After exploring a couple of vineyards in the Pecharment and Monbazillac regions during our fall visit, we were ready to visit some of the adjacent vintners on our second trip to the Dordogne. In early March, we visited two wineries in the Bergerac AOP, producing a variety of whites, rosés and reds.

It was nearing the end of the slow season and the rows of expectant vines were dotted with yellow wildflowers. It was an idyllic day with temperatures hovering just below 70 degrees Fahrenheit and clear-blue skies. The timing of our visit was fortuitous. Incessant late-winter rains caused widespread flooding throughout the region just a couple weeks earlier. By the time we arrived, there had been lots of sun and mild weather to help dry everything out and kick off the growing season. We were also, fortunately, ahead of the string of heat waves that have battered the southwest this year.

Our first stop was Chateau de la Jaubertie, a beautiful historic estate on the edge of the Bergerac AOP. The elegant white chateau sitting at its center was the hunting lodge of King Henry IV, which he gifted to his mistress. During the French Revolution, it was the home of Marie Antoinette’s personal doctor, which was then gifted to — you guessed it — his mistress. It has been the home of the Ryman family since 1973 and is not open to the public, but the chateau is close to the tasting room so you can get a fairly close-up view of its elegant facade.

As you park near the gates to the estate and the tasting room, you turn to take in the vista of neatly tended vines that stretch to the horizon. Jaubertie achieved organic certification in 2008. Their white grape varieties are familiar to lovers of Bordeaux wines — Sauvignon Blanc, Sémillon, Muscadelle, Chardonnay and a newer plot of Chenin Blanc. The red varietals are Merlot, Malbec, Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon and two historic regional grapes — Mérille and Der Servadou.

Such a water-logged spring was no doubt hard on the vines and the blisteringly hot summer will pose even greater challenges. But on that day in March, no one was talking about heat domes or 100-degree weather. It was a great day to taste wines. Like the other Bergerac wineries we have visited, tasting is free and generous.

Our charming hostess poured us pretty much anything we wanted to try from their wide portfolio. Their tasting room felt homey with wine barrels for tables, beautiful old stone walls, and large windows facing out over the vines. They also had a welcoming courtyard, which I’m sure gets lots of action in the summer. Since we had an appointment for another tasting later in the afternoon, we had to behave ourselves. Actually, I should clarify that my husband Richard was responsible as he was driving and I was, well, less so.

The southwest is mostly known for its reds, but I really love their whites. The Mirabelle Blanc is 85 percent Sauvignon Blanc and 15 percent Sémillon aged in French oak barrels for a year. The oak adds a richness without overwhelming the flintiness of its long finish. It’s 17€ a bottle. I also really enjoyed their natural white, Les Cépages Oubliés Blanc, which is 40 percent of both Sémillon and Sauvignon Blanc blended with 20 percent Chenin Blanc. It was fresh, light, fruity, and an all-to-easy drinking summer wine. It was also just 9.50€ which to this American is rather mind-blowing. The Tradition Rosé is a blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon and a perfect picnic wine for 8.50€ (they also make a sparkling version) . We bought a bottle of each to take back to our rental.

Of the reds we tried, the standout was the Mirabelle Rouge, which is equal parts Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot blended with 10 percent Cabernet Franc aged in French oak for 18 months. At 17€, it offers up the rich black fruit and leather notes you associate with a Bordeaux Rouge without the price tag.

In addition to their free tastings, Jaubertie offers 45-minute vineyard tours with tasting for 5€, picnics with a bottle of wine for 20€ per person, and tasting menus for groups of 10 or more that need to be reserved in advance. They also have accommodations on site if you would like to linger among the vines.

Knowing we needed to cut ourselves off, we had a little time to kill until our next appointment and so we ventured into Issigeac. It was a lovely ghost town of charming medieval facades in early March. The tasteful shop windows featuring pricey home goods hinted at the summer tourists and seasonal residents that would soon fill the streets. The most active resident we saw that afternoon was a insouciant cat supervising the high street from a thick stone windowsill.

We capped off a lovely day with a paired tasting in the cellar of nearby Vignoble des Verdots. Regarded as one of the best wineries in the region, esteemed winemaker David Fourtout sold Verdots to Icelandic businessman Robert Wessman in 2021. The winery is a crown jewel in the burgeoning Maison Wessman brand. The buildings are by and large modern and if you’re looking for a traditional-looking chateau you may be disappointed. If you’re looking for exceptional wine and food, you definitely won’t be sorry you visited.

Wessman has big ambitions for Bergerac wines and has invested millions in initiatives such as an on-site restaurant with famed chef Thierry Marx, which was closed for the season when we visited. The restaurant recently received Bib Gourmand recognition in the Michelin Guide. There’s an unmissable photo of musician Norah Jones in the tasting room.She’s a part-owner of the estate, selected and promoted a special line of rosés and crémants, and closed her European tour with a private concert on the grounds last summer. That must have been a hell of a party.

The investment particularly showed in the beautiful tasting room and cellar. The attention to detail and quality of every aspect of our tasting was really a step above anything we’ve experienced outside of Chiesa Del Carmine in Umbria. The small bites and wine were both superb and at 22€ per person it was an insane bargain.

Our sommelier host, Mathilde, typically did not do the English-language tasting but she did such an excellent job that we brought visiting friends back a week later and asked for her. Despite her initial hesitancy, her English was much better than my French and we had no problem communicating. We appreciated that she stepped outside her comfort zone to accommodate us as we made our request for a tasting less than 24 hours before our desired time.

Mathilde led us down to the cool cellar lined with barrels. In the center of the massive room there was a grate. Looking down, you could see the cool water of the Verdot River flowing underneath our feet. It’s the perfect setting for a wine cellar.

The cellar tasting room comfortably seats around 8 to 10 people at a high-top table. The pairing featured six wines from Maison Wessman, starting with two Verdots bottlings of Bergerac Blanc Sec, crisp blends of Sauvignon Blanc and Sauvignon Gris that were paired with a perfect bite of trout and a poached pear. The 2019 Bergerac Rouge from their nearby Saint-Cernin vineyard was a lovely Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon blend paired with an exquisite morsel of foie gras with a spiced pear gelée. The cheese course was paired with a Cotes de Berg Rouge that added Cabernet Franc to the blend. A Wessman One Champagne with apple tart was the start of the sweet pairings.

Mathilde offered us the choice of their brut rosé or an aged Monbazillac for our final pairing with chocolate. I’m very glad we chose the Monbazillac. We took several bottles away with us, but bought two bottles of the 24-year sweet wine made from grapes grown nearby. We recently opened that bottle to share with friends and all the incredible flavor memories of dried apricot and vanilla were a beautiful reminder of that afternoon. To me, it was just as delicious as a premium Sauternes and at 65€ for a 750 ml bottle, it was another exceptional bargain.

A week later, we were back with our friends Jan and Jim and they had thoughtfully shifted the wines sampled, putting more emphasis on whites with different small bites. Once again, it was a wonderful experience.

The bottles we especially liked were Chateau les Tours des Verdots Blanc Sec 2023, which sells for 13.50€. The Grand Vin version was more refined, but I honestly liked the opening price point one better as I see it as an easy summer sipper. Of the reds, the Saint-Cernin Rouge 2019 was deliciously mellow on the palate with a nuance and balance that set it apart from other Bergerac Rouges we have tried at 25€. For a Bergerac wine, that’s a bit on the pricey side (but still not expensive) and although I really enjoyed the Jaubertie wines, these were a step up to my inexpert palate.

Vignoble des Verdots is now on our list of places to return again and again. Like Jaubertie, they have on-site accommodations if you would like to linger among the vines. The next time, we’ll also stop at Fourtout’s new estate, Chateau Les Monderys, which he opened in 2021 practically across the street from Verdots.

Given the wines we have tasted over two months of wandering the Dordogne, I’d say Robert Wessman’s belief in the potential of Bergerac wines is well deserved.

Friday evening, I opened one of those bottles.

One of those bottles that has sat on a shelf in our basement for years, a souvenir from a long-ago vacation in Napa Valley.

It was a BV Pinot Noir from 2010 and, honestly, we weren’t sure how well it had aged. I think it was a combination of forgetting it existed and a few times where we had grabbed it but thought that it was too good to enjoy with what we were making for dinner. And so it lingered, quietly reeling in the years.

Everyone who loves wine has those bottles.

We own a wine shop and so we get to know a lot of wine lovers. Some are regulars who sit on our couch to share a glass and talk wine with us. We also work with a fair number of distributor reps who regularly come in with bottles to try. Some of these (almost always) guys become friends who occasionally pull out the Coravin and pour us a taste of the “good stuff” that we both know is way beyond the price range of our customers. They usually have great wine collections of their own and they, too, have those bottles waiting for the right moment.

So when one of our favorite wine reps had a Spanish Wine sampling scheduled at the store, we invited him to come to our house afterward along with four regulars who have become friends.

Three of us brought one of those bottles to the party.

Luckily, the BV had stood up well. So had the Rioja and Napa Cabernet that were contributed to the night. They were the spoils of long-ago vacations, just waiting to bring back memories.

Nearly six hours went by on our terrace, appreciating and discussing the wines, snacking on the Tortilla Espanola that Richard had made along with olives, Spanish chorizo, and chunks of Manchego cheese. It was a gorgeous evening, warm, slightly breezy, and lit with fireflies.

After we finished the reds, Richard brought out the 24-year-old Monbazillac from Vignoble des Verdots that we had brought back in our suitcase from France in March. I was surprised, but then I knew he was right. What were we saving it for? Who better to enjoy it? Heavy with jammy apricot and vanilla with just the right level of sweetness, it tasted so much better on our terrace with friends than it did at Verdots’ tasting cellar in France. And it tasted pretty damned terrific there.

Feeling generous and adventurous, we pulled out the Takamine 17-Year-Old Japanese Koji Whiskey. We guard that bad boy like the Ark of the Covenant. There aren’t many bottles left in distribution. I don’t have a lot of experience with whiskey, but it’s the best that I’ve ever tasted. Drinking it is like biting into a perfect layer cake — with coconut, caramel, banana, and baking spices building one upon the other into a smooth, rich, and balanced finish. It just keeps coming and coming.

To cap the evening, we shared small pours of the Chartreuse VEP Green. We got six bottles of it three years ago when Chartreuse was nearly impossible to get (it still isn’t easy around here). We were expecting the regular bottles when these pricey wooden boxes showed up. They sold surprisingly quickly. One bottle went on the back bar of our finer dining restaurant to sell by the $60 shot. We closed the restaurant at the end of 2024, and that partial bottle came home with me. I had only dipped into it a couple of times over the last couple of years because it felt too decadent to drink that by myself at home. If you love Chartreuse, the aged stuff is all those herbal, lightly sweet flavors on mellow, soul-warming steroids. Sharing it with appreciative friends made it taste so much better.

A couple of nights later, sharing our experience with good friends who had us over for dinner, our hostess mentioned a bottle she has been carrying with her on every move for over a decade. It was sitting in the laundry room. Inspired, she opened it for us … It will make great wine vinegar. That’s the thing: Don’t hold onto those bottles too long. Memories fade. So does most wine.

I learned a lot about wine and spirits that evening on our terrace. The primary lesson being that they only come alive when you’re sharing them with friends and family who appreciate the experience. It seems so obvious, but it’s also too easy to forget. Wine and spirits are meant to be shared, to inspire connections and conversations, to be drank.

We have bottles sitting on the shelves from trips to Portugal, Spain, Italy, and France. There’s still a bottle of Iron Horse sitting down there from our visit in 2014. None of them are particularly expensive or rare, but that doesn’t matter.

The pleasure of a good wine and a good story are among the best gifts you can share. I intend to empty our wine cellar and home bar by the time we move to France next fall.

It may be the most enjoyable goal I’ve ever set for myself.

On the day we left Perigueux, Mother Nature was at her finest. It was warm, sunny, and it seemed everyone and their dog was out basking in the glow as we walked from the city center to the train station.

At home in Wisconsin, seven inches of heavy wet snow had dropped on the landscape the day before. Needless to say, I wasn’t very excited about making my way home.

We spent two weeks in Perigueux at the beginning of March, trying to decide if this might be a place where we could settle in. We decided that life in a smaller village was more our style, but it’s not because Perigueux lacks charm. Quite the contrary, this small city of around 30,000 is packed with history, beautiful architecture, a large and excellent market, and some fantastic restaurants.

An Overlooked Gem

Some small French cities seem to get a lot of attention. Perigueux isn’t one of them. Maybe that’s a good thing. It doesn’t feel as touristy as other Dordogne destinations such as Sarlat or Bergerac. The medieval center is compact and easy to navigate, filled with pretty shops, cafés, and restaurants. It’s also easy to get there. From Paris, we took the train to Bordeaux and picked up a connection to Perigueux. The station is an easy 15-minute walk from the city center. We took a slower train directly back to Charles De Gaulle Airport on our way home.

The center is dominated by the magnificent Saint-Front Cathedral, its ornate Byzantine rooftop rising over the west bank of the Isle River. The cathedral is located on land that has been home to a church in one form or another since the fourth or fifth century. The interior is austere, majestic and definitely worth your time. The Templar crosses imbedded in the walls speak to its place on the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage route.

The city center, thick with medieval and Renaissance buildings, nestles around the Cathedral. Stopping for a glass of wine at one of the cafés lining the Place de la Clautre is a beautiful way to end the day. We must have had a beatific look on our faces as we enjoyed our wine one warm(ish) evening as a French woman stopped to chat with us, commenting on the weather, quickly switching to English when she realized we were tourists with very mediocre French skills. It was a lovely conversation to cap a beautiful day.

Bustling Market Town

The Place de la Clautre is also the setting for Perigueux’s year-round Wednesday and Saturday markets. In early March, there was no shortage of delicious choices from white asparagus and colorful radishes to sublime Arcachon oysters, tantalizing pastries and bread, and all kinds of edible delights. Just thinking about the strawberries that must burst out of summer stalls brought a wistful smile.

The fois gras market in Saint Louis Square was about at its end by early March, but I imagine that along with the truffle market it’s a great place to visit around Christmas. In addition, Perigueux’s Christmas Market is supposed to be among the best in the region. I can’t wait to return in December to experience all the culinary delights the Perigord offers.

