Alpine food + Savoie wines
And a nostalgic trip down memory lane
Because I had the definition of a privileged childhood, my parents took me skiing every year from the age of five until I left home. At 18, I worked a winter season as a chalet host in the French Alps (with hindsight, this was the best-suited-to-Vicky job I’ve ever had) and I even managed to go back during my Easter holidays at university to help out at my old chalet company. Yes, I loved the skiing. But I was also addicted to the lifestyle: the huge mountain lunches of raclette or tartiflette or fondue. (Whatever it was, it had to be dripping with melted cheese.) The endless cauldrons of glühwein glugged down during après-ski. The multi-course dinners shared with ruddy-cheeked guests who left their duty-free booze behind for the staff. And also, the local wine.
Of course, once I started working, the ski trips became a little more sporadic. Having Trois Vallées tastes on a copywriter’s salary didn’t exactly add up from a budgetary perspective. And post-covid, once I started digital nomading, I flew south for winter – where the weather suited my spring wardrobe but definitely not my ski jacket. All of which is to say that the last time I was in the Alps was well before I started studying wine.
And yet I’ve always had a deep nostalgia for wines from the Savoie (the region of France covering the Alps), even if I had no idea what was in them at the time. The climate is cool, the topology steep and mountainous – which are obvious when you think about it, and which lend most Savoie wines a bracing acidity. When my dad would step outside at the top of the cable car and pop on his skis, he’d take a deep breath and sigh, “Champagne air”. That’s the kind of acidity I’m talking about. The sort that cuts through all that melted cheese and cream and carbs and gives you just enough energy for the last black run of the day.
Now that it’s December, and even though I live four metres below sea level, I found myself looking to recreate that feeling. Two of my best friends own a fondue kit, so I dropped heavy hints at an invitation, while I set about selecting the wines. It’s not that easy to come by Savoie wines in Amsterdam – most people have never heard of them (the region isn’t even mentioned in WSET levels 1-3) and so most wine shops barely stock them because there simply isn’t the demand. At the shop I work in, however, we carry a few, and I’d venture to say they’re some of the wines that I personally sell the most – simply because I’m so giddily enthusiastic about them.
On the whites, Savoie is best known for the Jacquère grape, which makes light, citrusy, floral wines with high acidity, as well as Roussette, which at its best makes aromatic, nutty, honeyed wines (although there are plenty of other white varieties represented in the region in lesser quantities). The Jacquère seemed like a match made in melted cheese heaven, so that was my first pick for the fondue.
On the reds, the region grows plenty of Gamay, which is the same grape used in classic Beaujolais: bright red fruit, light body but (in the case of Savoie Gamay) cheekily spicy. The Savoie is also known for a couple of other red grapes: namely the fresh and lively Persan and the darker, pepperier Mondeuse (both of which are very hard to track down in Amsterdam).
Although a white wine feels a bit more logical for a fondue (because of the white wine actually in the dish), I was keen to try a red as well. So in the end I brought along a Cruet (made from Jacquère grapes) and a Gamay, both by Domaine de l’Idylle, so we could do a taste test. Indeed, the white won: its clean, crisp acidity was a better match than the rounder fruitiness of the red (although I wouldn’t kick the Gamay out of bed either).
And as for my little trip down memory lane, I gorged myself on crusty chunks of baguette smothered in gooey, melted deliciousness until they fell of my fork, remembering the old joke my dad always used to make: if you lose your bread, you pay the bill!
Where to buy Savoie wines:
I bought both of the wines featured above from Bilderdijk Wijnhuys in Amsterdam West, but they’re also available online via Well of Wine and plenty of other stores if you check Wine-Searcher.com.
Decántalo stocks a few wines from the Savoie region (which it confusingly calls “Savoy”), including this interesting looking Gamay-Persan blend made by Domaine Giachino. Decántalo delivers throughout Europe, North America, Australia and some Asian countries.
In Amsterdam, I did eventually track down a Mondeuse at Au Paradis and a Persan at Pasteuning, but both are quite pricy and I’ve not yet tried them. (Let me know if you have!)
If you’re in the UK, this Jacquère-based white made by the Perrier family looks ideal for Alpine food, sold by Majestic Wines.
And if you’re in the US, check out this refreshing white Savoie blend from Total Wine.
Related reading/sources:
I barely scratched the surface of Savoie wines in this article (mostly because I’ve barely scratched the surface of them in real life!) so if you’re interested to learn more, read this far more comprehensive piece by Andrew Jefford in Decanter, which provided some great source material.
I’ll have to track some of the wines down! So curious to taste them. Also, you had my reminiscing on our raclette nights with friends while we were living in Burgundy years ago 🤤
I love this. I have been skiing since I was 5, snowboarding since 11 and definitely lived a very privileged childhood and then oops designers and writers can’t just fly to a fancy ski vacation all the time. I also worked at a cross country ski center in Michigan at my local ski resort. Love similarities. Also yes those wines Savoie wines are delicious- not super prevalent in the states but can definitely be found or shipped here!