Wine Flows like the Ouveze

If this were the beginning of a Garrison Keillor monologue, it would go something like "It's been a winey week in my hometown." That sums up our next to last week nicely as the we sipped our way through meals, tasting, festivals and a party chez nous, where wine literally flowed like our Ouveze river.

We started with an excellent luncheon last Tuesday with our friends Gary and Marilyn at a charming wine bar, la Tourne au Verre, in nearby Cairanne. The sun came out especially for us and we sat outside,sipping whites, roses, and reds by the glass. We loved the name of one of the whites--La Vie On Y Est--a fun play on words for the varietal it contained, viognier. After working our way though a great house terrine, duck stew and pineapple tart, we decided to pay a visit to our friends, Francoise and John (yes, French and American), who are winemakers at the Girasol vinyard. Of course, we had to get caught up on their wines as well as their lives and more than a few bottles found their way into Gary's trunk.

Wednesday, after lunch, the trend continued with a visit to Chateau Unang close to Venasque, once more with Gary and Marilyn, who like to call themselves the Rhone Rangers. More sipping, swirling and slurping to get the full effect of more luscious wines and, again, more wines in Gary's trunk.

Thursday, we simply had some visiting friends of Hallie's in for drinks--meaning wine of course, and Friday, we took a small turn toward temperance in preparation for Saturday. We only stopped at one winery in Chateau Neuf du Pape and picked up some of Roger Sabon's lovely Lirac and a couple of bottles of his Rhone by Roger Sabon for our cellar. In fact, we didn't even go to Chateau Neuf du Pape for wine, but rather to see M. Sabon, who is a healer. (That's another whole story in itself for a later time.)

Saturday, at about 11 a.m., we set out for the women-run vinyard, Gros Pata, that makes the wine we serve all the time to guests. They hold a festival each year, complete with regional dancers, tasting of other winemakers from Alsace, Burgundy and Bergerac, plus a chanteuse to amuse the substantial crowd during lunch, served up buffet-style. The whole meal kicks off with anchoiade, then moves along to slices of terrine, caillettes and salad, followed by grilled ham and potatoes. About the time the food is served, casks of wine--both rose and red--show up so everyone can pour glasses for themselves. This procedure seems to work for them, as it has hardly changed in all the years we've attended. Despite the fact that everyone wore jackets this year instead of their usual short sleeved tops, a most excellent time was had by all. As we finally left, around 3 p.m., we picked up a gi-normous 10 liter bag-in-box for our party on Sunday afteroon. Hauling it away, we passed the horse drawn carriage giving rides down the main road and eased our way home.

We had decided to introduce our British and French friends to the concept of an open-house and so invited quite a crew to come by on Sunday afternoon, about the only way we could accomodate that many people in our small village house. We baked and chopped during the week, putting things together ahead of time and storing what we could in our tiny freezer that gets a mighty workout during our stays. We also have a second refrigerator, one of the best buys two cooks could have made, and so beer, rose and sparkling water went in there. That afternoon, before our company arrived, we organized the table and put out our various offerings. The food choices ranged from French--salmon cake and quiche--to American--guacamole and brownies. It was quite a nibbler's spread. Just before going upstairs to change, Hallie decided to open up the 10 liter bag-in-box so that we could fill pitchers with wine. Now, we are not virgins at this activity and it's pretty simple. You pull out the spigot, unwrap the piece of plastic seal that keeps the wine from dribbling out while it's stored, tip the box on end and you're ready to go. Hallie worked on this while I went upstairs to put on my party duds.

All of a sudden, I heard her yelling, "Help! Come now!" And so, sporting only my bra and tugging my pants up from half-mast, I flung myself down the stairs.

There she stood, flooded with red wine. Our bag-in-box, taking inspiration from the Ouveze, decided to flow like a river from its broken spigot. Faulty, the whole spout just fell out, spurting out wine that engulfed Hallie, her white top and jeans, plus the plaster wall and tile floor below it. It now smelled like a winery in our house, displacing all the enticing aromas we'd generated earlier. We waded through the rivulets of wine, mopped it all up, dabbed at the badly stained wall, and threw out Hallie's top. Hallie, while righting the box, to stanch the wine's flow, had torn the now soggy cardboard and it was, as our British friends would say, a right mess. I got out packing tape and bandaged the box back together, gave the spigot a mighty shove back in place, and got it in far enough so that we could still, gingerly, dispense adult beverages for our party. Hallie showered, we opened the window to dispel the fumes, and our guests started knocking on the door. They flowed in gently, unlike our wine, in manageable waves and, as we nibbled and noshed, we had a chance to chat, sip a bit of our badly behaved bag-in-box, and appreciate the richness of life in Mollans.