There's a certain magic about Burgundy in the wintertime; a magic that can be felt as one takes a leisurely drive through the vineyards early in the morning and sees groups of men and women pruning the plants and burning the branches as they go. The fantastic, woodsy smell and the realization that those naked branches will soon bear plump, juicy grapes is pure sensory poetry.
I spend my days eating at cozy restaurants, sipping wine and making believe I'm French in a million and one little ways. The average tourists we are certainly not!
But the best part, the part that I really love the most is that first day. I stop at the butcher's to buy a fat, creamy-skinned, rustic chicken. The house is freezing when I arrive, but by the time dinner is ready, the house fills with warmth and wonderful smells. Can't wait!
