Complémen’Terre
The wind had picked up by the time I arrived at Manuel Landron’s cellars, at La Brouardière, on the outskirts of Le Pallet. I had spent the first few hours of the morning with Fréd Lailler at Domaine Brégeon, listening to the rain patter down on the roof of his cellars while I sheltered in the sub-zero temperatures within. Now, though, I could hear the wind rattling the windows of the houses around me, and the rain had evolved from a gentle pattering to horizontal attack.
I made a dash from my car, and was soon safe inside the cellars with Manuel Landron and his partner Marion Pescheux (pictured), safe and dry, although perhaps still not warm. Well, at least that’s how I choose to remember it; in truth it took fifteen minutes of hammering on the cellar door, shouting at the top of my voice, three calls to Manuel’s mobile phone and one to Marion’s before I could gain entry. But let’s gloss over me being stranded outside in the wind and the rain, and get to grips with the story of Manuel Landron, Marion Pescheux, and Complémen’Terre.
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