Right now, of course, Colmar and surrounding villages are under the influence of Christmas markets, mulled wine and other Teutonic-inspired abominations. But they get over that, come January – from when we may, without danger, travel to what might be the most civilised small town in France. Rocked about relentlessly by the hazards of history, Alsaciens in general, and Colmariens in particular, have sought refuge in an epic domesticity of courtyards, galleries, gables and half-timbered, high-hued houses, the whole overcome with flowers. Eating cheese and drinking wine moderately in these circumstances is pleasurable but, as I’ve noted before, likely to be a lonely endeavour.
Having got your Colmar aperitif in early – before lunch, maybe on a terrace by the Lauch river – you need a plan. Granted, it’s going to be more time-consuming than a Downing Street one-and-a-half glasses extravaganza but, hell, no-one’s watching – and, if they are, they may take as many photos as they damned well like, then return somewhere and get a life.
We’re going first to Zellenberg to pick up pinot blanc and pinot gris from Vins Jean Becker (vinsbecker.com). Ask for Martine Becker. She’s smart, lovely and speaks better English than I do. Now, in pursuit of cheese we move up the Munster Valley, past Munster itself to Hohrod where, at the Ferme du Versant du Soleil, farmer Jean-Marc Lau has the best cheese platter of any cheese man in France. He explains that his former bull François managed to get round quite a number of cows “without the use of a scooter”, while his present bull, Emmanuel, very much prefers older females. The Munster cheese is first rate.
If it were summer, or even late spring, we would take a hamper of wine and cheese, via the valley hairpins, to the Schlucht Pass. There, on the Vosges uplands with pastures all around, we would set to with our picnic – having, obviously, not been so stupid as to forget to buy bread. It is possible to picnic in winter too, if wrapped up like Bibendum. More promising is to head for one of the mountain farm inns for a marcaire, or farmer’s meal of, say, roïgabregaldi (spuds, lardons, onions, butter, white wine) or a meat pie mountainous enough to fuel farming work for a week. This must be accompanied by a sylvaner white, and followed by a plateful of Munster. A wine and cheese do is, we might conclude, much enhanced by the addition of meat, onions and potatoes. I’ve had splendid moments, and great grilled Munster, at the Uff Rain auberge, high and isolated on the territory of Metzeral. It’s one of the few inns open through winter – seven days a week during the school holidays, Thursday through Sunday the rest of the time (vallee-munster.eu). Don’t hesitate.
Then we should drive the Route des Crêtes, built along the top of the Vosges to supply French front-line forces in the Great War. One of the places supplied was Le Linge, a rocky outcrop dominating the Alsace plain and Rhine river. Through the summer of 1915, French and German troops knocked seven bells out of one another. Some 17,000 died; the rest dug in for the duration. Rock-hewn trenches remain, sometimes so close that, as someone said on my last visit: “They could have lit one another’s cigarettes.” An on-site museum tells the story (linge1915.eu).
