Note:  Marc Perrin, partner with Jolie and Pitt to produce and distribute Miraval rosé,  provided answers (after publication) to some of these curiosities.  To find out what he said, please see my updated post (10/15/13).   Back in the spring, readers may recall all the hoopla over the release of Brad and Angelina’s first rosé from their newly acquired chateau in Provence. The Modern Trobadors hopped on the crowded band wagon with a post about the celebrity status of Château Miraval long before the glam couple took up residence and I included a synopsis of our tasting notes wherein we gave their rose, called simply “Miraval,”…

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I was settling into the chair at my desk earlier this week, fully prepared to wax enthusiastically in this post about the merits of visiting St-Tropez any time after August, when the telephone rang and changed the focus of my story. I was all set to grumble about the inconceivable amount of traffic in July and, especially in August when everyone on the continent seems to have set their GPS devices set for the French Riviera. The notorious two-lane D98 becomes a virtual parking lot of vehicles—Maseratis, open-top Ferraris by the dozen, big Bentleys, tiny Fiat Pandas, and camping-cars alike—inching forward en masse toward the…

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I never met Peter Mayle when he was living in Lourmarin—despite sharing a few friends, an affinity for Café Gaby, and a fondness for Château Constantin Chevalier rosé. I still harbor the hope that someday I may have the pleasure of his acquaintance even though, about two years ago, Mayle and his wife Jennie moved from their home in Lourmarin to the neighboring village of Vaugines. Ah, but that tiny village is just a few kilometers from Lourmarin and happens to be one of my favorite Luberon villages.   Vaugines is listed in only one of the many tour books I have on my shelves…

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Over the valley, from side to side, and ever so high in the air, stretch the three tiers of the tremendous bridge. They are unspeakably imposing, and nothing could well be more Roman. The hugeness, the solidity, the unexpectedness, the monumental rectitude of the whole thing leave you nothing to say at the time and make you stand gazing. You simply feel that it is noble and perfect, that it has the quality of greatness. From A Little Tour in France by Henry James (1884) People often write and ask me questions about Provence. A common one is “which site should we definitely see in…

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“It’s a big wine….it’s a long story.” I bemoaned in my last post that I am not in Provence right now (as I often am this time of year). But, our recent tasting of four rosés from Provence, transported me to that part of the world —tout de suite and without so much as a click of my espadrilles. Ooh la la. That’s what good rosé can do. I landed in the tiny village of La Motte-en-Provence, in the Var, at Château d’Esclans from whence the star of the tasting hails. We had, for the first time, a bottle of the much-ballyhooed prestige cuvée Garrus…

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 August in Provence. It is hot and crowded. The line of cars inching their way along, hoping to snatch an open parking spot for the most popular markets is foreboding and the sea of people that fills the streets of those otherwise picturesque villages steals any of your remaining enthusiasm for the outing.  Reservations for lunch or dinner are impossible, a disappointment mitigated only slightly by the knowledge that the wait staff would be too cranky to bear anyway. And the lines of buses parked outside the famous sites are enough to deter even the most tenacious tourist. The lavender fields are likely to be barren. Even the sunflowers are looking…

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The luscious fig—its sweet flesh accented by crunchy seeds and enveloped by a deep purple skin—will soon reach perfection in Provence, arousing passions that border on obsession in folks who live in this part of the world. A cause for sleuthing, celebration, and, in Solliès-Pont, a lingerie fashion show that’s part of a three-day festival devoted to a particular variety of fig. I am a lover of figs—plain; wrapped in jambon de Parme; topped with chêvre or with Fourme d’Ambert cheese and a dollop of honey; arranged in tarts; transformed into jams and chutneys; or sautéed in butter and brown sugar and slathered atop vanilla…

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Nice was where we first touched down in the South of France. We were on our way to Aix-en-Provence and then, to our final destination, Lourmarin. We had a direct flight from Boston to this city, known as the capital of the French Riviera—so the itinerary was practical—but, really, who doesn’t want to delight in the beauty of the Cours Saleva Flower Market; walk along the famous Promenade des Anglais; and visit the iconic Negresco Hotel whose guest list has included such luminaries as Pablo Picasso, Marc Chagall, Henri Matisse, Edith Piaf, Frank Sinatra, Luciano Pavarotti, Ernest Hemingway, Lauren Bacall, Marlon Brando, Richard Burton, Elizabeth…

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I had a village house in Lourmarin, at the foot of the Luberon Mountains. Okay, I took some liberties with Karen Blixen’s opening sentence of her famous book, “Out of Africa.” My apologies, but like the young Ms. Blixen who moved from Denmark to Kenya, I, a beagle just barely past my first birthday, made a major move from the United States to France. Like Ms. Blixen, I left a piece of my heart in another country and, like Ms. Blixen, my view of life was forever altered. For different reasons, of course.   I am confident the indelible impressions that would eventually re-shape Ms…

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Château Roubine, from whence the rosé I am drinking comes, is built atop Knights Templar property. In the center of Provence, in the heart of the department of the Var, in the town of Lorgues, lie these vineyards on land once owned by the (in) famous medieval order of the Knights Templar. More on Château Roubine’s refreshing rosé to come, but right now I want to pursue the Knights Templar. This once powerful military order, formed in 1119 and sanctioned by the Catholic church in 1129, is back in the popular press with the recent release of Dan Brown’s new book, Inferno. Knights Templar lore…

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