Dining in the City Center

We arrived in Perigueux on a Monday and not surprisingly many restaurants were closed. But thanks to Google, we stumbled upon a little place that soon became our favorite stop for lunch and a light dinner. Simone is an adorable little restaurant that was located just down the block from our rental, near Saint Louis Square. It specializes in creative sandwiches nestled between mouthwateringly delicious focaccia. They offer dinner service Thursday through Saturday with a nice selection of tapas including some really delicious crispy shell duck tacos. Be warned that the servings are large! We were regulars, visiting four times over two weeks. We had our lunch at Simone before we headed to the train station on the last day of our stay. The sweet server, who seemed to always be there hustling between tables, wrapped up some of that beautiful focaccia and gave it to us as a gift as we left. It made the train ride to Paris so much better.

For a finer dining experience, Restaurant Oxalis is truly exceptional. Honestly, having spent two months in France over the last six months, we had better meals here than we had in Paris or Bordeaux (and we had excellent meals in both cities). Lunch at Oxalis is truly an outstanding deal with entrée, plat, and dessert for 25 euros or two courses for 20 euros. We were so bowled over by our lunch that we brought friends for dinner a week later. Five courses, including a raviolo in morel sauce, was just 55 euros. This is more fusion than traditional French cuisine. The chef truly excels with vegetables and the chicken dish I had for lunch is the single best thing I’ve had in France. It is among several Perigueux restaurants listed on the Michelin website and deservedly so. I’m betting it gets awarded a Bib Gourmand notation soon. It fully deserves it.

Café Louise has received a Bib Gourmand notation on its Michelin listing for the last two years. This a relatively new program from Michelin and we’ve found these recommendations to be excellent both in Portugal and France. While the starred establishments are often too elaborate and pricey for us, this level of recommendation indicates quality and value. Café Louise definitely provides both. They offer Perigordine twists on Italian cuisine like foie stuffed ravioli. Delicious food, lovely dining room, and excellent service. They do not have a website, so be prepared to call for a reservation or stop by in person after shopping the market like we did. They have a sister restaurant across the square serving pizza, which we didn’t try but it looked to be very popular with the locals. The prices for the lunch and dinner fixed menus were similar to Oxalis, making them a great deal.

Outstanding Wine Bars

While we were in Bordeaux, we stopped for a glass of wine at La Cave du Chateau, an outstanding wine shop that served a few selections by the glass. When we mentioned we were spending time in Perigueux, the owner got excited and told us that we had to visit La Cour Des Vins. This is definitely a spot where you will want a reservation. Their wine bar toward the back of their wine-packed store is open starting at 6 pm Thursday through Saturday. You need to call or stop by and make a reservation. We were lucky to get slid in as they opened on a Saturday night before the crowd arrived for a limited window, which was plenty of time for us. The wine selection is astounding and their little kitchen offers outstanding French cheeses and delicious Spanish charcuterie. Their truffled grilled cheese sandwich and foie gras paté were highlights.

Just across the alley from our rental, Le Chai Bordin was another delightful, more homey wine bar/shop that doesn’t take reservations so we had better luck. It seemed to be busy every night and, unfortunately, their outdoor wine barrels on the street were popular (and rather loud) until late most nights of the week. But we can’t fault the team for that and, honestly, you need to expect that if you stay in any city center. If you’re looking for wonderful recommendations, reasonable prices, and some basic snacks good for sharing it’s a great choice.

On our first visit to Perigueux in the fall, we stopped at a little spot called Ave Maria for a simple lunch and glass of wine. It’s a pretty spot with an outdoor courtyard (it was too cold during both visits to enjoy it). It’s a combination bistro, wine and cocktail bar with a friendly, attentive staff. We had a long conversation with a server in the fall, who was a charming spokesperson for the city. When we returned four months later, we were shocked that they recognized us a greeted us warmly. It’s an elegant little spot for a bite and a cocktail, not far from the always busy Watson’s Pub, which was a favorite spot for my friend Jan and I to quench our Gin & Tonic cravings.

A Vist to Roman Ruins

Before it was Perigueux, this city was a Roman town called Vesunna. Founded around 16 B.C. after the conquest of Gaul by Julius Cesar, the town had a forum and an amphitheater. One of the few partially standing remainders is the Tour de Vesoné on the grounds of the Vesunna Gallo-Roman Museum. The museum is perched on the remains of a large, elaborate villa that likely belonged to a rich, aristocratic family. The villa and other remains of the Roman garrison were discovered by an archeological excavation conducted before a construction project in 1959.

We wandered around the museum, admiring the artifacts, mosaics, and foundations on a chilly, rainy Sunday. Like other French museums we have visited, everything was presented both beautifully and thoughtfully. It’s easy to while away a couple hours here admiring the stonework, the artistry, and the ingenuity of the Romans living in ancient Gaul.

Walking back toward the City Center on that quiet Sunday, we encountered crowds of happy families with children and dogs in costumes, colorful confetti scatted on the cobbled streets, and the remnants of tents that had been erected for the city’s annual Carnival. Unlike the bacchanal in New Orleans, this was a homespun, family-friendly afternoon event.

It seemed fitting. Perigueux doesn’t feel dipped in amber to be served up for tourists as a medieval Disneyland. Despite having better restaurants and a bigger market, it’s cheaper to rent an AirBnb in Perigueux than Sarlat. Nothing against Sarlat, which we love for its own many charms, but Perigueux is something different. It’s a living, breathing, beautifully French city that is definitely worth your time.

Confession here, I’m an over-planner. Educating myself about a place before I visit is something I enjoy, but on that first trip all the advice I found on Facebook, YouTube, and Substack had me nervously buying stuff I didn’t need and harboring a weird vision of the French as formal and chilly.

So, here’s the thing: The French are just … normal people. They are more like us than different.

For example, the bonjour thing that is drummed into your head about entering a store. As a shopkeeper in the United States, I can tell you that I get more than a little annoyed when I’m standing at the counter and people walk in without acknowledging my existence. It’s demeaning, like you’re the help that’s supposed to be seen and not heard. If you’re going into any store, anywhere, without acknowledging the person standing in front you are rude. That’s not a French peculiarity. Same goes with please and thank you. If you’re not doing that, your mamma didn’t raise you right.

On the other hand, walking around saying “bonjour, madame” or “bonjour, monsieur” to everyone you pass will have people looking at you like you’re weird or a tourist who has watched too many videos. If you make eye contact, saying hello with a little smile is great. Yes, you can smile. Walking around and saying hello to everyone you pass is just as weird in France as it is in the States. But if you make eye contact? Acknowledge them!

Also, would you just go up and pet someone’s dog without talking to the owner first? I love dogs, but you don’t pet an animal unless the situation feels right and the owner is cool with it. We were sitting in a wine bar in Bordeaux next to a couple with a gorgeous Shiba Inu. It was hard to take our eyes off that beautiful pup. After a while, a natural conversation evolved. Like Americans, the French love their dogs. By the time we left, we were exchanging emails and getting a list of their favorite restaurants in town.

Over the years, we have had so many customers tell us that the French are rude, servers are lazy, customer service is awful, and so on. Those tropes get repeated on social media ad nauseam.

Have they been to the same country as we have?

Like New York, Paris is a very different place from the rest of the country. To this visitor, Parisians and New Yorkers have a lot in common. They’re busy. They’re hustling to make a living in an expensive city that’s filled with clueless tourists. They don’t necessarily go out of their way, but they typically aren’t actively nasty, either. You will find exceptions, of course. I have unfortunately had employees who were rude to customers, too, in a city of 60,000 in Wisconsin. Some people are just inpatient or have lousy attitudes. That’s the human condition and not unique to France.

In fact, in two months living in southwest France I really can’t think of any examples of French people being rude to us. Quite the opposite, actually. I would start conversations in my toddler-level French and most of the time the person would offer to switch to English if they felt comfortable. That isn’t snobbishness. That’s kindness. Tell them that you appreciate it and that their English is good and apologize that your French isn’t. People like feeling appreciated.

And work on your French. When I was conversing with someone who couldn’t speak English, my crappy French usually got the message across and I am indebted to their patience. I know I need to improve and will continue working hard on it.

We went to a great little sandwich restaurant next to our rental in Perigueux four times in two weeks. The food was fantastic, the server was a sweet guy, and I made a point of writing a positive Google review. The next time we came in, he thanked me with a big smile. The last time we came in for lunch, on the day we were leaving town, we told him how much we enjoyed our experience. As we checked out, he cut off and wrapped a slice of their incredible focaccia and handed it to me. “It’s a gift,” he said.

We had a similar experience with a sommelier during a tasting at a Bergerac winery. She didn’t usually do the English-language tastings, but she made a go of it. She assumed we were English and when I somewhat sheepishly said we were Americans, her response was, “I love Americans!” We brought friends a week later and requested Mathilde. She had spent time in the States and Canada. She was curious about Portugal, so I shared photos from our trip to the Duoro region a couple years ago. I expressed some reservations about my country, and this lovely young French woman put her hand on mine and basically said that it’s a beautiful land and that things will get better. I almost cried. As we left after the second visit, she gave me a very unexpected hug.

The shopkeepers and servers who remembered us from our first visit, three months earlier, were a pleasant surprise. Smiles and handshakes. Not at all what I was expecting after all the “rules” about interacting with the reserved French that I read.

Thoughtfulness and gratitude are magic wands. They opens doors. Being open and a little vulnerable helps, too. Trying to contort yourself into a different shape to “fit in” isn’t worth it. You’re not French. They will pick up on that in short order. You know what? It’s okay.

I was struck by the consistency of what I heard over and over from Americans who have made a home in France: The French don’t care what clothes you wear, what car you drive, or how much money you make. They care what kind of person you are and if you measure up, they will be there for you.

Sadly, that may be the biggest difference between our two cultures.

Tell me a story.

To me, that’s a huge part of what makes wine special. We drink with our eyes, nose, and mouth, but many of us also drink with our minds.

I can picture the vines throughout the season as they transition from barren to burgeoning to redolent with fruit. I think of the passionate winemakers I have met, often working the family farm with the help of parents, spouses and kids. None of them have been laid-back, to say the least. The energy and focus they infuse into their wines is an important component of the complexity and depth that the best wines bring to the table.

The most effective wine salespeople from the distributers we work with are storytellers. I look forward to their visits, not just for the opportunity to taste wine, but to hear what is exciting them at the moment. What stories make their eyes light up as they pour a glass? Have they been to the region or perhaps met the winemaker?

One recent afternoon, we had three wine reps in our shop at the same time by chance and it was a blast. They know and respect each other and were having just as much fun as we were trying each other’s wines and sharing the stories. I marvel at their abilities to memorize details and knowledge.

When you fall in love with wine, it seems you fall hard.

I have had the luck of getting to work with distillers, winemakers, chocolatiers, and coffee roasters, in particular, who have the fervor of novitiates. In each case, the terroir, the climate, the varietals and the farmers all play a role in the story. Then there is the imagination of the person that takes raw material and refines it into a work of art, whether it’s a beautiful glass of wine, divine truffle, or life-affirming cup of joe.

Before opening our wine shop, I had a career first as a journalist and then in public relations and marketing. One of my favorite consulting experiences was working with an extraordinary chocolatier, Gail Ambrosius. Gail changed careers in her forties from mapmaking to crafting exquisite single-origin dark chocolate truffles.

She hired me to do public relations and write copy for her packaging and website, which led to one of the most memorable days of my life. I sat down with Gail and tasted around two dozen truffles with her one afternoon. I was writing flavor descriptions and the person who could give me the best insight was Gail herself.

Unlike me, Gail is skinny as a rail and the positive energy practically bounces off her. She would cut each truffle in half as we went through the assortment, hand me one half, and pop the other half in her mouth, eyes widening. The phrase I heard just about every time? “Ooh, this is one of my favorites …” Then she would tell me about how the flavor had come to her in a dream or some memory that sparked an idea. She would talk about where the beans came from and the farmers she had met on her travels. The tea she found to enhance the blueberry flavor. The cherries from Door County, Wisconsin. And so it went. Chocolate has never tasted as good before or since.

I will say after eating the equivalent of a dozen dark chocolate truffles in one sitting that my digestive system was less inspired. Unlike wine, tasting and spitting chocolate didn’t seem like an option. Not that I wanted to at the time, I have to admit.

About three years ago, a couple came into our shop after the downtown farmer’s market and asked about selling their coffee beans in our shop. It soon became apparent that Ryan Rouse and Sheryl Rosa of Nordskov Coffee had that fervor, too. You could taste it. In just a few years, they have grown their business and now have partnerships with restaurants, breweries, and shops around the region. They have a devoted following and when they do pop-ups at our shop in the winter the place is jammed.

Like Gail, when we first met them they brought in their products for us to taste (we taste everything we carry before it goes on the shelves). They, too, had that fire in their eyes as they talked about how they selected and roasted coffee. It was like being plugged into a light socket. It was, and is, delightful.

My digestive system, however, had a similar reaction to trying a lot of coffees.

We recently visited their new facility for making cold brew in larger batches and providing education on brewing a perfect cup at home. Like Gail, they remain committed to controlling their business growth to ensure they keep a hand in every aspect of production. They, like Gail, understand that to their customers the brand and the people behind it are intrinsically entwined.

When I go into the grocery store, I’m surrounded by big brands selling the very same things we sell at Lark Market. Most of them are serviceable to good. Too often, they’re pumped full of preservatives to extend shelf life and chemicals to stoke desire for that next bite. I’m lucky to have had the privilege of tasting the difference between the passion of small makers and grocery-store brands. I also appreciate that it’s an experience that often comes with a higher price tag. But for many who stop into our shop, price isn’t the foremost issue. It’s exposure. Many people simply don’t know what they’re missing. One of the best parts of my job is sharing a great bottle that’s a good value from a winery they’re never heard of and having them come through my door again, looking for the next discovery.

Once you get addicted to consuming stories, faceless becomes tasteless.

