One afternoon we found ourselves in Domme, a fortified village, or bastide, which rises sharply from the Dordogne River valley floor and affords stunning views from its 13th century walls. We also found a lovely little wine shop that featured a locally grown and produced, award-winning Vin de Pays. We purchased a bottle and drank it. It was wonderful. A bit rough at first opening, but after letting it breath for about 15 minutes it mellowed right out. There was something about that wine that spoke to me.
I'd been saving the Domme wine for what-I-don't-know, some special occasion or other, along with a small tin of foie gras d'oie (pure goose liver pate) and a tiny glass jar of black Perigord truffles, both bought in Sarlat and tucked into my travel bag to bring home.
Well, last night, for no reason other than it was blustery, unseasonably warm, and we'd just brought home our Christmas tree, my husband and I opened the wine, foie gras and truffles. Sitting together in our living room, talking and looking at the as-yet-unadorned Christmas tree, this was the occasion we'd been waiting for.
It wasn't a special occasion, as many "special" occasions go, but it was mighty fine. Mighty fine.
























