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Dinner With the Prince
At the famous House of Pommery in Reims, France By Nancy Ross Ryan
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I blame George Washington. If only he had accepted the job of king when our colonists offered it, this country would have been a monarchy, and we would have had 200-plus years to get accustomed to royalty. As it is, we only have visiting royalty. And they never visit me. So when I learned I was not only to visit but dine in a castle with a real live French prince, I was stunned. Like many Americans, I am starstruck by royalty -- but murky about etiquette. Bow, curtsy, genuflect? Your Highness, my lord, Sir Prince? I was on my way to the Champagne district near Reims, France, to research Champagne houses recognized for producing champagnes with distinctive "style." First stop was the House of Pommery and Prince Alain de Polignac, whose royal lineage dates from the 13th century.
The driver dropped us (four journalists) in front of a grand neo-Gothic Elizabethan-style castle, bristling bell towers and turrets, constructed with arrow slits for archers to rain arrows down on an approaching enemy. We came in peace and were ushered into the presence of the prince -- hands down, the most elegant man I have ever met, from his Italian shoes up to the cashmere scarf draped loosely across his shoulders. (Castles are drafty.) That scarf never moved a millimeter from the time he shook our hands (no curtsying), to the Champagne tasting (the Prince poured), to the lunch that followed in one of the castle's dining rooms. |
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The neo-Gothic Elizabethan castle of the House of Pommery |
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Prince Alain, which is how we addressed him, has degrees in chemistry, engineering and enology, and is the guardian of Pommery style, the enologist solely responsible for the past 25 years for blending the still wines that result in Pommery's eight different Champagnes. He is the great, great grandson of Mme. Pommery, who built the castle in 1868, then turned it into a working winery. The winery sits atop 18 kilometers of chalk pits, which today house 20 million bottles of Champagne. Incidentally, Mme. Pommery created the world's first brut (dry) Champagne in 1875. Lunch with the Prince was a simple affair -- one servant for every guest -- in one of the castle's small dining rooms: bergamot-scented scallops Saint-Jacques, veal loin in a citron sauce, plum tarte and one rare vintage Champagne for every course. By the time we adjourned to one of the small salons for coffee with the prince, I had adapted to this lifestyle -- and we still had an engagement for dinner. Dinner that evening was at Les Crayeres, chef Gerard Boyer's four-star hotel across from the castle. The one-to-one ratio of servants to guests and Champagne to courses was preserved during dinner. Prince Alain told me this was formerly one of his family's châteaux, and he remembers having breakfast in the dining room where we now sat, and tea on the terrace overlooking the gardens. After several glasses of Champagne I asked the prince some impertinent questions: When did he first know he was a prince? "Toujours. Always." What did his family call him when he was growing up? "They called me Alain." And the servants? "Prince Alain." Where does he live when he is not at Pommery? "In Paris, and also in the family château in Loire." Are his son and daughter also prince and princess? "Yes. They are both in college." Will they follow in his footsteps? "Probably not, so for the past five years, I have been training my successor."
I returned to Chicago like a rocket reentering the earth's atmosphere. My hull needed insulation, so I immediately stocked up a supply of Pommery Brut Royal. But when I dined, for the first time, with my regular circle of friends (whose manners suffered by comparison), I developed another, not so easily remedied, affliction: prince deprivation. I grew up on fairy tales, and came, finally, to understand that they were not true. But now and then, at the local aquarium, when I see a particularly majestic frog ... |