After five mostly sunny and pleasantly warm fall days in Paris, the weather turned rainy as we started our train trip to Bordeaux and then caught a connection to Sarlat-la-Caneda.

The wind was wild and rain lashed against the train windows in fits and starts. The car slowly emptied as the trip continued … Libourne, Castillion, Bergerac, Lalinde, Le Buisson … it seemed as if the skies opened up every time people disembarked. I watched people scurry for cover, struggling to pull roller bags across the tracks. Sometimes there was a small station and shelter, sometimes not.

The rain let up as we got closer to Sarlat and the magnificent castles and wide rivers of the Perigord Noir floated by our windows in a dreamlike blur. As we rolled into the station, the rain began falling steadily but the winds were thankfully lighter. It was a relief that our host, Nathalie, offered to pick us up at the station.

Nathalie was a compact whirlwind of energy, apologizing for the dog hair in her car, her English, the weather … As a couple with four cats and a dog, we aren’t exactly persnickety types. Her English was great. My French is embarrassing but improving. She also took us back to the train station at the end of our stay, her trunk full of cat food cans for all the strays she feeds. A true kindred spirit.

She gave us a quick tour after letting us into the little 14th century house on the edge of the medieval center that was to be our home for the next three weeks. The first floor was composed of an eat-in kitchen, laundry room, and a lovely bathroom with a spacious shower. Up a narrow, winding wooden staircase was the living room. A bedroom was nestled under the eaves on the third floor floor with a large closet on one end and a toilet and sink tucked into what would have been the other closet. That toilet was a godsend, although it was the rare occasion when I appreciated being just under five foot three inches tall. My husband, Richard, practically had a permanent dent in his forehead from repeatedly banging into the doorframe in the middle of the night.

We came to Sarlat to see if it might be a place we could call home in retirement. Richard was sold by the second day. I had, and still have, some reservations. The city center is gorgeous with its honey-hued buildings, byzantine alleys, wide open squares, and narrow streets. It is also packed with little shops that scream tourist (how many foie shops do you need on the same block?) and has a reputation for being overrun in the summer. It was still busy in late October as kids were off for school holiday, but far from over-crowded.

The rain rarely let up that first week. Mostly, it was a soft, misty rain reminiscent of Ireland. It was in the fifties most afternoons, so jacket or sweater weather for this Wisconsin gal, although many locals were already sporting their puffer jackets.

The first evening was about finding the local necessities on foot including the Carrefour Express and La Calabre, the tiny mom-and-pop pizza place just down the street that was tasty and very handy. The next day, we set out in the rain to try out some of the many places we had been researching online. What looked like a long ways away on Google Maps was really an easy seven-minute walk to Maison Lissajoux, an elegant café and boulangerie with exquisite baguettes and pastries. The bespectacled manager at the counter looked like Alton Brown’s French cousin. He got used to the sight of us, quickly and kindly (for both of us) switching to English after hearing my clumsy attempts in French. One afternoon, we took lovely shelter during a downpour with cups of chocolate chaud and chocolatines (the Perigord word for pain au chocolat).

As foodies, the lure of wine, cheese, and duck in its many forms were one of the primary draws of Sarlat and the Dordogne region in general. We weren’t disappointed. Wisconsinites are known as “cheeseheads” and in our case, it’s apt. We are cheese freaks to the point of having attended a two-day “cheese boot camp” in New York City a couple years ago. Finding a great little cheese shop is a treat and Chez Pierro didn’t disappoint. The cheesemonger pointed us to a mild, local goat-milk blue and I couldn’t resist the Italian gorgonzola that looked more like butter than cheese. Speaking of, we bought locally made butter there with nuggets of sea salt studding the beautiful churned cream. Richard became a fan of Langres, a washed-rind cow’s milk cheese from the Champagne region. On our next visit, we’ll know to pour some champagne or brandy into its concave top as is the tradition.

In 2018, we spent a week in Mauvezin, a small village in the Gers, and were bowled over by the local butcher shop with its house-made sausages and beautiful selection of meat and poultry. Where we live, you could only find a shop like that in a large city. In France, it’s commonplace. In Sarlat, that shop was Gbs Boucherie Charcuterie on Avenue Gambetta. We were like kids in a candy store picking out paté-en-croute studded with pistachio and truffle, Sarlandaise potatoes, and duck breast. Down the street was the wine shop Cavavin, whose owner pointed us to some outstanding local bottles, most of which were around 10€. We also got excellent wine guidance at Le Chai Bordin and Julien de Savignac, all in the medieval village center.

Sarlat is known for having one the largest markets in France and it really is wonderful, even during cool, rainy fall days. The Wednesday market is centered around the main square and a few adjoining streets and focuses on food. The Saturday market is larger and includes clothes, garden tools, hats, and pretty much anything else you can think of. We became addicted to the rich, black, briny Nicoise olives and the truffled olive tapenade from the always-busy olive stand. Another favorite was the couple selling paella and roasted chicken with the most heavenly potatoes, roasting underneath the rotisserie chicken, I have ever enjoyed. Seriously, I’m looking forward to coming back just for those potatoes. There are a lot of duck products, of course, truffles in the winter, strawberries in the summer, walnuts, and beautiful veggies. It’s notoriously packed in the summer, but while busy it was manageable while we were there. It was great inspiration to cook.

One night, Richard made pasta from locally made noodles, dried morels from the indoor Old St. Mary’s Indoor Market (open 8:30 am - 1 pm seven days a week), Parmesan picked up at Chez Pierro, and local cream and butter. Not health food, but good lord … he tried to replicate it at home and it was a disappointment. Nothing beats French butter, especially the stuff you pick up at the cheese shop.

We found our favorite places. There was Les Merveilleux for an espresso and croissant or an afternoon chai latte and my introduction to Banoffee pie. Chez Michel was just down the street from our rental, run by a lovely family, with an exceptional lunch menu and great coffee and pastries in the morning. And La Table D’Ezra, which blew us away with their fixed-price menu that featured duck, of course, and a walnut tart with warm créme anglaise that I’m still dreaming about. We ended up returning to all of these places multiple times. It’s worth doing your research when dining out in Sarlat as there are plenty of restaurants catering to tourists in the city center that will disappoint. But the good ones are wonderful.

We fell particularly hard for Ezra with two always-smiling, hard-working servers who were there busting their tails six days a week. It was a local hangout I loved to see how the French shrug their shoulders about bringing dogs into restaurants. There were three parties with dogs dining in Ezra, the dining room seats about 40 inside at most, on the last night we visited. One old pup occasionally wandered down the narrow aisles between tables. He wasn’t begging or causing any issues. Nobody cared. Like many restaurants in the area in tourist towns, it appears that Ezra is temporarily closed for the slow season. I hope they enjoy a well-deserved rest.

As the owner of a small wine and cheese shop in a small city six times the size of Sarlat, I was struck by how different it is in the States. We stock exceptional but affordable wines from small, usually family-owned wineries from around the world and artisanal local cheeses. We struggle to compete with the four large grocery chains that hug the Interstate. I can see the flowering of that phenomenon in Sarlat. At the edge of town there are American-style supermarkets like Intermarché and E. Leclerc and their parking lots are full. While I understand the appeal and cost benefit, I hope towns like Sarlat don’t lose their wonderful neighborhood cheesemongers, butchers, and bakers. In general, shops like these only exist in metro areas in the States. It’s one of the reasons we’re drawn to France.

We spent a fair amount of time exploring outside of Sarlat as well. We visited some of the Dordogne’s prehistoric caves, historic chateaus and gardens. We drove around its gorgeous countryside, the towering trees golden under occasionally azure skies. It’s hauntingly beautiful and also very rural. There are so many charming little medieval villages lined with beautiful stone houses. It seems so romantic at first blush and we pondered that life, but quickly realized that may be a little too sleepy for us. So we’re returning in sleepy mid-February to spend a few weeks in Perigueux, the region’s capital city of about 30,000 inhabitants. It charmed us on a too-brief afternoon visit, so it merits a longer stay. We’re also returning because we made friends while we were there. The Americans living in the area opened their arms and homes to us and we look forward to seeing them again soon.

In the meantime, I’m working hard on my French and dreaming of French butter.

It’s been about a month since we returned to Wisconsin from France. As I look out of the shop window, the park pavilion sits under a foot of snow. It’s bitter cold. The bike someone left behind our wine shop looks like an ice sculpture.

The wines at Chateau Grangey that we bought in early November, surrounded by golden vines under gray skies, just arrived. Pulling the bottles out of the box brought back memories of warmer fall days and one beautiful glass of wine after another.

We ended our month in France with three days in Bordeaux, one of which was spent on a sommelier-led tour of Saint Emilion and two nearby wineries. When given the chance, we prefer to visit small family wineries off the beaten path that produce wines we couldn’t access at home. This tour didn’t disappoint.

Neither winery had the grand chateaux that attract tourists. Their tasting rooms and wineries were modest — working farms, really. There was nothing ostentatious about them. They were all about the wine. I love when you get to hang out with small winemakers who aren’t in it to get on supermarket shelves. Their passion and commitment is nothing less than inspiring.

Chateau Clos Systey hosted us for a lunch of home-made leek soup, cheese and charcuterie, a tour, and, of course, a tasting. Founded in 2015 by oenologist Sylvia Dulong and Stéphan Grawitz, this two-hectare vineyard of biodynamically cultivated vines produces a Grand Cru as well as a fresher, fruitier Merlot/Cabernet blend fermented in stainless steel. The chateau is now run by Sylvia’s daughter Fanny and her husband Juan Moretti, as well as Fanny’s brothers, Paul and Adrien. On the day of our visit, Sylvia led our tour as Fanny and Juan were delayed with a doctor’s appointment for their young son.

Sylvia fretted about her English, but she conveyed her passion for producing exceptional wine using biodynamic principles beautifully. We sampled the 2015 Saint Emilion Grand Cru, a barrel-aged blend of Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon and Cabernet Franc, and the 2023 S by Systey. I will admit to being more old-school in my taste and while the S was good for a fresher style of wine, we preferred Sylvia’s Grand Cru. It was elegant and complex with black fruit and peppery notes. A bottle went home in our suitcase. They also make a crémant with grapes grown off-site, but we didn’t have an occasion to try it.

Sylvie is a pioneer in Bordeaux. According to the Bordeaux Wine Council, only about 25 percent of Bordeaux wines come from certified organic vineyards. Even fewer are biodynamic. Bordeaux is a region of strong traditions, but the slow uptake of organic farming is also practical; the humid, maritime climate is conducive to mildew and there are limited organic methods at winemakers’ disposal to combat it. Still, consumer demand for organic wine is encouraging a quickening rate of adoption.

Fanny returned in time to serve us lunch and we got to coo over her adorable little boy, which was a bonus. After lunch, our group had a couple hours to wander the ancient cobbled streets of Saint Emilion. As an American, my brain still gets a bit fried contemplating the centuries of tradition that a town like Saint Emilion wears so casually. I had just come from three weeks in the Perigord, but this little village felt older and more primal than any of the other villages we visited.

Our small group ended the day at Chateau Grangey, located on just over six hectares between the northern slope of Saint-Christophe-des-Bardes and the Saint-Émilion plateau. Some of the vines are more than a century old and new plantings use the traditional method of massal selection from the oldest stocks to preserve the vineyard’s identity. There are records of wine being made on the land dating back to the 1750s.

Franck Moi is tending vines that his grandparents planted. The winery has been in the family for nearly 75 years. He also follows organic practices, not only for commercial reasons but for the health of his wife and children. He is on the path to biodynamic certification as well. Franck and his wife, Elodie, took over the winery in 2011 and renovated the buildings, modernized production, and added a tasting room. Franck experiments with aging his grapes in clay amphora, stainless steel, large oak casks and barrels, exploring different characteristics of merlot with each wine he makes.

Franck poured us Les 5 Parcels, a Merlot/Cabernet Franc blend from 10-50 year-old vines that was aged 12 months in tanks and barrels and the Chateau Grangey cuvée made from 50-70 year-old vines and aged 12 months in barrels and foundres. We were bowled over by the cuvée’s depth of flavor and satiny tannins. We sampled both the 2020 and 2021 vintages and couldn’t agree which one we liked more, so had three bottles of each shipped to us.

I’m looking forward to popping over one of those bottles to enjoy by the fire on one of the many frigid Wisconsin nights to come.

.

The Périgord region of France feels like stepping into the world of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Medieval villages wind along haphazard alleys, climbing the steep hills to the castles at the very top that keep watch on the sparkling Dordogne and Vezere rivers. The woods here feel ancient and thick with firs, birches, maples, and plein trees. Dotted among the woods in these hillsides are caves, many covered with prehistoric paintings of horses, bison and deer, that are strangely powerful and mysterious. In the fall, the grape vines create seemingly endless vistas of gold.

We recently spent three weeks in the Périgord, much of it under clouds and light rain in October/November. The moody gray and mist created a somber beauty that enhanced the quiet of the post-tourist season. But when the sun came out and the skies turned an intoxicating shade of blue, you could feel the fall colors vibrating in waves of natural exuberance.

This is a region known for its castles, gardens, rivers, and caves, but not so much for its wines. Unlike its neighbor to the west, Bordeaux, the wines of the Périgord are not well known in the States. Few of them actually make it across the pond and even fewer of their wineries ship overseas. That meant our suitcases were weighted down with bottles on our flight home. The dirty clothes were happily stuffed into tote bags to make room.

The region’s appellations (AOC) include Côtes de Bergerac, Pécharmant, Monbazillac, Montravel and its sub-appellations (Haut-Montravel, Côtes de Montravel), Rosette, Bergerac Sec, Bergerac Rosé, and Saussignac.

Most Perigordian wineries are clustered around Bergerac, the second-largest city in the region with a population of around 30,000. If you don’t have the time to go out into the countryside and visit the vineyards, Bergerac’s tourist office gives you an incredible overview of the region’s wines. On the second floor, there’s a wine shop/library with bottles of every appellation for sale, a tasting menu, and a beautiful terrace overlooking the Dordogne for enjoying a glass or two. The regional wineries work with the Tourist Office, so you’re buying wine at the same price that you would pay if you visited the wineries.

