The name of this post is funny, because the night at Caveau Collombin was funny. I put Jojo up to the task of actually speaking to Monsieur Collombin about maybe opening his private caveau for the Family Greene (and I) while Jojo's parents were in town. I am speaking French better, but didn't think I was doing good enough to convince a local boy of anything except that there is another foreigner in town who can't really speak the language. He didn't answer the phone, but he called back and said no. I wasn't too disappointed, because I am used to employing the "expect the worst and you'll never be disappointed" perspective. This, however, has been changing for me so I did feel a little pang. Evidently Collombin was off on a ski tour of the Grand 'Eteygeon or something. Besides, we only had 4 people, which just wasn't enough we guessed. Within a couple hours, my Swiss phone, which nobody knows the number for, except the people I was drinking wine and eating capon and chestnuts with, rang. It was Collombin. Another party had called and he was opening the caveau after all. We were in!
A couple nights later found us peering out the frosted windows of a tiny (by U.S. estimations) car trying to locate the caveau which had no sign or indicator that we knew of. It was a short drive, but none of us wanted to walk in the -10 temps, especially later on. Thankfully the narrow streets of Versegeres are few, and we figured we had found it when we saw a strangely large red lantern of some kind glowing on the wall up a narrower sidestreet. Sure enough, Roland Collombin greeted us when we decided to open the old wooden door I had to stoop through.
A trio of French skiers on the road through Europe because their snow at home had melted sat drinking wine at the little bar. Collombin's wife, Sara, immediately plied us with their Fendant (a white wine) and a plate of deeply colored and tender dried meat sliced so thin you could see through it (I didn't check if this were actually true, much to Jojo's relief I am sure). Soon the proprietors of a 5 star Verbier Chalet trooped in with an entourage in fur, leather, stilettos and carrying tiny scarf wearing dogs. Apparently, these folks are of actual royal lineage even! The place was officially hopping.
After some more talking and wine, Roland was "Racletting" and Sara was serving us all plates of Raclette and potato. Very good Raclette I might add. After dinner and dessert, we discovered the "ski tour" thing was a misunderstanding of communication. Roland had actually been on a booze run to Ticino, or Tessinois or some such place in Switzerland where more Italian is spoken. Late night beer runs to the corner store don't really seem so "core" to me anymore. Nobody ever brought back un-labeled bottles of Grappa and Walnut Wine (it was like a Port or Brandy, spicy and quite obviously fortified) from the corer store before. While Collombin was out smoking cigarettes, I took a few pictures.
It could have been the Walnut Wine, but I think I just wasn't ready for the photo. It's a good one of Monsieur Collombin though.
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