Postcard From Arbois

36 hours of eating and drinking in one of my favorite regions

Hi there,

I’ll be dropping stories from Jura and France over the next few weeks, including visits with the vignerons. It has always been my way: when I drink a wine that speaks to me, I have to meet the person who made it. That was true of Claude Buchot, and it was certainly true of Sylvain Jacquot, whose story I shared last week. If you missed it, please give it a read.

Other than that, what did we do in Arbois?

The last time I was in the town, my friend M and I fled shortly after rolling in. When there’s not an insane crush of people descending for wine salons, Arbois is quiet. Very.

We booked ourselves into a smelly hotel. With no dinner reservations, we ended up at Troquet Les Archives, drinking a workhorse Savagnin with a plate of Comté. We begged our way into a few cornichons as well. There were few people there but plenty of drunken energy (not ours). After one sip and a cornichon, I said, “Let’s go back to Burgundy.” Which we did the next day and it was glorious. The moral? Follow your heart.

But that visit aside, my heart does have a big piece of real estate devoted to the Jura. And this time, I was traveling with my friend Ceri.

Oh, the cows were everywhere. The vines were pushing like mad. There was a certain frisson. I was so happy to be back.