It was a gloriously sunny fall afternoon when we visited Bergerac, so we decided to take the ten-minute drive out of town to visit Chateau de Monbazillac. The drive alone was worth the time. The post-harvest vines created fields of gold far into the distance under a brilliant blue sky. There are approximately 23,000 hectares devoted to growing the Sémillon, Sauvignon Blanc, and Muscadelle grapes that go into Monbazillac with an assist from noble rot (botrytis). A consortium of growers came together to preserve the 16th century chateau, which now serves as a museum to the area’s history and its favorite beverage.

Monbazillac is a spiritual cousin of Sauternes, sweet but not cloying. It’s perfect for pairing with foie gras, which only seems fair since ducks and walnuts are the primary agricultural products of the Périgord. A tour of the Chateau and museum costs less than 12 euros and includes a glass at the end of the tour. A bottle of Chateau de Monbazillac costs around 22 euros, which is an incredible bargain compared with Sauternes. We packed four bottles in our bags to take home for friends.

During our first dinner out in Sarlat at a delightful little restaurant named La Table D’Ezra, I had a glass of the house white, which was Julien de Savignac Bergerac Sec. A blend of Sauvignon Blanc and Sémillon, it was agreeably light with a hint of sweetness on the finish. A typical bottle costs less than eight euros and was a staple when we ate in.

Richard was interested in trying the Pécharmants, red blends that are predominantly Merlot with varying amounts of Cabernet Franc and Cabernet Sauvignon. It’s essentially the same blend as Bordeaux but because it is out of the famous appellation the wines are a fraction of the cost. That doesn’t mean they can’t stand up to their more famous neighbors. While you can drink it young, Pécharmant is a wine that benefits from age. It can be a little rough and tannic without at least five years in the bottle. You will want to decant it to open it up before serving.

We visited two Pécharment wineries on a second trip to Bergerac— Château de Tiregand and Chateau Corbiac. Tiregand is one of the leading producers in the region with a beautiful historic estate that hosts many events throughout the year. The chateau wasn’t open when we visited, but we enjoyed a free tasting of three of their wines in their shop. Tiregand adds Malbec to the traditional blend of red grapes, which smooths it out beautifully. We also tried their Bergerac Blanc Sec and a surprisingly fruity and light Rosé that was a recent addition to their lineup of wines. We enjoyed their lush reds several times during our stay and they were included in our stash.

In contrast to grandeur of Chateau de Tiregand, Chateau Corbiac feels like a working farm. It’s been in the same family since 1587 and Therése provided a warm welcome and delightful tasting in their cozy tasting room located in their chateau. We left with two bottles of the 2012 that had mellowed into a round complexity of black fruit and earthiness. These definitely went in our bags as they self-distribute, which means you only get the wine at the chateau or shipped directly to you if you live in Europe.

Before our trip, we were rather obsessively reading the Bruno, Chief of Police detective series by Martin Walker. It proved to be both entertaining and really helpful as we visited villages around the Périgord. What I enjoy most about Walker’s books are the cultural, historical and geographical lessons about the Perigord that he weaves into his stories. In Bruno, we have a detective who loves wine and cooking, so there is also a lot of insight into the food and wines of the region.

Richard read the entire Bruno series before we left the States. Being a great list maker, he put together a list of the winemakers and some specific bottles mentioned in Walker’s books. It gave us a great template for seeking out quality bottles from the Périgord. If you’re planning on a visit and want to visit the vineyards or fantastic wine shops, it could be helpful. It’s in the order of when the wines were mentioned in the book series.

Domaine du Pavillon, Clos de Ursulines Pommard
Clos d’Yvigne
Chateau La Vielle Bergerie
Clos l’Envege Monbazillac
Chateau Nenin Pomerol
Chateau de Tiregand
Vignobles des Verdots
Chateau Montdoyen—Divine Misericorde
Chateau Briand
Chateau la Vieille Bergerie Quercus
Chateau Monestier La Tour
Chateau Tour des Gendres
Domaine de l’Ancienne Cure
Chateau de La Jaubertie—Cuvée Mirabelle
Chateau La Robertie
Chateau des Eyssards—Mano a Mano
Chateau Lestevenie
Chateau Puy Servain
Chateau Moulin Caresse
Chateau Tirecul La Graviere
Chateau Richard—Cuvée Osee
Chateau La Vieille Bergerie Cuvée Quercus
Domaine de Perteau
Chateau Belingard Cuvée Ortus
Chateau Feely Rosé
Court-Les-Mûts
Domaine de La Voie Blanche
Chateau Le Payral
Chateau de Fayolle—Sang de Sanglier
Chateau Mondazur
Domaine de Pecoula

We only lightly scratched the surface of Périgord wines during our stay. I claim no expertise other than having a small wine shop in the States and pretty much loving all wines, their stories, and the way they come alive when paired with food. When it comes to describing wines I feel painfully inadequate, which is why I will spare you any reviews of bottles. I tell our customers that the best wine is the one you like and the best way to find out is to try bottles out of your comfort zone. There are so many amazing discoveries to be had.

We are planning on retiring to the Périgord in 2027 and returning several times beforehand. I’m looking forward to trying more of the wines on this list and meeting more of the winemakers. If you have the opportunity to visit this gorgeous rural region of France, don’t hesitate.

We almost missed our 2 p.m. tart class at La Cuisine in Paris because we nearly slept through it.

I kid you not, we were so jet-lagged after the first day that we were fighting off sleep at around 9 p.m. the night before. We were staying in the snug captain’s cabin of a péniche docked along the Seine just below the Eiffel Tower. The cabin was quiet despite being in a very touristy area with a metro line literally a few feet away. It was cozy, warm, and the wake from the passing boats was like a hand gently rocking a cradle.

I looked at my phone at 7:15 a.m. Okay, just another hour. Then I looked again at what I thought was about an hour later.

1:45. Merde!

Richard and I were throwing on our clothes, grabbing a cab, and emailing the school to apologize. We arrived a half-hour late, mortified as I’m usually the early one.

Our classmates and instructor, Chef Vi, were so gracious about it all. We missed making the dough, but Chef Vi had made ours for us, so we were able to join the class as they started rolling it out and shaping it.

La Cuisine is located a short distance from Notre Dame on a shady street in the Marais. It’s a beautiful neighborhood, and the school is easy to find. The classroom was light, spacious, and beautiful. I appreciated the small size of our class, just 10 people, of various skill levels, as I was nervous about my baking skills. We all had some gray hair and game attitudes. Most of our classmates were a group of friends from North Carolina meeting up in Paris. There was also an interior designer from the States (not surprisingly, she had the prettiest tarts) and a retiree from Toronto who was our charming ganache maker. Everyone was friendly and gracious. Chef Vi was an excellent instructor, adding helpful hints, variations on recipes, and teaching good technique. She kept us moving, but it never felt rushed and was fun and informative.

After rolling out the dough and using various tart forms, our crusts went into the ovens. We worked in teams to make four tartlets — three sweet and one savory. As the crusts baked, Chef Vi showed us how to use the excess savory dough to make little breadsticks. That was extremely appreciated as we had missed both breakfast and lunch!

The next phase of the class involved making the fillings. Teams made vanilla pastry cream, chocolate ganache, meringue, and salted caramel, and we all had the opportunity to watch each other and learn. Richard and I made lemon curd. I appreciated the recipes we used as they were nuanced yet flavorful. I can’t wait to try them at home.

My tart shells came out of the oven looking okay. The chocolate one had some holes — the result of my pushing the dough too thin against the side of the tart form. But it was okay as caramel makes a good caulk! I was also relieved that I was pretty good with piping meringue and the blow torch.

By the end of three hours, we had made two lemon meringue tartlets, a small chocolate caramel tart, a vanilla cream with raspberry tart, and small quiche Lorraines, which made for a delicious breakfast the next morning.

I was thrilled that La Cuisine owner Jane Bertch joined our class at the end. Richard had picked up her book, The French Ingredient, at our local library by chance, and we both loved it. That’s why I looked up the school and signed us up for a class. I’ve been enjoying her Substack ever since. She was incredibly gracious and recommended a couple of spots nearby to catch an aperitif and dinner. I appreciate that she’s a hugger. Thanks to her, I know that’s not a thing in Paris, but I’m not quite ready for la bise.

She also pointed out that the sweet, quiet woman named Frances across the island from us, along with her husband Ed (they were the brave souls who made the caramel), was Frances Mayes, who wrote one of my favorite books, Under the Tuscan Sun. I also follow her Substack and marvel at her beautiful writing and photography. She was lovely about it when I fangirl-ed her.

Chef Vi asked me if I would be making tarts soon, and I was honest — Richard would be making them. He’s the cook in the family and I’m the cocktail crafter. However, I now know a thing or two about tarts and rediscovered the pleasure of cooking with friends. So maybe I will elbow my way into the kitchen a few times this winter … or I will just mix him a Vieux Carre and wait patiently to eat.

A basket of apples by the front door

Beneath the sweater pegs

The autumn leaves lift along the streets

A pair of dancing legs

— Jane Siberry

As we were driving along the dusty back roads of Bayfield County, the song “One More Colour” by Canadian singer songwriter Jane Siberry was the soundtrack lilting happily between my ears.

It had been about two years since the last time we visited, which is far too long. We usually make the six-hour drive to the shores of Lake Superior in July when the raspberries are ripe, and again in the fall, often to celebrate our wedding anniversary.

But we have come up in January, too, when the world was white and silent. So deserted that the deer roamed unafraid during the daylight on the country roads, a tawny contrast against the deep snow, stark birches, and darkly impenetrable pines.

The first time we visited Bayfield was for our fifth anniversary. We were lured there by the renowned restaurant Wild Rice that sat along the shore. The restaurant is no longer, but we have kept coming up year after year.

The main reason we return is the Siskiwit Bay Lodge just outside of Cornucopia. We noticed it from the lake on our first visit during a listless sailboat ride. We have largely given up on sailing since we have managed to kill the wind all over the country every time we step on a sailboat. But one advantage of sitting still on a dead-calm Lake Superior is it gives you plenty of time to admire the shore. That’s how we saw the Lodge for the first time, with its beautiful stretch of gardens and lawn On its red Adirondack chairs lined up under the shade. The next year, we booked a stay and over time, the lodge owners have become dear friends.

We love it around Bayfield and Cornucopia but we’re not hikers or kayakers. The main reason we go up there is to see Bruce and Sandy. We started bringing up wine with us from the shop along with cheese, charcuterie and other goodies. We spend the evenings drinking wine and chatting with them and it’s the best Northwoods vacation I can imagine.

During the height of the pandemic we brought a friend along with us who was sort of in our “pod” and sat outside drinking wine on their deck. We were there holed up watching the chaos on January 6th on our laptops, both horrified and feeling like we were in some alternate still universe wondering if the world was collapsing.

Sitting on the shore of Lake Superior and watching the skies change, fog creeping in and retreating, clouds building and dissipating, gives one a great sense of perspective.

I’ve spent some of my happiest, most peaceful moments quietly lounging in an Adirondack chair watching Technicolor sunsets, eagles flying overhead, and full moons that make the lake sparkle like a glitter ball. Then there are the storms we have watched build across the water, retreating inside to admire from the safety of the lodge’s sturdy walls. One particularly violent storm lit the sky white with a relentless thrumming of thunder and thrashing rain.

When not just parked in an Adirondack chair, we have often enjoyed picking raspberries at Blue Vista Farm near Bayfield to use for my homemade raspberry liqueur. The beautiful barn has a patio for relaxing and the view from the top of the hill encompasses the deep lake and Madeleine Island. Of course, typically I’m focused on finding plump berries so there isn’t much sight seeing. Unfortunately, our timing for our favorite Purple Royalty raspberries (which make the best liqueur) hasn’t worked out in a few years. Their picking window is like a week and it rarely works with our schedule anymore. But those glorious summers of picking raspberries are some of my favorite memories.

There are concerts, too, at Big Top Chautauqua that have become a part of our summers. Under that huge, but somehow intimate, tent we’ve seen The Mavericks, Gladys Knight, Rufus Wainwright, and Emmylou Harris, to name a few. Volunteers sell raffle tickets and help staff the concessions area and it feels like a big community party. They have struggled financially since the pandemic, like many arts organizations, and I hope the wonderful tradition can continue.

During our recent visit, we enjoyed an anniversary dinner at the bar at Good Thyme Restaurant. We stuck to appetizers and cocktails since we were still full from the fried bologna sandwiches we had at Morty’s in Bayfield for lunch. We were really impressed with Good Thyme. It was easily the best meal we’ve had in the area since Wild Rice closed. We will be back.

We are usually too early for apples, but not this year. The trees were heavy with ripe, scarlet fruit and so we stopped at Sunset Valley Orchard and chatted with the gregarious owner, who poured us some of his fresh cider. It was so soft and, well, seductive, on the tongue. We left with a bag of Cortlands including a couple “road apples” that he gave us along with a beautifully ripe pear. This year’s harvest was bountiful, he told us, but he was having trouble finding people to pick his fruit.

The fall leaves were turning bright reds, oranges and golds early this year after another dry summer and winter. We saw wild apple trees along the roadside, their bright red fruit popping out from seas of green. Living up here is both beautiful and tough. Making a living from tourism that is so heavily dependent on beautiful summers and snowy winters and agriculture in a time of climate change and immigration crackdowns must be so stressful. As a small business owner, I truly feel their pain.

On our last evening with Bruce and Sandy, I noticed a couple staying at the Lodge for the first time who were lingering in the lobby. We had a ridiculous amount of food and wine for the four of us, so on impulse I invited them to join us. Bruce and Sandy were gracious about it and in the end we had a lovely evening sharing stories. I’m hoping we helped start a new tradition for that couple, too.

When you find something perfect, you want to share it.

We live in a Mission-style house built in 1908 with three amazing porches.

The front porch is deep and shaded; perfect for watching the neighbors walk by with their dogs or sharing a lazy Sunday afternoon cocktail. The second-floor “sleeping porch” is long, narrow, screened, and just wide enough to fit a daybed and coffee table. Facing east, it looks into our wooded backyard and is a secluded, cozy place to curl up with a book or watch a thunderstorm roll through.

