A trip to France’s Loire valley in search of natural wines.

It may be easier to describe French natural wines and how they are made by enumerating what they are not. They are not from overly tilled soil and chemically controlled plants, nor are they sulfite-infused, homogenous concoctions, they do not include obligatory filtration, and they are not symbolic of any new approach to wine making itself. What natural wines are is quite simple- they are wine as it should be, wine at it’s most natural.

France’s Loire Valley is home to a group of winemakers who challenge the practices of the modern day agricultural and viticultural industry by creating a product that eschews additives that are a crutch for so many industrial-sized wineries. Embracing the ancient tradition of wine making and accepting the challenges that come along with an artisanal (non-industrial) approach, these winemakers are part of a growing movement to bring nature back to vineyards and wine glasses across the country and around the world.

Unlike some wine growing regions I’ve visited in the States, the Touraine is not a large expanse of carefully manicured vineyards, but a diverse stretch of woods, prairies, farms, and goat ranches with patches of vineyards scattered throughout. French winemakers who are aware of the advantages of biodiversity welcome every wildflower and weed found in this fertile land.

Recently I had the pleasure of discovering this region. My first “natural” vineyard visit was to Domaine des Maisons Brulées where Michel Augé gave me a crash course in the importance of native plants and the role they play. “Nature hates emptiness,” Michel told me as he pointed out the greenery that he let fill in the spaces between his vines. We then came upon a variety of clover that is known to add nitrogen to impoverished soil, “Where there is a lack of something, nature finds a remedy,” he explained.

Humility and respect for nature were part and parcel in the early days of winemaking, but the eventual industrialization of viticulture led to producers craving control over nature and the winemaking process. Thus sulfites were introduced, allowing for the manipulation of wine and its homogenization.

In the world of natural wines, sulfites are considered unnecessary and largely taboo. At Domaine des Maisons Brulées, no sulfites are added to the wine and any sulfite level that may be found in their vintages is a naturally occurring by-product of the fermentation process. Michel Augé describes the role of sulfites in wine as that of an “antiseptic” and cites their affects on the taste, as well as the digestibility, of wine as two major reasons to avoid their use.

After a tour of the vineyards, Michel’s wife, Béatrice, joined us to taste the fruits of their labor. Swirling a Herdeleau Pinot Noir-Gamay-Pineu d’Aunis in our glasses, Michel recounted how Béatrice inspired him to change from chemically treating his plants to going au naturel. Béatrice modestly refused to accept credit saying, “we were both ready for the change” describing their switch to natural wine making in 1992 she said, “it was the right time and we were just open to it.”

Once it hits your mouth, a truly natural wine has an immediate, but not fleeting, affect. While tasting the Herdeleau Michel recited an adage that is well-known amongst natural wine makers: “If you’re not ready to spend twenty seconds to really taste natural wine, then it’s not worth tasting it.” In order to really taste natural wine, you must savor the initial burst of flavor as it hits your tongue, then wait a moment as that flavor calms down and eventually comes back and hits you towards the back of your mouth- an incredibly satisfying aftershock.

“I don’t want to trivialize any part of the process,” Michel told me in a decisive tone, “making natural wine is a way of putting the system back in its place.” The couple’s commitment to this cause is no doubt aided by the daily reminder that their vineyards offer of the history of the region, their plot of land offers a breathtaking view of a valley that has been largely unchanged since the 11th century.

A little ways down the road, at La Lunotte, Christophe Foucher described his winemaking philosophy, “It isn’t for me to fight against nature” Christophe explained, adding “I want to do as little as possible.”

Christophe aims to keep his vineyards to a manageable size and to be able to live off the work he does. “Once you have a large-scale vineyard, you’re obligated to become industrial,” Christophe explained adding that he would much rather be a part of the small movement of wine makers in France who work outside of the industrial system.

“I hate monoculture” he told me as we visited a neighboring vineyard that had been treated with Round Up, a popular weed and grass killer. Chemically treated plants, Christophe explained, “have a simulated taste that they should have naturally- it’s superficial.”

Both Michel and Christophe are able to talk freely of eventualities that frighten most growers, and humans in general; life and death, success and failure, errors and lessons learned the hard way. They speak of these unavoidable experiences without regret or fear. Their open-armed embrace of the process of making natural wine, and the fact that this type of wine making immediately excludes them from the system of mass-production of wines, takes the pressure off the process and frees them to be creative, curious, and realistic in their relationship with nature.

I ended my trip to the Touraine region in Christophe’s front yard, sipping Les P’tites Vignes Sauvignon and a Sparkling Rosé, the range of flavors and their longevity in la bouche still a thrill I was far from getting over. I felt reluctant to leave this source of such extraordinary wines and discoveries, not quite ready to move on yet. And the wine, I asked Christophe, when do you know when it’s ready? Without stopping to think he responded,”It just comes naturally.”

