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Bicycle GourmetMore Than Organic

Producer/Director/Author Christopher Strong shares the human, senic, cultural, culinary, and historic “Treasures” discovered during the filming of his TV series – BICYCLE GOURMET'S TREASURES OF FRANCE.

MORE THAN ORGANIC

He’s equal parts philosopher, economist, poet, author, lecturer, country gentlemen, biodynamic advocate, and 100% Wine Maker. His Chenin Blancs are consistently rated “exceptional” by all the critics. But Nicholas Joly, labeled “The Pope of Biodynamics” by one wine magazine takes no credit for his renowned wines. “They’re not my Wines!....I did not do them. My part is just for balancing and tuning things up.”

When I first read about “The Pope” what made him immediately my cinematic cup o’ tea, were two things: One – He looked the part. Two – as a former merchant banker in England, He had to speak English! So – nothing to do but tell him why we were destined to meet, that I was flying blind, and there was no guarantee of anything for anyone. “Sounds wonderful” He faxed back. “Come and see me.” Easy for him to say! I was thirteen cycling days away. Arriving in a nearby village on the twelfth night, I phoned to confirm. A soft female voice, with an obvious English accent answered. (Try saying those last four words fast, after two drinks) It was Mrs. Joly. Nicholas was in the hospital with gallstones.Could I call back tomorrow? “Yes, M’am” – the only possible reply. N’est ce pas? I visualized the next issue of wine snob weekly : “Pope felled by gallstones!” Oh well! – What’s a poor boy ta do? I went for the three “B’s.” Bistro. Bottle. And Bed.

Next day, I waited until noon to call. Miracle of miracles– The Pope had returned. And was awaiting Me. Knowing the Jolys lived in a converted monastery, I wasn’t expecting a hilltop chateau, ringed by a swan filled lake. But there was, to me, a “junior chateau”, at the top of the vineyard. Nicholas’ parents home, and his office. The monastery, at the bottom of the vineyard, was a u –shaped building with ten or so plain, but cozy guest rooms on one side, and the Joly’s living quarters, and a stable, on the other. Decent sized living room, with fireplace. Smallish kitchen. Bathroom upstairs. And a large study, with a very old grand piano. Warm. Inviting. Brimming with character. Like the people who lived there. Mrs. Joly was as warm and welcoming in person. Though I was right about the English accent – She was German! A former Art historian at Sotheby’s. Luckily I had not tried to impress her with my only German phrase : “Where is the bicycle repair shop?”

Halfway through a very welcome homemade herbal tea, the Pope strode briskly in. Beaming a gigantic smile. “So…..You made it!......Welcome………..Welcome………” His handshake was vigorous and short. “Please….Please….” He motioned me to sit. I was in film maker heaven. Nicholas looked even better in person. Bright, inquisitive eyes. Natural, infectious smile and energy. Tousled hair. Jaunty scarf. Plaid shirt. Working man’s vest. And, He spoke English with an understandable French accent. The epitome of the classic French country gentleman. Nicholas’ smile waned quickly to concern “Oh……..I’m sorry……….Are you tired?.........Would you like to rest?” I paused and smiled. “I thought it was you who needed the rest?” “Doctors!” Nicholas spat out. And continued, with extravagant hand gestures : “OK………I ‘ave a leetle pain……..so I go to ze hospital……….zen zey are doing zere tests………so I wait. And I wait. So……finally I am asking :’Well…….what ‘ave you found?” “Well…..we find nazing………but you must rest in bed…. and we do another test.” “Can you believe it!” Nicholas fumed.“Another test!.......So………at zis moment I zay………’I don’t zink so! And I leave. (shaking his head) Idiocy! Absolute Idiocy!!(less strident) Of course, eef I broke my leg, I would go to ze hospital. But, for zese……zese……little…..imbalances in za body, I ‘ave much more faith in holistic medicine.” The Pope smiled. As if to say : “Well…..that’s my doctor rant.” Then asked : “Zo,………where would you like to start?” Ever prepared, I responded with a definite : “uhh how about………uh……the vineyard?” “Fine” Nicholas smiled as He rose and motioned me to follow. “Let’s get the dogs.” By this time, dear reader, I had learned that one of the most important commandments of French Male-dom is : “Thou shalt have at least one dog.” Nicholas had two. Golden Labs. Friendly. Obedient. My kinda pooches.