But it’s our side porch that is magic. It sits above the garage that was added in the 1920s, and it’s huge — big enough for our table that seats around 20 and a comfy outdoor couch and chairs. Richard built the table using the bases of three old Singer sewing machines for legs with the dream of evenings full of happy friends and family .

In 2016, we held our last large dinner party for 32 on the porch. It was a magical night. I bought a large bolt of burlap patterned with blackbirds and red berries printed on it and made it into a long tablecloth. The night was a success, and we were flushed with excitement, having announced that we were opening a restaurant. After the party, I tucked my tablecloth into a rarely used drawer and over the years figured I’d lost it.

The next year, we opened our restaurant, Lark. After that, no more big parties. Lark and our other businesses were all-consuming. There was no energy for much else.

We closed Lark late last year, and about six weeks ago, I opened a narrow, forgotten cabinet drawer while searching for something else and found that tablecloth. It seemed like a sign. Time to open up the house again and host another dinner party. I invited 30 people, figuring half would decline. I was wrong. We ended up with 23 (there were five last-minute cancellations, which was probably a blessing).

Since giving up our cubicle jobs, Richard and I have met so many delightful people from all walks of life through our businesses. Many of them feel like family and were there for us through the tough months last year before we closed Lark. The one quality they share, as my dear friend Jan pointed out, is a curiosity for the world around them.

We kept things pretty simple. Richard made gougeres, chicken liver mousse, and shrimp mousse. We put out soft Wisconsin brie covered with truffled honey that we bought at a vineyard in Umbria that was surrounded with figs lightly doused in balsamic vinegar from a small town near Modena. We pulled out our last jar of semi-dried cherry tomatoes from Roscioli in Rome and doused some chèvre with the contents. The last was truly an act of love; it was our last jar from the stash we brought home in our suitcase in 2023. After a quick search, I found they are now available on Amazon (of course). I can’t think of a better way to enjoy those edible souvenirs we’ve been hoarding.

For dinner, Richard roasted chicken and made Salade Nicoise and Salad Perigord. We enjoyed sourdough bread and strawberry almond tart made by the wonderful team at Bloom Bakeshop in Madison.

I made Rebekah Peppler’s Citron Presse recipe and had bottles of it out on our little outdoor bar along with sparkling water, chilled Crémant, Spanish gin, tonic syrup, cassis, French pear and cardamom soda, cognac, and fresh fruit to slice as wanted for garnish. After a quick lesson, the self-serve French 75s were flowing freely as well as a lot of wine. A couple of G&Ts and Kir Royales were also circulating. We had bottles of Châteaue Reserve Bergerac Rouge on the tables in honor of the area where we will be visiting in October. To end the evening, our friend Matt contributed bottles of Sauternes and Tokaji dessert wines.

The night was warm with a soft breeze. We had a porch full of life with our friends making friends with each other. I love that. Bringing people together over a love of food, wine, and the world in general is what makes everything we’ve done feel worthwhile.

I looked around at all of those wonderful, smiling faces and thought about our plans to move far away. Surprisingly, it didn’t fill me with sadness. There will be a spare room wherever we land for our old friends and the challenge of making new ones. One thing I’m sure of is that there will be wonderful, curious people wherever we go and I’m determined to find them.

I grew up loving language and reading. Not surprisingly, I had a college-level vocabulary by sixth grade. I have also lived in Wisconsin my entire life. Lots of travel, primarily starting in my thirties, but my day-to-day world has been pretty small.

And now, at 60, we are planning a move to France in 2027 for our retirement. My vocabulary and speaking ability, despite spending an hour a day on French, will probably be around kindergarten level at first. And France is not exactly Wisconsin. Many of the comfortable rhythms of my life so far will be stripped away.

I’m attempting to balance my emotions between fear and excitement. There’s also the need to temper the romantic notions I have about French life and how disenchanted I am with life in the States. I’m on the Facebook expat groups, so I read the gushing and the bellyaching on a daily basis. For the first time in my life, I will be an immigrant. When I think of how our country is treating immigrants right now, it makes me feel vulnerable in a way I have never experienced before.

It’s all good.

At this stage of life, you have a choice to either curl up or jump out. People can be happy doing either, except I’m pretty sure I would be miserable curling up. So, I’m jumping out. My husband, Richard, has lived around the country and traveled overseas far more extensively than me. He’s ready.

Despite the reservations, so I am. I get restless. I have lived in Janesville the longest I have lived anywhere. It will be just shy of 20 years when we move. There are many wonderful things about living here and I have made dear friends, but I’m ready for something new.

So we leave for a month in France starting in mid-October. We are doing a touristy week in Paris, staying in the small cabin of a barge parked on the Seine with the family who owns it living on the other end. Then we take a train to Sarlat, which is about 200 kilometers due east of Bordeaux, and will stay in a compact 14th century townhouse for just shy of three weeks. It’s too early to house hunt, but not too early to start looking hard at communities in the Dordogne and seeing if it could be home. If not, we will explore other regions next year.

We wanted to see these more rural parts of the country after tourist season, when the winds turn cold. Like much of the US, many small towns in France are hollowing out. We are not the types to be seeking out nightlife. More often than not we’re home reading books and cooking when we have the time. But we do need a town with some year-round life to it, if just to buy groceries, and medical care available nearby. The latter being the reality of growing old.

We recently had a couple stop into the wine shop for one of our daily wine tastings. They were pretty knowledgeable about wine and well-traveled. The man was vehement about hating France. The people are rude and cold, he said, and he couldn’t wait to leave. I have heard this before. Personally, I’ve spent time in Paris and the Gers region, which is very rural, and didn’t have this experience at all. Parisians reminded me of New Yorkers, honestly. They’ve got stuff to do and are surrounded by tourists. They don’t go out of their way and I can’t say I blame them.

In rural France, my experience is that the main issue is the language barrier. As long as you don’t expect everyone to know English and make an effort, it’s fine. With some French, Google Translate, hand gestures, and goodwill, you can accomplish a lot.

We spent several days in the small village of Mauvezin, population 2,000, in 2017. We stayed in the dovecote of a retired phy-ed teacher who loved to garden. I suspect he was more than a little lonely. We had a lovely evening with him bouncing from French to Spanish (Richard is fairly fluent) to beginner English, drinking Armagnac, looking at pictures, and hearing his stories. The next day we met him by chance at the fish monger in the center of town and he drove us out into the country to visit his friend the duck farmer who made the best foie gras in the region. The farmer showed us his fields as his ducks waddled around our feet and we had a splendid afternoon.

The town also had one of the best butcher shops I’ve ever seen. I’m glad we loaded up on provisions because most nights the town did truly roll up the sidewalks. The one restaurant in town that was open most often served only two three-course prix fixe dinners — both featuring duck. That’s okay, we love duck.

The culture is quieter and more reserved, which I can appreciate after feeling bombarded with the “look at me” ethos of modern America. I realize I’m saying this while writing a blog, so perhaps I’m living in a glass house. C’est la vie.

So we’re moving from the fuzzy “what-if” stage to “this shit is getting real.” When my gut starts to tighten at the unknowns and the challenges, I think about the people we have met. The duck farmer and the retired phy-ed teacher. The matriarch of a renowned Armagnac house who opened her doors to share the story of her family and their amazing bottles, the conversation shifting across three languages and being understood perfectly. I’m reminded that everywhere we have travelled, we have met warm, wonderful people when we take the time to listen, respect, and appreciate that not everyone approaches life in the way to which we’re accustomed. In fact, it’s a glorious experience to know there’s more to life than the familiar.

In all of these beautiful moments, the lingua franca was sharing a love of food, wine, and life in general. So, with more than a little faith in humanity despite my daily scan of the New York Times, the journey soon begins in earnest.

Portugal is uniquely beautiful. The kind of beautiful you will dream about long after you’ve left. Even the sidewalks are works of art. In Porto and Lisbon, the tiled buildings and mosaic cobbled walks are iconic. We found even more expressions of color, style and creativity in a couple beautiful smaller spots along the northern coast.

Over two trips, we have spent about six weeks in Portugal, most of it in the northern half of the country. On our most recent trip we spent a few days in the charming city of Viseu in the central region and then drove west for an hour to reach the coast. It was the final leg of our trip.

By then, we were seriously ready for some seafood.

Viseu is a city of about 100,000 with a town square, Praca da Republic, near where we were staying. To me, it’s the model of what such spaces should be. Shaded, with a little casual restaurant where you could start the day with a cup of coffee and end it with a glass of wine, it was truly a gathering point for people of all ages. There were English cyclists stopping for a rest, an elderly woman in a wheelchair who serenaded the square with her lovely voice, college students hanging out in the evening, little kids running around while their parents ignored them, and friends meeting for a chat over a cup or glass. Unfortunately, the downtown business district was largely hollowed out as there was a mega-mall on the outskirts of town. But the Praca was always humming as it was a vital neighborhood even without much retail.

We made our one Michelin-starred splurge during the trip at a vineyard just outside of Viseu and we got seriously lost in the dark countryside trying to find it. The GPS had us driving through the parking lot of a trucking company at one point. We were more than a little stressed when we finally saw the restaurant’s lights shining like a beacon on a distant hill, but once inside it was a meal for the ages. Mesa de Lemos is housed in an ultra-modern building of concrete and stone with large windows facing out over Quinta de Lemos. Unfortunately, we could only get an evening reservation, so those windows looked out onto a deep darkness rather than rows of vines.

We enjoyed eight courses with paired wines for around 200 euros, which for a Michelin experience with the tip included was a bargain and a half. Like every restaurant in the central region, the portions were enormous. The first course consisted of ten expressions of potato. Our server was concerned that I wasn’t enjoying the dishes as I took about one bite of a couple courses. On the contrary, I was afraid of exploding like Mr. Creosote from Monty Python.

When the first course is about 10 expressions of potato, this is not a place for amateurs. The paired wines were all from the vineyard and truly outstanding. We couldn’t find any of them to source at our store, unfortunately.

Back in Viseu, I enjoyed a small dish of soft, creamy lemon gelatto at a little cafe with sidewalk seating every evening. However, the main food memory that sticks out for me is meat. Mind-boggling amounts of meat. Our second day in Viseu, we ventured up the hill from our hotel by about a block and stopped for lunch at 100 papas na línga, a restaurant popular with the locals. Everything was tender, delicious and enough for four people. I put about half of my chateaubriand in a box and then Richard and I went back down the hill for a nap. Literally my first, and hopefully last, meat coma.

After four days of heavy food in hot temperatures, we were so ready for a change.

We had rented a small apartment in Aveiro on the main canal for our stay, but since we had time to kill, we drove on to Praia de Costa Nova for lunch and a stroll along its promenade.

Our destination was Dóri, a seafood restaurant with a Bib Gourmand rating from Michelin. Despite our experience at Mesa de Lemos, Michelin stars are in general not a turn-on for me. Starred restaurants tend to be extremely expensive and elegant and as a chunky gal from Wisconsin I usually feel out of place and uncomfortable. That’s probably more on me than the restaurants. But we have found some fantastic places with Bib Gourmand ratings, so before we travel I usually head to the Michelin Guide website and type in our destination to see what’s in the area.

On the second floor of a modern building facing the promenade, Dóri was obviously a local favorite. The place was hopping with business lunches and family gatherings. Their seafood platter was the obvious choice. Piled high with fresh shellfish, everything was perfectly cooked and seasoned with nuanced sauces to highlight the briny taste of sea. In particular, the sweet little clams were standouts. Just a bowl of them would have sufficed.

We took a stroll along the promenade to work off some of that crazy seafood splurge. A 19th century resort town, no doubt the summers are buzzing with tourists and surfers, the souvenir shops and ice cream parlors in full swing. In early October, however, the vibe was quiet. The promenade was largely empty, so the gentle thrum of the waves and cries of gulls melded with the salty tang of the sea on an unseasonably warm, humid day. The walk was lined with mosaics of sea creatures and colorful 19th century homes and shops. It was a quick visit, but a charming one.

Heading back inland over the estuaries, we parked our car in a public lot near our rental and took the pedestrian bridge into the historic section. Aveiro is a popular day trip from Porto and you can easily walk most of the old town in a half-day, but we happily stayed for three nights. There are the touristy moliceiro boats, some of which were parked in front of our apartment. Instead of the boat ride, we walked the city and enjoyed the incredible Art Nouveau architecture and intricate tilework on many of the buildings.

Aveiro is home to one of the few remaining salt flats in Portugal as well as a working oyster farm. Our host suggested that we dine at Ostaveiro, the restaurant attached to the farm. It’s a short boat ride to the restaurant, so you need to make reservations in advance. The weather turned rainy on the day of our reservation and we were afraid that we might be out of luck, but it stayed mostly misty and overcast. It had been difficult to get a reservation the previous days, but on a rainy Sunday we were practically alone.

Much like the embarrassment of riches at Dóri, the oysters were plentiful and mouthwateringly fresh. The thing with oysters is that they go down so very easy — and they did. We started with a “natural plate” of oysters with lemon, which were meaty and deliciously briny, and then the three-tiered Sinfonia de Ostrava with oysters prepared gratin, battered and fried, in a mignonette sauce. Words, especially mine, can’t do it justice so hopefully my photos will do the job. We ended by sharing an Ovos Moles, a traditional pastry of Aveiro. I suspect we did not have the best example as it was pretty unimpressive and Portuguese pastries are right up there with French pastries when it comes to being addictive.

Our last evening was spent at another Bib Gourmand restaurant, Salpoente, housed in two former salt warehouses that have been renovated into a very modern yet warm and relaxing dining space. We chatted with an American woman who had moved to the area with her young son recently. As we pondered retiring in Portugal, it was fascinating to get her take on living there.

Most of the dining around Aveiro is very casual. They cater to tourists making day trips from Porto. Salpoente is the one fine dining restaurant in the town, but it doesn’t stuffy at all. The dishes were uniformly elegant, flavorful and thoughtful. We dined from the a la carte menu, but they offer a variety of tasting menus that look wonderful.

As we drove back to Porto the next morning, the heat wave had finally broken. It was rainy and chilly. Time to go home. But whether it’s land or sea, there’s something haunting about Portugal. Thankfully, it doesn’t leave you.

