Les Saisons de Rosalie

[Schneier]

I wrote this last May, but figured that it was still relevent enough to post here.

Bruce

*****

VIENNE, FRANCE: This is the kind of thing that I live for when traveling.

We're traveling with two friends, Lee and Melissa. We know them through the Minneapolis wine scene. Two years ago, they were here (in Ampuis near Vienne) in January for the Marche au Vins, the local Cote-Rotie wine sale/festival in the local High School gymnasium. Back then, they discovered a local confiture salesman in the food area associated with the wine festival. He had--although this might have inflated over the years--over 150 different jams, jellies, preserves, and the like. They bought several, including a citron vert that they still tell stories about. After the jar was emptied Melissa carefully saved the hand-lettered-and-photocopied label, hoping to find him again. "Papa Verde," in some town or another near Vienne.

Yesterday we picked up another wine friend from the Lyon train station--he's spending a few weeks in Brussels--and the five of us went off to a wine appointment at the Cote-Rotie producer Jamet. It's hard to get appointments on Saturday, but we managed this one. Afterwards we poked around the town of Condreau for a while, looking for something to do. Melissa took her old faded jar label into the tourist office to try and find out where Papa Verde was.

He lived in a town too far from where we were, but the woman at the tourist office suggested we visit a more local confiture maker: Les Saisons de Rosalie. She gave us a photocopied flyer with a sloppy map. He was in the town of Longes, which was too small to appear on any but our most detailed map, and could only be gotten to by roads similarly small. It didn't seem to far. We decided to go.

The roads were one line and twisty up through the vineyards of Cote-Rotie. Then it leveled out, and we drove through fields and forests. Following the signs was relatively easy, and we only made a wrong turn once. Finally, we were in Longes.

The flyer gave a street name, and amazingly Longes had more than one street. But a handmade wooden sign on the road directed us to Les Saisons de Rosalie.

It was a house. The door was open, but it seemed empty. But a nearby garage looked like the place to go, so we went in. Inside was a pretty showroom filled with little jars. Quickly, a young man came out of his house and joined us. This was Phillipe, who made all the confiture.

I had the best French of anyone--there were five of us, if you're counting--so I handled communications. The mere though of this would reduce anyone who watched me struggle through high-school French to guffaws, but I did reasonably well. He took us into his basement kitchen--"laboratory," he called it--and had us taste his wares. We tasted about two dozen things. I remember four floral jellies: lilac, wisteria, primrose, and local dandilion called pissenlit. He had two grape jellies: syrah and vigionner. He had various fruits. An onion jelly. Rhubarb. More.

Everything was amazingly delicious. We all bought armfuls of the stuff. Phillipe showed us a picture of an awards ceremony where he won some kind of award for his work. In the picture was, he said, the best confiture maker in the world and the best confiture maker in France. He showed us his garden.

I have no idea how many French make the drive to his little garage each week, but it must be enough. I have a strong appreciation where a jelly maker, living in the middle of nowhere, living in a town not even on the way to anywhere, can practice his craft, win awards, and build a career. He said he would be willing to send us stuff by mail if we sent him a fax, although clearly he didn't do this kind of thing regularly. He doesn't even have a consistent product line; it changes with the seasons and as he experiments.

Rosalie was his grandmother. I asked.

And while we leave France on Monday, Lee and Melissa are heading towards Switzerland. They're going to pass nearby Papa Verde's town.

Bruce

[Bux]

Whenever we come to the conclusion that France isn't what it used to be, we catch a glimpse like this one and realize it still is, at least in isolated spots. Disappearing as the artisanal food crafts may be, the intensity in France is still unmatched in the US.

[Schneier]

Yep. And that sort of chance encounter is why I still love to travel in France, even after going again and again and again.

Bruce

[Schneier]

I am working on a deal to ship some of his confiture into the U.S.

Is anyone interested?

Bruce

[menton1]

I love French confitures! These sound wonderful-- the ones I have had are much more intense than in the US. My favorite flavor is groseilles. Count me in.

[Hank]

Definitely interested and ready to give you an order.

Hank