Beyond the Grapevine

TUCKED UP AGAINST THE GERMAN BORDER IN FRANCE, ALSACE HAS BEEN SHAPED BY CENTURIES OF UPHEAVAL. TODAY, CHEFS AND WINEMAKERS ALIKE ARE CELEBRATING A LEGACY OF CULINARY DIVERSITY

- Nina Caplan

When a wine-lover visits a wine region, it’s easy to forget there’s more to agriculture than grapes. In July, in Colmar, the absurdly picturesque town at the heart of the Alsace vineyards, Petit Jean is happy to set me straight. The 27-year-old chef (whose real name is Jean Kuentz) points out that this is girolle season, a source of even more joy to him than ripe grapes are to me. “I love scraping girolles,” he says, “I could do it all day.”

At his restaurant, La Maison Rouge, those girolles are served in a rich broth, topped with a poached egg, as the follow-up to an incredible slab of homemade pâté en croûte. Luckily, Petit Jean is less monomaniacal than me, so there’s more to follow: fresh tomatoes and herbs, homemade pickles, mustard sorbet and cucumber water to balance Rhine eel and Bresse guinea fowl. I don’t go thirsty, either: his selection of local wines, many by the magnum, is fabulous.

I’d driven into Alsace from the north of France, marvelling at how calm this easterly region is; how pretty, with its walled medieval villages and steep vineyards topped with forests or ruined castles. Yet nothing here has a peaceful history: the rich soils are a result of ancient geographical upheaval, tearing apart the Vosges and Black Forest mountains and driving the Rhine between. The Franco-German border has shifted uneasily back and forth. But uncomfortably situated as it is, fertile land has its advantages, and the food and wine have remained superb —whichever nation was reaping the benefits.