I have lived my entire 60 years in Wisconsin. To me, the Driftless region means summer. It’s where I grew up and return every summer.

Driftless refers to the area of western Wisconsin where the glaciers didn’t flatten everything out. Lush, its hills dense with old-growth hardwoods and maples, the Wisconsin River runs through it attracting eagles, sandhill cranes, great blue herons and bass that lounge in deep eddies.

For the last 17 years, I have lived in the flatlands of southern Wisconsin just across the border from Illinois. When I first moved here, it felt barren and charmless. Now I can see its beauty — the vast fields of corn and soybeans punctuated by bright red barns and boundless summer skies. But it’s the Driftless that fills my soul (and my belly).

In the last two decades, the Driftless has become an epicenter of artisanal, organic food production, the arts, and eco-tourism. To me, it all really began with the formation of American Players Theatre (APT) on a hill outside of Spring Green in 1980. That first summer, my Aunt Ann took me to see the wonderful, slightly crazy thing happening up on a hill in the woods just outside her town. She suffered from debilitating rheumatoid arthritis but she still got on an old school bus with me to head up the hill so I could see my first Shakespeare play.

Back then, APT was an experience both beautiful and rough that included Porta Potties, swarming mosquitoes, and unbelievably sublime theater. Despite all odds, APT survived its early years to become a nationally recognized institution with hosannahs from The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and many others. One of its most famous graduates is Carrie Coon, who seems to be in every show and movie worth watching. I had the good fortune of seeing her onstage at APT as well as an ever-shifting group of remarkable assembled talent. It’s been wild seeing so many of the actors in the core company age along with me over the decades; Romeos who can now play King Lear.

My cousins kindly let us use their cabin near the Wisconsin River, just a few minutes from APT, so we don’t have to make the hour and a half drive home. Spring Green has become a second home for us. We love enjoying a wood-fired pizza in the gardens that surround the old White School. We usually stop at Convivio to pick up a bottle of wine and admire their beautiful housewares. The cabin lacks wi-fi, which in general is pretty awesome, but that means on Sundays we need to go to town so Richard can do our payroll. We take a couple seats at the charming Arcadia Books with our iced coffees and treats and usually discover something delightful to read that has to come home with us.

Our shop is closed on Mondays, so we usually stay into the week. We grab a piece or two of homemade pie at No Rules Gallery & Bird of Paradise Tea and some local Enos Farms pork from Wander Provisions, which are both in the Albany Street Shops complex (except it’s not complex at all).

The drive home offers the opportunity to stop at Seven Acre Dairy Company in the ridiculously charming little village of Paoli. Monday is pizza night, which is a great reason to sit on the patio adjacent to the Sugar River, enjoy delicious pizzas made with their cheese and listen to live music, Happily sated, we stop to pick up some cheese and their world-class butter in the café and store. With an inn, two restaurants and frequent events, Seven Acre has quickly became a favorite.

On July 4th, we took winding country roads to just outside of my hometown of Mount Horeb to dine at Campo di Bella, an agriturismo with a small dining room and patios. The views are lovely and much of the produce and some of their wines are produced on the farm. We were greeted by one of the owners, Mary Ann, and her dog who escorted me out onto the patio to soak in the view. The day was too hot and steamy to dine outside, unfortunately, but we had a lovely time. They offer three-course meals on Fridays and five-course meals on Saturdays.

Driftless dining is lovely, but the stillness is even lovelier. Sundays sitting on the screen porch watching the river whether low and languid or high and rapidly flowing never gets old. The fish jumping, the fireflies lighting up a night full of stars, and the frogs conducting a vibrating symphony of life are all balm for the soul. The best dining experience of all involves lounging with a good book on a lazy afternoon, enjoying a chilled glass of rosé, some olives, and Dream Farm goat cheese with my husband and our sweet old dog at my side.

On these precious summer days the living is, indeed, easy.

It was hot. We were late by about two hours and, being compulsively punctual, I was more obsessed with making up time than looking out the car window. Mental note to future self — chill out and enjoy the ride.

Our friend and one of our favorite wine reps, Nathan, had set us up for a visit to Quinta de Santiago during our monthlong stay in northern Portugal. The proprietor, Joana Santiago, was making lunch for us … or at least she was until we were stuck in a stuffy, overcrowded Hertz office in Porto for nearly three hours waiting for an available rental car.

I found the winery’s website and called. Luckily, Joana picked up the phone (and spoke English), so I was able to explain our situation. She graciously agreed to put things off by a couple hours. Tragically, no lunch, but at least we would be able to salvage a tour and tasting.

Quinta de Santiago is a small winery of about 7.5 hectares on the banks of the Minho River in the Menção e Melgaço wine region, so close to Spain that border distinctions are shrugged off. They are Galicians, first and foremost. This is Vinho Verde country and the Santiago family has been growing Alvarinho grapes on their land since 1899 and selling them to the local coop. That is until family matriarch, Mariazinha, convinced her granddaughter that the family should make their own wine. A beloved grandmother’s wishes are truly tough to ignore, so Quinta de Santiago was born in 2009.

Joana pulled up shortly after us in front of the squat, concrete building at the edge of town where the winery and tasting room is located. It was September and the forecast had predicted mild weather throughout our stay. Instead, it was a heatwave. The air was heavy with dusty heat. Even the Portuguese were caught off guard. The idea of walking around the vines, honestly, wasn’t sounding all that appealing. As we headed along a retaining pond, with the faithful vineyard dog in the lead, the sun pounded us mercilessly.

Then we stepped into the blessed, enveloping shade of overarching vines leading to paths with flowers everywhere and the modest chapel, barn and outbuildings that Joana hoped to restore and move into someday soon. We poked our heads out from the canopy of vines to peak out at the grapes warming under the late summer sun. Nobody particularly wanted to traipse among the grapes, including the dog.

Drive, intensity and intelligence radiate off Joana hotter than the Galician sun. It wasn’t a surprise that she had been a successful lawyer. She told us about hiring a winemaker from the region to start the winery and soon becoming frustrated with his unimaginative approach and sexist attitude. She started experimenting herself with the grapes and later with vigneron Nuno Mira do Ó on some audaciously terroir-driven Alvarinhos and even a red under the SOU label.

After our walk around the grounds, we went back to the tasting room with a shaded terrace that overlooked the vines. She poured glass after glass of different expressions of Alvarinho from the surrounding fields. As we sat there, the crisp, citrusy whites were so a piece with the clay soil, searing sun, nearby mountain and river, the sense of history and family and love. It was a wine that could only come from that particular little patch of Earth.

We were obviously late arriving at our rental house just outside of Guimarães. Our host was also gracious about our late arrival. He lived in an adjoining portion of a large stone house that was surrounded by a barn and an overgrown, rambling garden. Far from luxury housing, but welcomingly real and tranquil after several days in Porto.

Starving, since lunch had consisted of some cheese we had on hand to eat in the car from a visit to the market the day before, we cleaned up a bit and headed into town for dinner. Guimarães is a beautiful college town with an amazing culinary scene including six restaurants listed on Michelin’s website, which is impressive for a town of 125,000. The restaurant we visited that night, 34, was among my favorite of the entire trip. In fact, we went back a couple nights later after a disappointing culinary tour of Coimbra left us hungry.

34 is stunning inside and the food matches. It’s a modern, international menu that was a welcome change from the typical dishes we had been enjoying in Porto (and they were amazing, too). We had a server who spoke a smattering of English, which was helpful. Language is not much of a barrier in Porto, where English is common, but it’s more challenging once you leave the large cities. However, wherever we went communicating wasn’t a problem. Food, especially, is an international language.

The next day brought another winery tour. Ironically, we were heading back toward Porto so not the best planning on my part. Quinta da Avaleda was the polar opposite of our experience the day before. It is large, commercial, old, and the wines we sampled were okay, but not particularly memorable. But as a gorgeous place to spend the day, it deserves an afternoon of your time.

For the first week of our trip, our friend Jimsi joined us. It was her first visit to Portugal and because of that, I felt a bit more pressure to arrange things to make sure she had a good experience. We did more tours and planned ahead more than usual for that week and, all in all, it was a good thing. That included booking a picnic on the Avaleda grounds and getting access to their lush gardens.

There was a blanket set out in the shade, pillows, a stuffed hamper of delicious Portuguese goodies that was enough for six people, not three, and a bottle of wine and cool water infused with watermelon. And peacocks, many of them, about one per group, whose job it was to keep you on your toes lest you lose part of your lunch. Afterward, we walked around the stunning, quiet gardens, which felt like stepping into another world. Each section flowed into the other with imaginative old-world outbuildings and even a goofy little “goat tower.”

As our stay in Guimarães wrapped up, we spent an afternoon wandering the old city and dined on the terrace at Hool, sitting on the front terrace of the Hotel Oliveira looking out on the square. There was good-natured college hazing going on as students were covered in strands of tin cans and singing college anthems. A guitarist was playing a Jason Mraz tune on the opposite end of the square. While the days were hot, the evenings were beautiful as the humidity was low and the skies were clear.

There was a light projection exhibit going on in a nearby little museum in what was once a church. We caught a glimpse of kaleidoscopic colors splashing against the stone walls through an open door. There was a picture worth taking every place I turned. It is an enchanting, too-often overlooked, city.

Last night, I was sitting on my porch in southern Wisconsin just after a quick thunderstorm punctuated summer’s steamy heat. I pulled out a cool bottle of Joana’s Alvarinho that we still sell at our wine shop. I poured a glass for Richard and me to enjoy with some experimental seafood crostinis that the chef at the little restaurant we own had sent home with us. The wine was bright, intense, tart - Joana in a bottle. It made me smile.

I live in a city of around 60,000 people, sitting between Madison, Milwaukee and Rockford. For those passing through from Chicago or Minneapolis, my Main Street businesses are charming small-town delights. Most of the locals, however, are content to dine and shop on the north end of town near the six-lane interstate where all the chain restaurants and big box stores line the drag with a dreary familiarity. You’ve seen this strip in every medium-sized American city that you’ve sped by. If locals want a special night out, they will probably head to Madison. Many haven’t been downtown in years.

That blindness to what’s wonderful where you live isn’t unique to Janesville, Wisconsin. You often don’t appreciate what you have under your nose. I admit to being guilty of it, too. I think it’s especially true of “secondary” cities, the smaller regional hubs that don’t have the same amount of diversity and options that a metro area offers. It’s easy to surrender to mindless routines. Driving to downtown isn’t as convenient as a drive-thru or Wal-Mart.

When we travel, particularly in Europe, it’s invariably the smaller cities that we enjoy the most. It’s easier to get around. Locals are happy to see you. There are usually fun boutiques and great locally owned places to eat. Chances are good that you will meet a business owner who is happy to chat and appreciates your business. I know from experience that this is also true of Janesville and many other smaller US cities we have visited.

Discounting what’s great about your own town seems to be a universal habit. Familiarity can truly breed contempt. Our stay in Parma really brought this home for me. We were sitting in this amazing little restaurant, Soj, having an exceptionally beautiful meal of flawless, creative modern Italian cuisine on our last night in Parma. The kitchen opened onto the dining room and there were maybe 20 seats in the place. The vibe was very modern and welcoming and mostly empty on a weeknight. Two local women in their (I’m guessing) late twenties were sitting near us. They heard our American accented English and were curious — what in the world were we doing in Parma? Parma is boring! The South is so much better!

They were stunned when we told them about all the wonderful things we enjoyed during our four days in their city. In the region, Bologna and Modena get more attention from tourists. We skipped Modena for the most part but truly enjoyed the incredible food and the cool, shaded marble colonnades of Bologna. The mortadella? Chef’s kiss.

But from the moment we walked into Parma’s central city, we were enchanted. Our rental was a short walk from a market, lots of excellent restaurants, and bars. The first evening, we wandered around for a bit and sat outside for dinner at Osteria dei Servi where I enjoyed a local favorite, Anolini in Brodo. They are small spheres of beef-stuffed pasta in a rich broth with some local Parmesan cheese grated on top. A classic dish of the region. The table near us was enjoying a Fred Flintstone-sized steak (Bisteccca all Fiorentina) grilled over an open fire at the edge of the patio. It was a Sunday evening in September, still pleasantly warm and tranquil. After a long day of driving, it was like a salve.

Our host was the daughter of the owners, who lived in an apartment below our rental. When we first walked in the building, we were delighted by the lush indoor garden that made up the center of the building with two chubby cats languidly splayed across the furniture. The side facing the entrance was glassed in, so it was basically a catio. We were immediately at home and talking to the kitties daily as we made our way in and out. I’m such a nerd that I took photos of cats at every stop during our month in “Kitaly.” The park nearby was a beautiful haven of ancient trees shading walkways with quiet spots to sit and breathe in the fresh air. The bridges that crossed the Parma River were pedestrian friendly gateways to the old city.

Parma is immensely walkable and its cobbled side streets are bursting with beautiful little boutiques. It’s often in these smaller cities that you will find some truly original shops. We were so disappointed to find that all the little local shops we loved in Rome when we visited 15 years ago were gone — pushed out for bars, restaurants, and expensive international brands. In places like Parma, you can still find cute jewelry, clothing and stationary shops.

I like to buy a pair of earrings from every trip I take. I had no luck in Rome — everything was large and gold and not to my taste. In Parma, I found a little shop with lovely delicate earrings in the window that I fell for hard. Ironically, those earrings were made in Israel. Oh, well, I still love them!

We also found a craft cocktail bar, Choice, not far from our rental. It was dark, intimate and cozy Our bartender spoke English well and made creative, award-winning cocktails. It seemed that the place was more filled with tourists than regulars, which was a shame. But it looks as though two years later they are still going strong. It was the bartender who pointed us to Soj and we were very grateful. We ended up returning to Choice every night of our stay for a tipple before heading out to dinner.

Not surprisingly, we visited a lot of churches in Italy and all of them were spectacular but I was particularly taken with the Piazza Duomo Parma. Sant Maria Assunta Cathedral features a cupola with frescoes by Correggio depicting Mary’s assumption like a whirling moshpit throwing souls up to heaven. Jesus is descending to meet her, in a pose not unlike a person jumping on a trampoline. Not exactly dignified, but spectacular in its vibrant unexpectedness.