Image: Emily Dilling

The post Discovering the Vins Naturels of France’s Loire Valley appeared first on EcoSalon.

The future of the quintessential French farmers market is facing big challenges.

If you followed shoppers at Joël Thiébault’s stand at the Marché President Wilson home, you could find yourself in any number of places; a neighboring posh apartment in the swanky 16th arrondissement, a hidden kitchen in the trendy Northern Marais neighborhood, or even an afternoon picnic aside the canal St. Martin. No matter where you ended up, you would be sure to eat well because Joël Thiébault sells some of the best produce you can find in a city of over 80 open-air markets.

Thiébault’s heirloom veggie varieties have rocketed him to super-stardom among French foodies who flock to his stand at the market every week. But Thiébault’s resuscitation of forgotten vegetables is not the only thing that makes him extraordinary at this Parisian market. An independent producer, Thiébault is a part of a shrinking community of farmers who bring their  locally grown produce to market.

Paris’ open-air markets, which closely resemble what which we call farmers markets in the states, have increasingly become centers where wholesale food is resold to shoppers. Middle men have edged out independent producers and local produce has been replaced by ersatz apples and oranges. The authenticity of the “farmers” market in France – a country that cherishes both its culinary tradition and artisan culture – is increasingly compromised by industrial agriculture and its unfortunate byproducts.

“There are less and less small producers,” Earl Martinet told me when I visited his stand at the Marché Cours de Vincennes. For Martinet, the extinction of local growers is due to multiple factors. For one, the price of land is constantly rising and for many farmers it seems more advantageous to sell their terrain to developers rather than continue to cultivate it. This decision is likely influenced by another threat to independent farms – the fact that the younger generation is less and less interested in taking over the family farm. Many of the independent farmers at these markets represent the last generation to continue in the family’s farming tradition. Once these vendors hang up their hoe for good, it is unlikely that their stand will be replaced by another representative of local agriculture.

Producers such as Martinet come to the market hoping to reach – and expand – an audience of Parisian locavores and ethical eaters, but even this investment of time is a threat to their business. The teams working the farms at home are often small and suffer from the absence of their colleagues who spend anywhere from one to four times a week at various markets around the city.

“It makes my days very long,” Marc Mascetti explained to me, while looking over his crates of carrots, potatoes, and salad varieties, “I have to go home after this and make up for the work that I missed while I was here.”

Mascetti, whose farm is located 34 km from Paris, explained that the most pervasive menace to local farmers is the fact that, “now the vegetables come from Spain, Italy, Belgium, Holland – even Argentina!” At his market, Marché Place Monge, he is the only independent, local farmer to have a stand, tout seul in a sea of industrial food resell outlets.

But where besides abroad do these squeaky-clean zucchinis and individually wrapped watermelons come from? The source is often Rungis, a huge food and flower market located 7 km south of Paris. Wholesale goods at this large-scale market offer an easier option for vendors who want to pull an easy profit from the open-air market scene.

Even many of the organic food vendors avail themselves of the Rungis option, stocking up on organically grown foods from around Europe and cashing in on the growing trend of favoring bio (organic) foods in France. The city’s two all-organic markets, the Marché Raspail and the Marché Batignolles are both full of such stands, where non-seasonal organic produce abounds. Even here, local farmers are not in the majority.

The victims of this mark-it-up-and-sell-it mentality aren’t only the independent producers, but the shoppers, as well. Many don’t realize that what they think is farm-fresh produce at the market may very well have been shipped in from Spain a week ago. While the concept of the open-air market in France has stayed the same, the content has drastically changed, and the evolution may have been slow enough that many market-goers haven’t noticed that the farmer has been taken out of the market.

If you visit an open-air market on a trip to Paris, here are some things to look out for to be sure that you are supporting local growers:

• Key words. Look for words such as maraîcher, producteur, ferme, and Ile-de-France, which signify that the produce was grown by a producer on a farm in the vicinity of Paris. Local vendors will also usually put their name and location of the farm, so look out for that, as well.
• Dirty, seasonal produce. This may seem like a no-brainer, but it is easy to get seduced by all the lovely looking vegetables on display at the market. But if you want the real deal, be ready to dust some dirt off your carrot before biting into it. Take a tour around the market to see what’s out there and try to determine what seems to be in season, and what seems to be airbrushed and a little too perfect.
• Chatty Vendors. French markets are not just centers of commerce, but also lively social scenes. Local vendors especially like to take advantage of the opportunity to have an exchange with their customers while they are in town. Look for animated discussions over white asparagus and new potatoes – that’s where you want to be.

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