As we jeeped to the grapes, Nicholas filled in the bio. blanks. His Father was a former village Mayor. His Mother, the family winemaker. , Nicholas’ non-Pope life began in London, as a merchant banker. But, eventually the call of the land proved stronger than the call of Merchant Banking, and Nicholas returned to the Loire with the future Mrs. Joly, to take over the vineyard. What He found was that decades of pesticide-based farming had resulted in an increase, not a decrease, in plant disease. The Pope had a sick vineyard on his hands .Nicholas had always been intrigued by the theories of the Austrian Philosopher, Rudolph Steiner. – The originator of the concept of “Biodynamics.” Best known as the founder of “Waldorf Schools.” After investigating Steiner further, Nicholas decided to put his theories into practice.

Biodynamics – in a sentence –is the application of dilute solutions of organically derived fertilizer at precise times, under precise conditions, to aid plant health, and thus, growth. While organic farming creates a chemical free environment, and let’s nature take its course; Biodynamics goes a step further, by helping the plant grow. In essence, “Biodynamics” is homeopathy for the soil. One of the main principles of biodynamics is acting in concert with the phases of the moon. Something farmers have done for centuries. “Many people today, speak of biodynamie as eef eat were some kind of new age voodoo. This is complete nonsense. We are simply re-discovering and applying the old wisdom. Wisdom that has for centuries produced healthy and abundant chemical – free food. Of course, zis…’free farming’…..is totally against the interest of ze chemical companies who influence Government regulations. So……..zere ees…..tremendous opposition. And….now zat zere pesticide profits ‘ave fallen…….zey are promoting zis genetic……nonsense. I am totally against zis. Eat ees like taking za nose of a man from ze seventeen century, and putting eat on za face of a man from ze eighteen century, and saying: ‘Look – I ‘ave made somezing wonderful!’ I don’t zink so!”

After a day of virtually non-stop cinematic adventure,enough candles for a mini rock concert greeted me in the Joly’s dining room. Shadows danced across the vegetarian buffet on the solid oak table. Now was the time for pleasurable, sensory thoughts. Like,“Where’s the freakin’ wine!?” Not a glass in sight. Let alone a bottle. There were, however, pint sized glass bottles, filled with a murky, brown liquid. Their home made apple juice. Mrs. Joly explained : “We do so much tasting, that in our personal lives, we prefer the juice.” She smiled. I smiled back. I hope, not too weakly. Shortly after I had arrived, Mrs. Joly asked me where I slept when I couldn’t find the country inn o’my dreams. “Try to find a farmer with some spare hay.” Was my response. As the meal wound down, Mrs. Joly clocked me with a mischievous smile. “Well……….I’m afraid there is some bad news.”(long pause}…We have no hay. However, I’ve made up a room for you that I hope will be comfortable.”

The room with no hay was at the end of a long rectangular hall of ten or so others, in the opposite “U” of the monastery. More than “brite.” Less than luxurious. Personal.Welcoming.Familiar. There were two single beds, a wash basin, and a mirror. Three windows gave it a sense of greater space. One with a view to the courtyard. The middle one, showcasing the vineyard. And the third, the woods beyond. No sleeping pill was required; No review of the day’s events mattered. I done good. And I was done! Quickly, happily, I melted into the collective biodynamic unconscious.

My alarm clock was the aroma of freshly baked bread. The room, awash with light, seemed larger. More of a suite. I felt very much the country squire. Lazily contemplating if, and when, I should rise. Yesterday’s events seemed far distant. Part of another life. Another time. Finally dragging my deliciously lazy butt to the kitchen, I found the bread. But no one else. I dined alone, as country squires often do. Fresh bread. Homemade Apricot jam. Strong coffee. After brekkie, ambling the alley of cypress tress that connect the monastery to the main house, I was enveloped by it’s unique calm and tranquillity. Surely what attracted the Monks who began this story centuries ago. . It wasn’t until my bike was almost loaded that Nicholas appeared. As suddenly as the first time. He beamed. “You slept well?” “Comme le mort” (Like the dead) “Of course…………….Ze grateful dead” Nicholas joked. “Exactement”“And…..where do you go now? “ To the next farmer with hay” I shot back. Nicholas laughed heartily, and extended his hand. “Well…….good travels…………and remember……..you’re welcome anytime you pass………….I can’t guarantee zat I’ll be ‘ere, of course, ………….but………we all know you now.” Those were the words that lingered as I pedalled down the wooded road. “We all know you now.” What better invitation could there be?

Until next time, this is bicycle gourmet wishing you great adventures!

“life is either a great adventure….. or nothing”
Helen Keller

MORE “TREASURES OF FRANCE” at www.soulmuse21.com

Related Link:
The Coulee de Serrant, vineyard of exception

More articles from the Bicycle Gourmet.

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