Also unexpected is the neighboring San Giovanni Battista Bapistry. Built between 1196 and 1216, every nook and cranny of this octagonal, pink marbled wonder tells a story. There are so many lessons contained inside its walls — the story of Christ, the passing of the seasons, the agrarian calendar, and the workaday world of the 12th century. Then there are all the fantastical creatures — marine monsters, unicorns, griffons, basilisks — and mundane like dogs, birds, horses and humans. Frescoes from the 14th-15th century are piled on for good measure, just in case you’re looking for more inspiration. It’s like being in the middle of a kaleidoscope of humanity from the practical to the profound. There’s so much to take in that it’s absolutely dizzying in a wonderful way.

Parma is also the home of the composer Giuseppe Verdi and the city celebrates their famous son with a festival that runs for a month in September and October. Sadly, we were too early to enjoy opera productions, concerts and celebrations but the beautiful banners promoting the annual event lined the leafy streets.

We didn’t spend much time exploring the Palazzo della Pilotta, with its National Gallery and the Teatro Farnese, but we did enjoy sitting on a bench in the Parco Ducale enjoying a dish of gelato and watching the University of Parma students hustling to their classes. It’s one of the oldest universities in the world and the campus was beautiful on a late summer afternoon with golden leaves gently sailing on the warm breeze.

There was so much we missed during our stay in “boring” Parma. I would have happily stayed another week. It reminds me that every once in a while we need to be tourists in our own home towns.

It’s tempting to stay on the beaten path to check off all the sights you’re “supposed” to see. But travel is so much better when you don’t treat it like a laundry list. Travel is a gift. It’s an opportunity to engage with the world, which is hard to do when you’re queuing up to take a selfie. Put the phone down, sit for a while in a quiet spot, and discover the world around you.

When I think of 2020, there’s such a mix of emotions. I remember the fear. Crossing the street when walking the dog out of fear that sharing a stranger’s air could kill us. I remember deep silence. So deep that birdsong was startling. I remember the shock of seeing deer walking around our neighborhood in the middle of the day. Having time to work in my garden and mix up a late afternoon cocktail that I concocted with whatever we had in the house.

Some of it was strangely beautiful, but it was also financially frightening. Thankfully, I still had a full-time marketing job and could work from home. That got us through. But we had an empty building that we had bought just a few months before with plans that now seemed foolish. We had mortgages to pay for the businesses and no money coming in. So we “pivoted,” to use a favorite pandemic word. We opened a gourmet market. It was a good distraction to bring our dog down to the market and scrape off wall decals from the last occupant, paint the walls in pistachio and lemon hues, and plan our inventory.

My husband noticed her first. A little black cat that was hanging around a construction dumpster behind our businesses. And then an even smaller Siamese was at her side.

Siam lounging under the dumpster with Badu blending into the darkness behind her

When it comes to animals we’re both suckers, but my husband, Richard, has an even softer heart than me. We have three rescue cats and an expensive dog. It wasn’t long before we were putting out food and a comfy bed on the back porch. We named the black cat Badu and, lacking imagination, we named the Siamese cat Siam.

They were feral and extremely wary of people. I would sit on a bench in the back with treats and a teaser. Siam was so tiny but loved to play. I could get her to come fairly close on the porch for treats. Badu would remain at a distance, watching, cautious, and on alert.

This went on from June through August. And then one day they both disappeared. We were devastated. Several days went by with no sign of them. Since our businesses are downtown, we knew it was likely that they came to a bad end. But after five days, Badu was at the back porch crying, desperately hungry. We opened up the back door, put the dish of food inside, and in her deep hunger she came in and we shut the door behind her.

She was understandably terrified. Due to utter lack of advance planning, the door to our basement was open and she disappeared into the labyrinth of our old building and wouldn’t come out. Two days later, Siam was also at the door. Same thing … we lured her in with smoked trout dip and she made a beeline for the basement.

We left food out and they would emerge from the basement after we left to eat and use the litter box. We eventually got them upstairs and closed the basement door. After that, they lived at the base of the stairs, huddled next to the basement door. They were terrified of us. I’m sure it felt like a jail. This lasted for weeks.

The stairwell where we spent most of our time for several weeks in late 2020

Patience has never been my strong suit but there was no other option with these two. We didn’t want to take them to the shelter to have their ears clipped and released back into the neighborhood to fend for themselves. We needed to gain their trust.

These were the days before a COVID vaccine and we mostly remained distant, masked, and worried. I spent part of every afternoon sitting on the top of the steps with the teaser. Siam would play with me a little, come within a couple of steps to snatch a treat, but physically shuddered at being touched.

Badu watched me, motionless.

Then one day she batted at that teaser. We gradually moved upstairs to the storeroom. I would sit on the floor, my legs covered with a leopard-skin plush blanket and my back against the chest freezer and feed them trout dip. Badu got closer and closer and even submitted to a few pets.

The breakthroughs were small but consistent. One day she was at my feet, her green eyes all black pupils to the point that it looked a bit frightening. Now I know why — she was very excited because she was going to jump on my lap and snuggle. Taking that step was truly brave on her part. It was huge. After that, everything changed.

Unfortunately, Siam never became comfortable being petted. Partly because Badu is extremely possessive of Richard and me. But we’re working on that.

Over the years, Badu has been our constant companion at the shop. She climbs on me like her personal cat tree and cuddles in my arms. She hangs out with Richard on the counter and helps check out customers. My first 15 minutes or so of the day are always spent stroking her head, which usually has some moist cat food clinging to it because she devours food like she will never eat again.

Last year, she started losing weight and her coat lost its luster. At first, we thought she just didn’t like the cat food and tried different things to entice her to eat. Realizing more was going on, we set up a vet appointment … and then she bolted out the door.

This was November and when it wasn’t raining, we had early snow and bitter cold nights. We had her picture on every Internet forum, went searching the neighborhood, and rushed to the shelter when a black cat showed up. No luck. We set up a live trap with food in it. The food was emptied two nights in a row without a cat being trapped inside. Then Richard oiled the trap. The next morning, Badu was in it. She had been out for nine days.

The day we got her back inside, marked up from a fight, and happy to be back in Richard’s arms - sick and about to get sicker

She was near death. We ended up at the emergency vet twice, then she was at the veterinary hospital nearby with IV fluids, antibiotics, a boatload of tests. Her lymph nodes were huge, the blood work was inconclusive, and the needle biopsy and other tests came back negative. Originally, we thought we were going to have to try to tube feed her when we brought her back from the hospital. Miraculously, after two days of medical care, she started eating voraciously on her own. They released her several days earlier than expected.

Six months later, she’s on a daily steroid. The lymph nodes haven’t gotten smaller, but she’s gone from four pounds to over six. She has her bad days every few weeks, but they have become less frequent. She has softened since her illness. Before, she was wary of strangers and now she is rubbing legs and bunting customers’ hands. She jumped on the lap of my 99-year-old father-in-law and stayed there for the evening during a recent event. She loves Richard and me more fiercely than ever.

After $7,000 of vet bills on a credit card when we could least afford it, our local vet was on the phone with me, puzzling over the latest bloodwork results. They likely indicated cancer, but here was this cat who was active, affectionate, eating lustily, and luxuriating in her glossy, seal-like coat. This was the end of January. I told the vet we were done with tests and asked if she would keep renewing the steroid prescription, which she agreed to. As we ended the conversation, she gave us a diagnosis that is probably the best we’ll get: “I don’t know. Cats are weird.”

Indeed.

So in addition to learning patience, my little black cat has taught me how to live with uncertainty. It’s almost June. By all rights, she should have died about five months ago. We don’t fool ourselves that she’s completely healthy, but she’s happy and with us today. That alone is a gift. I would like to ask for more, but really that’s enough. Oh, and yesterday Siam jumped on the couch and laid by me while I read a book. So it appears she has a few lessons to teach me, too.

Not sure where the nick on Siam’s nose came from, but it was probably her mother

Wisconsin Platter at Longman & Eagle

One of the benefits of being in the hospitality business (aside from the delightful people you meet) is occasionally it gets you access to some very cool events. Every spring, we spend a couple days in Chicago to attend Binny’s Beverage Depot’s World of Whiskies tasting and the invitation-only Hide & Seek dinner held at Longman & Eagle in Logan Square.

Whiskey is more my husband Richard’s thing. The first few years we attended the Hide & Seek dinner I felt like I was the only sober one in the crowd. But then I found a French single malt that I like and, well, now I keep up with the gang.

This year, we brought our friend Matt along and stayed in the Logan Square neighborhood for a few days. Unlike many of the people attending these events, I’m no expert on whiskey. But I do know a bit about great food and bars and Logan Square is one of the most exciting neighborhoods in Chicago for both.

Before heading over to Binny’s, we stopped for a quick “snack” of chicken nuggets and fish filets at Parson’s Chicken & Fish, a neighborhood favorite for good reason. It serves exactly what the name says. Everything was hot, tasty and obviously scratch-cooked. I was surprised by how reasonable the prices were for Chicago (or anywhere, really). It provided a good base for the next couple hours.

World of Whiskey is a little overwhelming. Held at Binny’s Lincoln Park location, there are dozens of distillers from around the world pouring samples. You will find some hard-to-find whiskies that you likely won’t have an opportunity to taste elsewhere. They also provide some food to keep you fueled as you walk around and for $75 it’s quite a bargain. No wonder the public hours sell out quickly. Pacing and dumping samples is key to survival, at least for me.

I was honestly struck by what a men’s club whiskey still is. Women were thin on the ground and most of them were repping for a distillery. This isn’t all that unusual in the liquor industry in general, but when you’re in the middle of a room with over a hundred men and there are about a dozen women it’s hard to ignore.

Richard making a new friend in the Japanese whiskey area.

I sampled a lot of whiskies over two days, but my favorite by far was the Takamine 17-Year Koji Whiskey. It reminded me of bananas Foster in a bottle. There are notes of banana, caramel, and coconut. It’s smooth and dangerously easy to drink. And, of course, it’s rare so it’s definitely a special occasion sip. Richard was on a charm offensive with the distributor and distillery rep and we were lucky to score six bottles for Lark Market, our retail store. One bottle is coming home with us …

Emerging warm and a bit woozy, we took an Uber to Logan Square to BiXi Beer, a brewpub offering Korean, Chinese & Vietnamese inspired cuisine. Their house-brewed beer is infused with Asian flavors. Matt enjoyed a glass while I sipped on a Vietnamese coffee. We shared several dishes including a deluxe rangoon with crab and lobster, pork-filled potstickers, drunken noodles, shrimp fried rice and an exceptional bahn mi while sitting at the bar. It was all exceptionally good and I’m afraid our eyes were bigger than our stomachs, as the saying goes. There was a large to-go bag and we all enjoyed a second dinner after we got home Sunday night.

We also made a couple stops on our way back to our rental to two of our favorite neighborhood bars, Scofflaw and Best Intentions. Both boast inventive cocktail menus and talented bartenders, but the experiences are worlds apart. Scofflaw is dark, intimate and classy. Best Intentions calls itself a “fancy cocktail bar” with tongue firmly in cheek. It feels like a dive bar but serves top-shelf drinks (as well as dive bar beer). The place was packed on a Thursday night. It reminds me of one of our favorite spots in New Orleans, Bar Tonique.

Coquito Latte at Caribella

Amazingly, we woke up with an appetite Friday morning. We knew we were in for a huge, amazing meal Friday night so we opted for late morning brunch at Caribella Cafe, which bills itself as the “home of the Coquito Latte” and that’s a pretty good thing to be known for. Also known as “Puerto Rican eggnog,” cocquito is a drink rich with coconut milk and rum. The flavors were obviously sweet but not cloying in both a latte and on French toast with coconut infused syrup. We did a French toast flight that also featured a guava version and Nutella with strawberries. The two Caribbean-inspired toasts were the best by far. Fresh guava was new to me and now I’m addicted. Our mains featured house-made chorizo and maduros. It was so fun to be exposed to new, delicious flavors. Next time we’re back in Chicago, I know where we’re having breakfast.

We also stopped at Beautiful Rind, just a couple blocks away, to pick up some lovely French and upstate New York cheeses to bring home. Modern, clean and friendly, they also have dining and classroom space. We ducked in just before the dark clouds opened up and rain pelted the neighborhood for a couple hours.

Fortunately, the rain passed by late afternoon but the temperature dropped by about 20 degrees. Our intention to walk to Longman & Eagle evaporated faster than the puddles. The Hide & Seek dinner is an annual event held by our friend Monique, one of the premiere American experts on whiskey as well as one of the most lovely people I know. The dinner fills Longman & Eagle, which closes for the evening and the team always creates a mind-blowing five course dinner that’s paired with two whiskies per course. It’s a fun crowd of friends and industry professionals. As the whiskey flows, the volume increases, and we always meet new, fascinating people who share our table.

This year, the meal started with a Wisconsin platter with fried smelt, brats, a cheese ball, and homemade crackers. I was dubious about fried smelt, but it reminded me of fried clams and we were popping them in our mouths with a smile. And their cheese ball was not that of my ‘70s childhood. It tasted familiar and yet so much better than anything set out at a family Christmas party. The Longman kitchen team are truly magicians. The pairings were creative and the flavors were spot-on. The most surprising was the delicate crudo that held up beautifully with the whiskies passed around the table. Dessert included the best blondie I’ve ever had — the butterscotch flavors just melted into the whiskey.

Kanpachi Crudo with Strawberry Dashi Broth

Saturday afternoon we were back at Binny’s meeting up with some of the friends we made the night before. Leftover bottles from Thursday’s tasting were pushed out in shopping carts for industry folks to try. It was a low-key afternoon with good conversation. We didn’t stay long because we had scored one of the last reservations available at Giant, an ironic name for a tiny but mighty Logan Square restaurant with a deservedly excellent reputation. The only spot available was 5:15 pm, and so we had an early bird dinner. The place was already packed when we got there. People are packed in so tightly that you have to move your table out to sit at the banquette. It’s the first time I’ve seen that outside of Portugal. If being cheek to jowl with other diners unnerves you, this probably isn’t your scene. But to me part of the fun of dining out is being around new people and picking up their energy, perhaps meeting a new friend. Once we were seated, Giant was perfectly comfortable.

