Darling Dijon

The petite city that stole my heart.

The view from our apartment in Dijon.

I realized that even though I wrote about a humbling (yet ultimately successful) hair coloring adventure in Dijon, I didn’t talk much about the city itself. We spent a week there in December and will be going back in June for an extended stay and to take French language classes. In the meantime, here’s a little more about our inaugural visit and why I can’t wait to go back.

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P.P.S. There’s plenty more to read in the Good Vintage archive. Have a peek here.

P.P.P.S. Kimberly Wilson, my friend and the founder of Midlife Musings, had me on her podcast to talk about prioritizing joy, navigating midlife, and embracing new French adventures. Listen here!

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I fell for Dijon the night we stumbled into Caveau de la Chouette, a cozy bar á vin where a saxophonist and a septuagenarian in sunglasses were performing jazzy renditions of American pop songs.

You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a bar filled with chic 60-something French people dancing and singing every word to Prince’s Kiss.

It was an auspicious start to our week-long stay in Dijon. While we were crammed into a corner trying to get drinks, we met a lovely French couple, Elise and Jean-Yves. I’m usually reluctant to chat with strangers, but I was emboldened by the two glasses of wine I’d had at the previous wine bar.

Elise and I hit it off immediately. You know when you meet someone and you know you’re going to be friends? That's how it was. She told me about the years she spent in Baltimore in her twenties and how much she missed America (I definitely rolled my eyes at that). We complained about how much the U.S. had changed and hoped that the election wouldn’t go the way it ultimately did (back then, we still had a sliver of hope).

A few songs later, Jason and I decided it was time to leave in search of something to eat. Just before we headed out into the bitterly cold night, Elise handed me a receipt with her contact information scrawled on it and told me to get in touch in case we needed anything or had questions about Dijon. I couldn’t believe how open and welcoming she was, especially given the reputation for French reserve and aloofness.

The next day, I texted Elise to ask if she had any suggestions for a hair salon. After a month in France, my gray was out of control, and I also needed a trim. She gave me the names of several salons, including the one I eventually went to, where I had quite the experience..

Dijon is an easy place to love. We roamed the cobblestone streets, drank a lot of excellent (and ridiculously affordable) wine, had a three-hour dinner that we thought would never end, bought a bunch of mustard—as one does in Dijon—for friends back home, and checked out Les Halles of Dijon — one of the best food markets in France.

We also did what we always do if we’re staying at an Airbnb in France: We picked up a rotisserie chicken, roasted potatoes, haricot verts, a baguette, and some good wine to have for dinner at Chez Silverman-Cohen. In some ways, I prefer eating at home to dining out—you can go at your own pace, it’s much less expensive, and you can eat in your pajamas. What’s not to like?

The condiments, butter, and bread alone were worth the price of admission.

Dijon looks especially pretty during the winter holiday season with Christmas lights at Place Darcy and Place du Théâtre, Christmas markets (you can smell stinky raclette from blocks away), and special events like “Santas on Motorcycles.”

Elise checked in with me mid-week to see how my hair had turned out and invited us to meet her and Jean-Ives for an apéro. This was our first official invite from a French couple, and I was ecstatic. It’s one thing to fall in love with a place—it’s another thing entirely to be welcomed with open arms by the locals.

She suggested we go to a cocktail bar called Monsieur Moutarde, a goofy name for what turned out to be one of our favorite places in Dijon. It’s a sprawling mansion with interconnected living rooms and passageways, funky and eclectic furniture, several bars, cozy nooks, and fireplaces. Plus, in the summer, they have an outdoor patio and live music.

We settled into two plush velvet sofas, ordered drinks, snacked on Camembert Roti and chicken gyoza, and chatted away about everything from the choir that Jean-Yves leads to how much Elise loves teaching 11-year-olds how to speak English, to their home renovation to our lives in Dijon and Arlington. They even invited us to a dinner party they were hosting the next night, but sadly, we were leaving the next day.

By the end of the night, they had offered to drive us to the train station the following morning and picked up the tab. I had never encountered this level of generosity from strangers, and my skeptical mind kept wondering what they might be up to.

Their graciousness was so foreign to me that I began to imagine all sorts of crazy things. Were they going to kidnap us? Try to get us into menage á quatre? Of course, the answer was nothing of the sort. They were simply being kind and welcoming. What a concept!

The following day, Elise and Jean-Yves arrived promptly at 8:45 am, helped us load our luggage into their car, and gave us a big bag from a boulangerie filled with croissants and pain au raisin for our petit dejuner. It was a sweet (and buttery) end to a delightful stay in Dijon.

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