Tasting the Story in Every Sip : Château de Montfrin
A Wonderful Experience at Château de Montfrin
“The south of France is somewhere I can’t seem to stay away from”
First Impressions
Driving through the little town of Montfrin, I was stopped at the traffic circle waiting my turn. A few small cafés were buzzing with people sipping coffee and chatting about their day and then an out of place rumble. It was the roar of a large diesel motor and a monstrous olive tree, roots and all, was strapped to the back of a large moving truck rumbling through town, barely managing the tight turn around of the city centre. Olives are not what I picture when I think of the south of France, but I would come to learn that is changing.
As I rounded the traffic circle myself, I looked up to see the glorious hill towering above the town and a single winding road leading up it. A bumpy and tight road led to a magnificent gate lined with matching cypress trees. This was starting to look more like Greece. Compared to Paris in November, where we were days before, this sunny and warm haven was enchanting.
My partner and I entered the gates and parked in the courtyard of a massive stone castle, the crown jewel of this town. Donkeys were braying in the pen beside us and a dog came bounding out the front door. The only thing brighter than the warm sun was the very welcoming and bright shining face of Aurore Fleurieu. “Please come in! Welcome to Montfrin!”
Jean-René de Fleurieu
We entered the wonderful Montfrin Château and were whisked into the front kitchen, where a 20 foot wall was lined end to end with copper pots, pans and bakeware. Opposite this, Jean-René, busy at a row of stoves, stepped away and greeted us with a firm handshake. “This house is incredible! Thank you for having us, what a beautiful place to live” I told him.
As is the custom with every father in North America who is obsessed with their children and family not touching the thermostat, Jean-Rene brought us back to reality and to my own father. “Sure, but you couldn’t imagine the heating bill in the winter”. Two stories, three kitchens, countless studies and rows of bedrooms, I quickly lost count of the number of rooms.
I was introduced to Jean-René’’s two other daughters who were also busy setting the table with jam, bread, vegetables and setting it with dinnerware. “I know you were promised a beet salad with ham and bread, but we’re having hearty mountain food today,” Jean-René told us. He handed us the tiniest wine glass I’ve ever seen and filled it with beautiful and rare sparkling.
We sat down for a meal of grilled pork sausage, cheesy potatoes, roasted fennel and onions, served with bread and cheese. Again, this was not the typical “south of france” I was expecting, but I was again, pleasantly surprised. My plate was graciously filled far too much and we began eating until Jean-René jumped up and ran to the cupboard to bring two dark, unmarked bottles back to the table with him. He poured some glimmering olive oil onto his plate and with a mouthful of bread, poured some on the plates of his guests just the same.
Life On The Vinyard
Our now larger glasses were filled with “à la douceur d’aller”, a predominately Syrah blend, dark and rich, more common in the northern Rhône. Though the properties of the winery are only about 10 km apart they span various wine regions, terrior, and thus they produce many different wines.
Conversation at lunch centered around moose. The family was very interested to learn about Canadian wildlife, hunting and why it isn’t a staple in most homes, despite its surprising size and mouthwatering flavour. Jean-René and I also explained to his daughters that Alberta’s spring and fall is a short, sort of mushy and soggy week or two, compared to the long and fairy tale seasons of France.
After lunch, we followed Jean-René down to his study. There were piles of books as tall as me covering most of the floor and we moved stacks of books off the couch so we could sit. Its the sort of place that would have once had a sliding ladder along the floor to reach the upper shelves, but the collections have surpassed the shelves and have crawled their way across nearly every surface. “How much do you read? This is more books than many libraries have!” I asked.
“More time than I’d like to admit is spent on instagram reels”, Jean-Rene told us. The patriarch of the castle was once again showing he is human, just like us.
Tiny tin cups were filled with coffee as he swam through his collection of books to find the one he was after. The one he opened was titled something like “Olives Around the World” and he leafed through it to find a tiny 3 paragraphs he gleefully shared with us. “This is us”, he blurted out, gleaming with pride through his thick beard.
There was a description on how Jean-Rene was helping to revitalize and change the growing habits and thinking of his neighbours. With the change in climate, fruits like cherries, apricots and grapes were no longer the only thing growing in Montfrin. Olives were now a significant crop, taking up about 40% of his land and he is hoping to help convince the French that they can grow olive oil in their own country, instead of importing.
Walking through the Vines
Aurore took us around the farm, with her dog always in tow. We learned she worked with her neighbors to start a community cellar and press to lessen the start-up and operating cost of processing grapes and olives. However, they have had to start a new facility to maintain the integrity of their organic wines, to ensure it stays separate. Rather than compete with their neighbours, the Fleurieu family wants the region as a whole to succeed.
Vines and trees are pruned manually, and Aurore was a wealth of knowledge to my partner who is a botanist with a recovering tendon injury. They manually prune so that the olive trees can fit in the mechanical harvester. This process maintains the health of the tree, but means fruit has to be processed within 24 hours to keep the inevitable bruises from turning into oxidized damage.
As we walked through the rows of grape vines, there were a few birds circling overhead. As a fruit grower in my Edmonton backyard, I asked her what can be done to keep the pesky birds from eating too much of her fruit. I try shiny CD’s to scare them, scare crows, bird nets, and companion plants. But her answer caught me off guard, “we have enough to share”.
The Fleurieu family has lived on and cared for their land for 100 years this year. Their hospitality and warmth is memorable and genuine. One of the things that makes them most unique is their willingness to share, collaborate and succeed together. Their house is the highest in the town, but they drive down the hill every day to work shoulder to shoulder with their employees. They talk to and work with their neighbours to help each other produce wonderful artisan wines and oils. They farm the land with organic matter and produce crops that help sustain the natural population of wildlife.
Much like myself, Aurore calls her father by his first name. There was dust in their house just like my own. The donkey steals oranges off their prized citrus tree just like some neighbor kids steal apples off my tree in the back alley.
We left with a case of olive oil, a list of where to go to eat for the next few days and an invite to return soon.
At home in Canada, I open their wine after work and it’s fresh, fruity and inviting. The tannins are balanced, the acidity is bright and it would invite even a novice wine drinker for another sip. I bought a case to give away for Christmas to my friends and family and I think I’ll bring another one to dinner this weekend.