Matt has an egg allergy and I was really impressed with how Giant contacted us ahead of time, asked questions, and provided Matt with a menu of all the items that were safe for him to eat. The menu offers lots of small plates and New American is their lane, but they are especially known for their fresh pasta. I appreciated that they had a vegan pasta for Matt so we were all able to enjoy it.

It sounds basic, but their jalapeño corn biscuits were outstanding. Richard loved the trout roe served on a tempura croquette with a sour cream sauce. The tagliatelle with dungeness crab, saffron and chili butter was a standout.

Unctuous, silky noodles in sauce.

Before heading out on Sunday morning, I guilt tripped the guys into waiting in line for baked goods from Sugar Moon. Richard and I had stopped on Saturday afternoon around 12:30 and they only had about six cookies and a couple slices of coconut cake left. So Sunday morning we got in the line shortly after they opened. We waited about a half hour to get into the cute but compact shop. Everything looked and smelled amazing. They had an excellent assortment of both sweet and savory pastries ranging from focaccia to croissants and cookies. We loaded up a box with savory brioches, banana pudding croissants, brown butter confetti cookies, tiramisu cloud cookies (amazing) and their famed tahini chocolate chip cookies. It was too crowded to take a picture inside, but safe to say this place is worth the wait. Any business that can be open three days a week and close early because they sell out is doing something right. They basically have no online presence because they don’t need it. The folks at Sugar Moon are my new heroes.

The line behind us for Sugar Moon just kept growing, deservedly.

From a cuisine standpoint, Logan Square is a marvel. Its walkability helped us feel slightly less guilty about all the incredible stuff we consumed. The streets were lined with elegant Greystone buildings, cozy bungalows, and trees bursting with newly minted leaves and flowers, making for pleasant spring strolls. The neighborhood’s vibrancy is something special. The next time you’re in Chicago, reserve at least a day to walk around its lovely streets and check out some of the incredible small businesses that make Logan Square their home.

It took me a long time to shake off my month in Italy.

The beauty of it stays with me. It’s the souvenir I revisit often. I recognize how lucky we were to have enough time to soak in my surroundings. Tuscany was amazing. Florence, Siena, and San Gimignano were all delightful, but what I remember most is sitting in the garden behind the converted horse barn we rented in the middle of nowhere and everywhere. After doing our day trips to wineries and restaurants, Richard would head inside for a nap and I would go to the garden and watch the changing sky.

While we were there, it was more under the Tuscan clouds than sun. But what glorious clouds, with shafts of sunlight illuminating the hills in a gentle kaleidoscope of gold, pink and indigo. I breathed it in, taking photo after photo of the verdant landscape. Watching the crescent moon ascend from the hills, the stars peeking through the haze of dusk, was about as close as this doubter has ever come to experiencing God.

The view from our backyard

There was one aspect of Tuscany I didn’t love, however. The county “highways” of Tuscany are the equivalent of a driveway in the States. The winding, narrow roads snake up steep hills. What looks on a map like a short trip will easily take an hour. I spent a fair amount of time white-knuckle gripping the seat and looking at the dashboard rather than the plunging hillside just a couple feet from my door. Richard is a pretty intrepid driver, but even he was happy to put Tuscan roads in the rearview mirror.

As we drove to Paciano, the Umbrian hills seemed at least slightly less formidable. We were heading to another old stone house that clearly had other uses in a previous century. The house was quirky. The bedroom opened onto the kitchen and you had to step on a large, wobbly stone to get to it — no dividing wall. For just the two of us, it was fine. The kitchen was large and well equipped. There was also a huge living room that we never used.

It was the terrace that called to me on the Internet months earlier as I shopped for places to stay. Thankfully, it was exactly as advertised. It also came with two cats that we named Olivier and Pantoufle (in honor of Anouk’s imaginary friend in the book Chocolat). Olivier was a little black cat who was reserved and a bit crabby. He hung out mostly with me. Pantoufle was a fluffy love bug with Siamese coloring who immediately enamored with Richard.

Different location, but same routine. I was back outside, watching the light shift every twilight. We had lots of sun in Umbria and it washed the old stone in a gorgeous halo of gold. My view was now a grove of silvery olive trees. Sometimes you could hear tractors working in the distance, but mostly it was still. Olivier and I would hang out on the terrace, in proximity but respectfully apart, while I drank some of the wonderful wines we brought along from Emilia-Romagna and Tuscany. Thankfully, the wild boars who reportedly liked to hang out on the terrace didn’t join us.

Umbria’s nickname is the “green heart of Italy” as it has no coastline. It isn’t heavily touristed, which was a nice change from Tuscany. The wines from this region aren’t as well known and I relied on Google to help me find a winery to visit. Thankfully, the top recommendation was Vineria Del Carmine and it turned out to be among the best wine tastings of our trip.

Del Carmine produces the ubiquitous Sangiovese, as well as Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, but most of its estate is devoted to indigenous grape varietals. The campus includes a welcoming tasting room with a large patio overlooking the vines. They also have onsite accommodations that look really tempting. Food that accompanies tastings is usually pretty pedestrian, but the chef at Del Carmine was exceptional and each small plate paired beautifully with the wines. We tasted six wines and wound up ordering five of them to send home (by the case or half-case). We especially liked their rosés (one made from Sangiovese and the other Merlot) and their white, Indigeno Trebbiano. This is truly a wine that you aren’t going to find much beyond Spoleto. It has a pleasant herbal and mineral finish that makes it especially good with seafood and cream sauces. Back in the States and running out of the Trebbiano a year later, we ended up ordering a second case along with the incredible truffle salt and truffled honey they produce on site from their own honey and truffles. I wasn’t sure about truffled honey, but it is a real treat. Their products are redolent with the aroma of black truffles. The honey’s sweet earthiness is a perfect accompaniment to a number of Italian hard cheeses.

Should have taken the picture BEFORE digging in …

Our giddy purchasing caught the attention of the estate manager, David Lang, an Australian who moved to the region to help start the winery 20 years ago. He took us on a private tour. We have approached the few importers we know to make Del Carmine available in the States, but so far no luck. It is definitely worth seeking out directly from the winery, though. I’m not sure how the whole tariff fiasco will affect sales. David has kept in contact since our visit, and a second visit (this time with a stay at the winery) is definitely on my bucket list.

Another treat was lunch at Lillo Tatini in Panicale, a small medieval village just a few miles from where we were staying. This is truly a family restaurant with Patrizia cooking in the back and Vittorio handling front of house quite expertly. Their adult children are also involved, with their daughter Bianca acting as the restaurant’s sommelier.

The place is small and humble, but the food is mighty. From pasta with house-made sausage for a primi, squab for a secondi, to dessert, everything was incredible, including the local wines served. We were alone for much of our lunch until another couple arrived. Language barriers cannot stifle a shared appreciation of a perfect meal. We all spoke our appreciation through clanking silverware, soft moans of delight, emptied glasses, and full stomachs.

We stumbled into the sun out onto the drowsy town square a bit dazed. It remains among the best meals I’ve ever had and words, at least mine, wouldn’t do it justice.

Lucia checks her phone while we soak in the olive oil bliss

After watching sunsets over an olive grove for nearly a week, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that one of the region’s largest olive oil producers was next door to our rental. We almost missed finding it because it was so close. Il Fontana Olive Oil has been a passion project for Lucia Pirelli and her late husband for the last 20 years. Lucia is a shrewd businesswoman who rents out several homes in the area and offers cooking classes in a beautiful kitchen with an adjoining patio. She provided us with a private tasting of her oils and a tour. Lucia was a public relations executive in Rome and, not surprisingly, she is far from retired. I’m not sure if hers is “the world’s best olive oil,” but it’s certainly something special and her marketing skills were very impressive. So was her private wine cellar, which she showed us as her husband was quite the wine collector. La dolce vita, indeed.

Cities are great. We saw incredible works of art and architecture, ate at fabulous restaurants, and shopped at some incredible cheese and charcuterie shops in cities big and comparatively small. But it’s the green hills of Umbria that captured my beating red heart, that’s for sure.

As much as i like to think of myself as a fairly openminded eater, I definitely bring my prejudices to the table.

Take lardo, for example. The word lard brings images of Crisco flashing across my brain. I encountered it once at a restaurant in San Francisco and reflexively recoiled.

And when I hear Lambrusco, the taste memory of sugary sweet, cheap red wine consumed at underage house parties in high school floods my taste buds.

At least it used to, until I spent a week in Emilia-Romagna.

My Italian epiphany happened in Castelvetro di Modena, a town of around 11,000 that’s about a thirty minute drive from Bologna. We had already spent a few days in Bologna, soaking in the city’s amazing food culture. What more was there to learn? Turns out, a lot.

The road to Castelvetro’s center

Castelvetro sits on a hill with a several medieval towers in its historic center. When we drove into the town center on a lazy September afternoon, the town was Sleeping Beauty quiet. We found a restaurant with an expansive patio to enjoy lunch and get our bearings. Richard headed off to find the tourist center, and the ladies there provided us with a lot of good intel. Including where we should have had lunch. We made a mental note to visit their recommendation before we left.

Our agritourismo was only a few miles up a frighteningly narrow “two-lane” road. We checked in and then decided to explore. Google said there was a vineyard just a couple miles away that was open so we ventured out.

A group of enthusiastic dogs greeted us at the end of the first driveway as we drove up to a well-worn barn. It was clearly not the right spot. We had better luck with the next driveway, sort of. We quickly learned that just because Google says something is open in Italy doesn't mean it actually is. Fortunately, we were greeted by one of the owners. Her baby was due the day before, but she was in no mood to just sit around waiting. She showed us the vineyards, accompanied by a faithful dog who followed her everywhere and kept an eye on us. Leading us through a wine tasting in halting English, she apologized that she could not taste with us. That was definitely NOT a problem.

Our guided tour of the vines at La Piana

We both stumbled through our language barriers, but it hardly mattered because the wine spoke for itself. Americans think of Lambrusco as bottom-shelf crap. It’s the stuff of our grandmothers and the dusty bottom shelf of liquor stores. Not the wines we tried at La Piana. They were bright, crisp and nuanced and among the best we tasted during our month in Italy.

I particularly liked La Piana’s self-described “feminine” wine — Noi Due Lambrusco Grasparossa di Castelvetro. Grasparossa is one of eight different grape varietals used to make Lambrusco. It’s one of the boldest varietals, but this rosé Lambrusco was alive with fizzy, juicy strawberries, and cherries while remaining refreshingly dry. Some of the La Piana’s more traditional bottles were deeply purple and bold but equally exceptional. We ended up taking home two cases of a variety of their wines.

I’m tempted to say that we fell head over heels for the wines because of the experience of being there, but that’s not true. Two years later, we had a couple bottles of Noi Due in our cellar and they tasted just as magical and better than the Lambruscos our wine reps have shown us at our shop. I suspect that the best Lambruscos, like artisanal wines from small family vineyards everywhere, don’t travel far from their home.

Learning to Love Lardo

The next day, we were at the door of Hostaria Del Rio, the little local restaurant that the ladies at the tourist office had recommended, looking for lunch. It’s a small place, with the front room housing a bar and a few tables and the adjoining dining room, which still had its Christmas lights up in September. The walls were thick stone and filtered light came through the curtains. The proprietor Stefano was our host and server while the female chef (working alone) created magic in the kitchen.

And it was, indeed, magic.

We started with a plate of locally made Prosciutto and fresh Mozzarella because, well, Emilia-Romagna is where the best in the world is made. The ham dissolved in our mouths in fatty, salty, porky unctuousness. My entreé was a house-made tortellini in a white sauce drizzled with local balsamic vinegar. Honestly, I barely remember what I had as my entree because my world was rocked by the fresh, hot gnocchi fritti and pesto modenese that came before

Gnocchi Fritti and local salumi

Every culture has its version of fried dough. The gnocchi fritti at this humble little restaurant were pleasantly chewy on the outside with a puff of warm softness upon the first bite.

And pesto modenese is definitely its own thing. There is no basil involved. It has no tinge of healthiness to it whatsoever. And it is divine. Here is a recipe from Bacon is Magic. It’s simple enough … the complicated part is locating Lardo (which isn’t run-of-the mill lard). I am now officially on the hunt. This is the most promising site I’ve found for obtaining it online so far.

If you can find Lardo, here is the recipe for Pesto Modenese:

• 1/2 lb Lardo

• 1/2 cup Parmigiano-Reggiano

• 1 clove garlic

• 2 tablespoons rosemary and thyme chopped

• 1 teaspoon Black pepper

Put ingredients into food processor and pulse, keep an eye on it as you want a spread not a puree. It can be used for a week if tightly covered with plastic wrap.

Baslamic vinegar is one of the most famous products of the region

The other culinary treasure in Castelvetro di Modena is balsamic vinegar, which is also made in the region. It’s worthy of its own post (and much has been written about it already), but our visit to La Vecchia Dispensa was probably our costliest shopping trip in Italy. We did a tasting, but not the tour. Once you try honest to God balsamic vinegar, your wallet tends to fly open. We bought three bottles of various ages and I still use the youngest to make the best vinaigrette ever. I like blending the balsamic with truffle oil or a garlic and basil olive oil from Oliviers & Co. We haven’t opened the oldest bottle of balsamic yet. I’m not sure what we’re waiting for. After writing this, I want to open it now.

A cat of Castelvetro

A warning to the naughty

I loved the month we spent in Italy. We ventured from Rome to Venice, Emilia Romagna, Tuscany and finally, Umbria. Every region was brought luscious food, rich and diverse wines and beautiful, friendly people. When I want to envision my happy place, I dream of the patio where I watched the sun set over olive trees near Paciano. When I want to taste my happy place, I dream of Castelvetro di Modena.

Setting up for a festival night in Castelvetro. Unfortunately, we had reservations out of town and missed it. It also rained heavily that night but the variety of food and wine was impressive.

My happy place in Umbria. A story for another time.