As a freelance writer, one has to count the pennies and cents. But having had the good luck to win a prize (mit cheque) for my recent book on Champagne, I decided to have a rest from bubbles and take a few days holiday in a place where my love affair with France began: the land of plenty that is Beaujolais, Bresse and Beaune. Due to a mix-up on SNCF timetables, I had to wait around for the TGV from Paris Gare du Lyon to Mâcon-Loché, but it raced the 400 kilometres to Burgundy’s southern city in just 100 minutes. I found a spotlessly clean hotel close to Mâcon Ville station. Pleasantly tired but needing some exercise, I strolled down through the handsomely restored town and crossed the bridge over the broad Saône to St Laurent, the first township you come to in the Bresse department of Ain, a mecca for foodies.
That cold, star-bright night, I ate a perfect dinner in the heated verandah of the enchanting L’Autre Rive restaurant (www.lautrerive.fr) with its dramatic views of floodlit Mâcon across the water: even in November, the flat roofs and the southern architecture of the city told me that I was just at the point where southern France begins – the Midi beckons. For the record, the soup of potiron and chestnuts was a warming intro to one of France’s great dishes, poulet de Bresse à la crème au vin jaune that quite lived up to expectations. As a good old boy, just wanting to sleep well, I drank just one lovely glass of Michel’s Mâcon Clessé 09 and another of Devillard’s Chateau de Chamirey Mercurey 08 with the chicken. Then the freshest raspberry sorbet with a splash of Marc de Bourgogne. Back to the hotel, I did not stir till 10 o’clock the next morning.
