Côte à Côte (Side by Side)
June 1-7, 2022
Everyone felt cooped up during the pandemic, but some people made real, big changes to remedy their situation. Our friends Josh and Tassa grew tired of apartment life in Annecy and started looking for something bigger in the French countryside that was better-suited for their growing family. In this search, they found a three-building compound outside of Cordes sur Ciel that cost a fraction of buying an apartment where they were currently living. So, they left that somewhat-bustling village behind for a much, much tinier one, and moved into a tannery from the 1500s with endless fix-up potential.
When Josh told us of the purchase and gave us a video tour of the grounds during the height of the pandemic, we wanted nothing more than to escape there and help him renovate; we were happy to be workers paid only in companionship and board. But going anywhere during those turbulent years was tricky, and it proved difficult to get schedules and public health crises in sync. Additionally, the pandemic changed the availability of certain routes run by low-cost airlines, and there were no longer €40 direct round-trip flights from Berlin to Toulouse, or any direct flights whatsoever. Getting to Cordes now required two flights, a cab to the train station, an hour-long train, and then Josh picking us up in Gaillac a half an hour from his house and driving us the rest of the way. It’s a trek, but we quickly found it was worth the effort.
Josh and Tassa have made an everyday life for themselves in Cordes that is a luxurious vacation for just about anyone else, us included. The compound has three buildings: The main house for the family with an included separate studio where we stayed, an unfinished guest house, and an attached space where Josh is hosting dinner pop-ups which will eventually become a proper restaurant, French bureaucracy permitting. Tall ceilings, beautiful wooden beams, exposed brick, hardwoods, a fireplace in every room, a sunny patio and lawn, grilling area, swimming pool - this place has got it all. Usually our trips involve a lot of movement; Mazz always wants to see as much of a new place as possible. Not this time. There was nothing we wanted more on this trip than to just hang out at Josh and Tassa’s house for a week, chatting and laughing and cooking and drinking good wine. As Tassa pointed out, it’s the sort of house that is perfect for company, for spending time together like a family, side by side, with plenty of space to retreat when you need some privacy.
The living room is larger than our entire apartment
It’s easy to spend a week living inside someone else’s home when you genuinely like their family. We’d spent quality time with Chloe in our previous trips to Annecy, but Oscar was new to us, and we quickly became friends. Only three years old and already speaking limited versions of both English and French, it can be hard to know exactly what he’s saying at times, but there is one phrase Oscar quips that is unmistakable. Occasionally, apropos of nothing, he would look us right in the eye and ask, “You good?” It is truly one of the most endearing things we’ve ever witnessed from a small child. Chloe quickly glommed onto Mazz, happy to have another girl to play with in the house, and without much effort, we integrated into the family unit.
Once we were settled in, the first and most important stop was clearly the grocery store, so we could stock up on everything we’d need for luxurious house hangs. The Côte à Côte is the premiere shop in the area, a 15-20-minute drive from the house but well worth the extra effort. Virtually everything at this shop is local, with a dedicated bakery, cheese and cured meat section, and full butcher. Even the majority of the wine they sell is made by local producers, so we let Josh pick out the bottles to introduce us to the area. Honestly, there was so much amazing stuff inside the Côte à Côte it was hard to make decisions, but we managed to fill up several baskets with veggies, cheeses, meats, and wines to last us for at least a day or two.
And then we began what would be our routine for the following week: Playing with the kids, feeding them, and putting them to bed, then starting on food of our own. We’d grill and sit on the patio drinking new wines and eating cheeses as the sun went down, then dig into whatever lovely spread Josh had concocted. After dinner it was more wine, more talking about wine, and lots of stories from back in the day. Tassa would show self-restraint go to bed at a reasonable time after a reasonable amount of wine, but not the rest of us. Mazz and Josh have known each other since they were teenagers in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon, and so the well of shared knowledge and reminiscence runs deep. And though Josh and Kirb didn’t meet until both already lived in Europe, their paths in the Northwest have a startling number of parallels, so going off on long, shared tangents on music and culture was effortless. Before we knew it, it would be 3am and there would be more empty wine bottles scattered about than we’d hoped, but maybe not expected.
