of being able to witness another tradition.

From Nuit-Saint-George we weave our way north towards Romanee-Conti on the smallest roads we can find. Sometimes the road is so small it is difficult to turn around after realizing it continues in a direction we don't want to go. The trend of being surrounded by rows on rows on rows of vines continues. We eventually make it to Vosne-Romanee, and to our immense delight we see an open tasting room. We scramble to find parking, grab our jackets and make our way to their door. We then fumble over verbalizing our urge to taste the wines from this particular region. Bad news: they didn't have enough bottles to do a tasting. Good news: they did have a few bottles still available for purchase. Sold! We pay for the bottle, check our map and start walking towards vines!

We pass a non-descript building on the right and a beautiful small chapel was on our left as we carry on up the hill. As we go there is a wall to our right with a vineyard behind it, and personal residence to the left, a tall cement cross rises in front of us. It's attached to another wall, this one spanning a bit right and furtheroff to our left. There are vineyards everywhere we look, some with stone walls enclosing them with stone archway entrances with the names chiseled into them. Others are open with small plaques that have been nailed to a post declaring the name of the owner, some plaques are separated by only a few rows. It's magical! We have our bottle open, the clouds are wispy, it's slowly getting warmer. We are drinking a bottle of Vosne-Romanee smack dab in the center of Vosne-Romanee.

We encounter another couple, offer a sip of our wine and get to chat briefly about the immensity of what we're doing. I am so enthralled I give them the wrong vineyard name of what we are standing in front of, I find out later I was reading the map wrong. Oh well, c'est la vie! We walk through and up around everywhere we think is acceptable for the wandering public to be. The vineyards are someone's life's work and we don't want to be disrespectful of it. We decide the areas and vineyards high above where we are is where we want to be so we walk back down to get our little car. We have concluded that if vans carrying ten tourists can fit, our four-door should have no problem taking us up the tiny muddy roads.

Driving up the steep small winding path we spot a bench with an area to pull over at. We make sure to leave enough room for another vehicle to pass by, grab our bottle of wine, and have a seat. There is a newer "vintage" concrete and stone wall in front of the bench, within view there is what appears to be the older wall where the individual stones have slid out of their intended spots and are now more of a pile of stones than a wall of them. We take some photos, I mean come on, can we say picturesque!! No need to let a photo opportunity go to waste!

We continue driving up, exploring tiny roads and reading plaques with names we don't recognize. At the very top outcropping of the hill we find a stone hut, the door is narrow and I have to stoop to go inside. Once I am in I see there are two little seats made of stone that are part of the wall. Upon one of the seats is a solo grape cluster flanked on each side by pine cones. An offer to wine gods perhaps. The area is quiet, we can barely hear the sounds of the main road that's now far in front of us. In the distance we hear horns honking, another successful harvest has been completed. We take in the moment before finding the quickest available route down. It turns out it's a very steep winding road down and a very bumpy at that.

On the way down I realize we have yet to actually see the building or vineyards for the most famous of the famous, the creme de la creme, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti! We can't come all this way and not see them!! That would be a blasphemy of the highest order! I call on google for the rescue. Not Siri, I find him to be too snotty for my preference. And yes, I have my Siri set up as a dude. I find the address for the estate, and pictures of the vineyard entrances. I recognize the tall cross in the photos and begin thinking google, of all entities, has made a mistake. I search again, same things populate my feed. I squint, I look again at the vineyard map. Much to my chagrin I realize I read it backwards in my hurry to be amongst the vines. That we had indeed seen the vineyard and stood in front of it for about 15 minutes while next to its notable cross. I lead Frank and my pink cheeks back along the wall we have walked by several times now to the end and low and behold, a lighter cooler stone with Romanee-Conti is faintly chiseled in it. Don't worry y'all, it gets better. Remember that plain building I mentioned earlier across from the chapel? Of course that is the DRC estate. Yup, passed right by it like 4 times and paid it no mind.

As embarrassed as I am about it, I really appreciate the experience. I am used to flashy and hip denoting what's status. The bigger the hype the better it must be right. I had expected a larger sign indicating where this highly sought after beverage is from. It had a small plaque that is incsribed with a few names. No flash, no grandeur, just very simple. I like this reminder, all that glitters isn't gold.

We make sure all of our wine bottles are securely buckled in, as well as ourselves and hit the road for home. We decide to make and enjoy a meal in and end up cooking dinner and watching the sun set from our window. Dinner takes us longer than expected, all the appliances are new miraculous wonders of technology for us. None of the symbols around the dials make sense and not all of things have dials. Who knew they made touch sensor stoves?!?! We end our evening listening to our favorite podcast, enjoying the rest of the bottles of wine and relishing what we did today. It was a full immersion experience that may have only been one day but it felt like several. Three cheers to you Burgundy!!!