Campervan Cooking Adventures - Bordeaux & Benoit

I went to Bordeaux because I thought I needed to understand wine.  Up until then, I didn’t really get it. The language around it, the quiet nodding over a glass, the confidence people seemed to have when talking about it, it all felt a bit forced. Like something I should know as a chef, but never quite connected with.

I thought if I wanted to improve, I needed to learn it. Study it. Get better at talking about it. What I didn’t realise was that I didn’t need to understand wine any more than I already did. I just needed to meet Benoît and use google translate.

If you want to understand a place properly, take the campervan out of the city. Bordeaux is beautiful, no doubt about that. The architecture, the long evenings, the way the light hangs in the air just before it disappears.

But the real character of it sits just outside in the villages, in the vineyards, in the places that aren’t trying to show you anything. That’s where you find the people who actually make it what it is. Winemakers, farmers, families. People who aren’t performing for tourism, just getting on with what they’ve always done. It’s quieter out there. Slower. Conversations take longer, especially if your French is as limited as mine, but food and wine have a way of filling in the
gaps. Offer someone a plate of food, and you’re halfway there.

We found Benoît’s vineyard by accident. One of those places that lets you park up for the night, tucked between the vines, with nothing but the sound of the wind moving through them. We met his father first, all smiles and hand gestures and then we settled in without really knowing what we were supposed to
do.

So we did what we always do. We cooked.

A couple of hours later, Benoît arrived. Rugby shorts, big voice, a loud “bonsoir” that cut through the quiet evening air. He had that energy about him straight away — open, curious, slightly chaotic in the best way.I offered him some food. That was enough.

His English was just about better than my French, which meant most of our conversations sat somewhere in the middle, helped along by a phone translator and a lot of guesswork. The pauses that would normally feel awkward just became part of it. Before long, he was showing us around. Not a formal tour. Just walking, talking, opening bottles as we went.

Letting us see how it all worked, from someone who lived it every day. His passion wasn’t forced or rehearsed, it was just there, in everything he said, in the way he moved through the vineyard. At one point, I asked him what made his wine award-winning. He shrugged. “Maybe my wife was nicer to the judges this year.” There was truth in it somewhere, but that was as technical as he wanted to get. When I pushed further, flavour, structure, what makes a good wine, he kept it simple.

“Wine is personal. Try as many as you can. When you find one you really like... pray that it is cheap.”

We ended that first night in his small shop. I kept trying to buy bottles, but he wouldn’t have it. He’d ignore me, pour another glass, and hand me something else instead. Jams, salts, smoking chips made from old wine barrels, everything produced there, by his family.

It wasn’t a business in the way I expected. It was just theirs. At 23:45, as if it was nothing, he said, “You arrived at the most important time.” The next morning, they would start harvesting. Three days that would define the entire year. I asked him why he was still up, drinking wine with me. He looked at me like it was obvious.

“Because this is why we make wine.”

The next three days were a blur. Early starts, long hours, physical work. Harvesting grapes, cleaning tanks, testing, adjusting. I wasn’t watching it happen, I was in it. Hanging onto the side of the tractor, moving with the rhythm of it all, learning without really being taught. For the first time, I wasn’t just drinking
the wine. I was part of making it.

After it was all done, I decided to cook. It felt like the right thing to do. A way of saying thank you. I lit the fire with dried vine cuttings,
put a pan on, and started building something familiar. Steak, shallots, his wine. A Bordelaise. Letting it reduce, concentrating it, doing exactly what
I’d always done. He saw it straight away. “No, no, no.” I looked up. “The wine is the sauce.” He wasn’t joking. Not angry either. Just certain.
He explained it simply. Bordelaise sauce, that’s for chefs. For restaurants. For menus in the city. But here, where the wine is made, you don’t change it. You don’t reduce it. You don’t turn it into something else. You cook the steak. You pour the wine. And you enjoy them together. In that moment, I realised I’d completely misunderstood it. I’d been trying to improve something that, to him, was already finished.

We still ate the steak. The wine was in the sauce and in the glass.

That was eight years ago. We’ve stayed friends ever since. Shared more meals, more bottles, even ended up at Twickenham together watching the rugby. He’s never short of a message when France win, which, recently, has been more often than I’d like. But it’s not the harvest I think about most. It’s not even the vineyard. It’s that moment, standing over a pan, being told I didn’t need to change anything at all.In Bordeaux, I didn’t learn how to talk about wine. I learned when to leave it alone.

Sauce Bordelaise (Sorry Benoit)

Ingredients
1. 250 ml good quality red wine (ideally Bordeaux)
2. 2 large shallots, very finely chopped
3. 1 tbsp butter (plus extra to finish)
4. 200 ml beef stock (optional)
5. 1 small sprig fresh thyme (or 1 tsp thyme leaves)
6. 1 tbsp fresh parsley, finely chopped
7. Salt and black pepper

Optional (traditional):
8. 1–2 tbsp bone marrow, diced

Method
1. Cook the shallots
Melt the butter in a pan over medium heat. Add the shallots and cook gently for 2–3 minutes until soft, but not browned.

2. Add the wine
Pour in the red wine and add the thyme. Bring to a gentle simmer.

3. Reduce
Allow the wine to reduce by about two-thirds until slightly thickened and intensified in
flavour.
4. Add stock (optional)
Pour in the beef stock and reduce again by roughly half to build depth.
5. Strain the sauce

6. Finish the sauce

Remove the thyme. Take off the heat and stir in:
○ A knob of butter
○ Chopped parsley
○ Bone marrow (if using)

7. Season and serve
Taste first, then season lightly with salt and pepper if needed. Serve warm alongside steak.

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