While we had the luxury of sleeping in until 11:00 every morning, Josh had to be up with the kiddos around 7:00, and we marveled in this herculean, sleep-deprived feat of fatherhood. Though it was only the first week of June, it was already hot in the Tarn region, getting up into the 90s (mid-30s °C). The simple 30-minute trek from the house through some fields and up the hill into the town of Cordes sur Ciel left us covered in sweat. Perched above a forested hillside, Cordes is a picturesque 800-year-old medieval village, with cobblestone alleys and sculpted facades that pay homage to Gothic art. Vantage points look out over the countryside, which stretches off below in each direction for as far as the eye can see.
Entering town, already extremely sweaty from walking up the hill in the sun
One of the most interesting elements of Cordes are the houses purchased by artist Jean-Jacques Enjalbert which have been transformed into installations honoring the Indian spiritual leader and mystic Ma Anandamayi. The houses are free to enter, and the one in the downtown area is filled with carved cedar sculptures and terra cotta domes that visitors can crawl inside of. Each floor has interactive fixtures and is laid out like a labyrinth, with a constant theme of the open circle - a mystic symbol - and photos of the guru Anandamayi throughout. A second, much more dilapidated house further down the hill was still in the process of transformation, with a dome nestled in the ruins of what used to be a living room and kitchen, now fully exposed to the elements.
Cordes and the surrounding towns are part of the greater Gaillac wine region, which is one of the oldest wine regions in all of France. But as Josh explained, even though it’s storied, it’s not exactly well respected. The way conventional winemakers in the area have been producing wine for generations isn’t fashionable with modern trends, and it also isn’t sought out by traditionalists like wines from Bordeaux, Burgundy, or Jura. But much like how Josh and his family found something to love in the area and chose to relocate, young natural winemakers are taking over the vineyards in Gaillac and doing new and exciting things with old, disregarded grape varietals like mauzac, braucol, and prunelart.
Our first stop was Domaine de Brin, where the tastings were held in a beautiful old farmhouse by a grandmother who didn’t speak a word of English. Josh did a great job translating and acting as an interpreter, but he insisted that it wasn’t because his French had improved so dramatically since the last time we had come to visit him, but rather he had just become fluent in talking about wine. We bought several bottles - some to drink at the house and some to ship back to Berlin - and then moved on to another winery, but found the property uninhabited even though the sign said they were open for tastings. A gruff dog welcomed us with wary growling before realizing we only wanted to be friends, then sat happily while we pet him, waiting for the winemakers to return. When they didn’t we moved on to meet Josh’s friend Melanie Kröber instead.
Mel is an up-and-coming winemaker from Germany who was mentored by Deirdre Heekin in Vermont. Heekin’s La Garagista winery produced the single best-tasting wine Kirb has ever put in his mouth. There’s a system in France where retiring winemakers can “rent” their vineyards to budding winemakers for 9-year increments, and Mel took over a parcel of land from Patrice Lescarret. It was blisteringly hot, and Mel had spent hours spraying her vines with a concoction that she referred to as “tea,” a natural replacement for chemical pesticides. She explained to us the back-breaking (and shirt-shredding) process of tending to the vines all by herself. Fittingly, her wine is called “Melsolo,” and while she is apparently unsatisfied with the product so far, we definitely enjoyed everything of hers that we tasted.
Provisions started to run low, so we went back to the Côte à Côte to stock up again. Steak sounded good, so Josh asked for a custom-cut from an entire bone-in side of beef. The butcher asked how many people would be eating and we said four, and he proceeded to cut us a 4-pound (2-kilo) brontosaurus rib with a hacksaw that could feed twice that many. Next door neighbors and friends Martin and Chioma came over to visit and have drinks, and though they had already eaten, they stayed for dinner once they saw the beautiful, massive piece of meat that Josh had reverse-seared to perfection. Baked in a low oven and then finished on the grill using a lantern for illumination as a lightning storm rolled in, that gargantuan steak was truly something worth sticking around for, even if you weren’t particularly hungry.
Summertime lightning storms
Though this region produces all sort of amazing foods, we were surprised to learn that there weren’t many decent restaurants, at least not ones that Josh would choose to visit instead of making food for himself. We suppose this is a good situation to be in if one, like Josh, is looking to open a fine-dining restaurant of their own. That said, he was interested in checking out a new weekend lunch situation at the winery Domaine Gayard, and we were happy to sit down for a proper French meal. The lunch was quite good, and we had a lovely afternoon chatting with two more of their friends from the area who had joined us, Thibaut and Mikayla. Later, we talked to Josh and Tassa about how fortunate it was that they had met multiple groups of smart, friendly, like-minded people in such a small town, and they agreed. There is a local photographer who published an entire book of interviews with the residents of Cordes, and they all shared stories of being “drawn” to the area. The photographer believes that the area exists at a confluence of ley lines; whatever the case may be, good people do indeed seem to be drawn from all over the world to this part of the French countryside.
The weather cooled down a bit the next day so we decided to go for a hike and check out some of the surrounding nature. Chloe’s favorite place to play outside are some red sand dunes not far from the house, so we spent the afternoon exploring the area and telling jokes and then playing a game in which we took turns saying things we like, which lasted roughly 200 rounds. Near the end, Chloe’s answers became very pointed about how she liked going in the pool after going on hikes and how she liked swimming with her dad especially after they had been in the car. Can you imagine what we did next?
That evening the pleasant pattern continued once again: We played with the kiddos and fed them and sent them to bed, then got to work tasting all the wines and cooking delicious things for ourselves. Josh introduced us to the French version of aioli, which is not just a sauce, but an entire meal. He said it’s something that French people make “when they don’t really want to cook,” but it still took longer to put together than anything most lazy people have the patience for. The bottles of wine and conversation once again stretched into the night and Kirb made Josh listen to his old bands from 20 years ago. Josh still makes music now and it’s really good and you should listen to it.
The following weekend, Josh was hosting a pop-up dinner on a farm, and his friend and partner Joanna Dubrawska was in charge of the wine pairings. We were sad to be leaving early and miss it, but thrilled that we were able to come along to Cazottes, where Joanna is currently making wine, to taste the pairings with Josh and give our input for how we thought they would go with the menu. After trying some truly spectacular stuff including a local Hydromel - sparkling wine made from honey that smelled like a field of wildflowers and tasted of lavender - Joanna took us on a tour of the winery. She happily opened up the vats of unfinished wine and let us taste what was fermenting inside, explaining how her process with the grapes differed from conventional practices. By reducing the time on the skins, wines that Josh described as traditionally big and overbearing were now crisp and delicious, easy-drinking natural reds.
When we got back to the tasting room, Mel and Mikayla had appeared seemingly from nowhere and then Joanna pulled out a homemade quiche and before we knew it the wine from the initial tasting was flowing again and we were all sharing an impromptu meal together. Joanna’s partner, Laurent Cazottes, is a world-renowned distiller, with a huge variety of liqueurs that are served in some of the best restaurants on the planet. She let us taste some of their tomato liqueur, made with nearly 200 different varieties of tomatoes, and it was something else. Then, an Australian shepherd showed up and Kirb got to pet it, and man, we just never wanted to leave that place.
We bought a bunch of bottles from Joanna, who is also a distributor in the area for non-local wines, and once again came home with bags heavy and clanking. But then, on the final night of our stay, something unimaginable happened: we had drank enough. There was a bottle open on the table, and it was far earlier than 3am, and we all decided mutually that we were done. It was time to go to bed and not drink again for...a long time. Side by side, côte à côte, we had enjoyed a week of communal living and shared luxury and excess. It was the most wine any of us had ever consumed in a 5-day period; a record that is likely to stand for some time. At least as long as it takes us to get back to France.