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We did a miel dégustation at IS Language School on Tuesday afternoon and—mon Dieu—my taste buds enrolled themselves in a second degree. I asked our hostess the very serious scientific question, “Are there still wild bees in Provence?” She smiled: yes. Then she explained that last year was rough for many local beekeepers—some even reported near-zero harvests—because when there’s not enough water, the flowers don’t offer nectar, and the bees have nothing to bring home. Heat? Less of a problem. Water? That’s the whole ball game. (Bees also need water to cool the hive—tiny, fuzzy HVAC technicians.)
Below is some of the tasting lineup from class:
(photo: our jars at IS Aix — Miel de Lavande de Provence, Miel de Fleurs Sauvages de Printemps “Sainte-Victoire,” Miel de Lavande de Puyricard, and Miel de Bruyère Blanche “Forêt des Maures”)
What we tasted (and how I tried to sound like a sommelier without spilling honey on my workbook)
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Miel de Lavande (Provence) – Silky and clean. Floral like a polite bouquet, not a perfume counter. A little vanilla on the finish; spreads like sunshine on toast.
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Miel de Fleurs Sauvages de Printemps (Sainte-Victoire) – Brighter and more playful; think wildflowers after rain. I got hints of citrus peel and dried apricot, with a herbal wink.
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Miel de Lavande (Puyricard) – Lighter, almost transparent compared to the first lavande—same gentle flowers, a bit more zip, lovely in tea.
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Miel de Bruyère Blanche (Forêt des Maures) – Darker and moodier. Caramel and a teensy resin note. If lavande is morning, bruyère blanche is the comfy evening sweater.
About the producer
These jars come from local apiculture—you’ll spot the name Butinarello on a few labels and those place names we love: Sainte-Victoire, Puyricard, Forêt des Maures. Small-batch, Provence through and through. If you see them at a market, do yourself a favor and taste—preferably with a spoon that’s bigger than your self-control.
Mini “Langue & Culture” corner: bees, droughts, and tiny air-conditioning
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Why water matters: less rain → fewer blossoms → less nectar → less honey. Bees also fetch water to regulate hive temperature—microscopic swamp coolers with stripes.
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Tasting tip: room-temperature honey shows more aroma; a tiny drop on your thumb is enough to compare styles without sugar-crashing in class. Ask me how I know.
Level-by-level French boosts (use these at a market or tasting)
A1
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C’est quel miel ? Lavande ?
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Je peux goûter, s’il vous plaît ?
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J’aime celui-ci, il est doux.
A2
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Quelle est la différence entre la lavande et la bruyère blanche ?
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Cette récolte a été bonne cette année ?
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Je trouve le goût floral / plus fort / plus long en bouche.
B1
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On m’a dit que le manque d’eau réduit la miellée. Vous l’avez remarqué ?
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Vous déplacez vos ruches selon les floraisons ?
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Vocab: la ruche, l’apiculteur/trice, butiner, la miellée, la garrigue, la sécheresse.
B2
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J’aimerais comparer deux terroirs de lavande. Est-ce que la cristallisation influence la perception aromatique ?
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La bruyère blanche me paraît caramélisée avec une note résineuse—vous la décririez comment ?
Advanced / C1-C2
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Dans quelle mesure l’hygrométrie et la disponibilité hydrique modulent-elles la sécrétion de nectar chez les plantes mellifères locales ?
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Quelles stratégies adoptez-vous en période de stress hydrique prolongé (abreuvoirs, transhumance, sélection de reines, etc.) ?
Your turn 🐝
Have you tasted lavande vs bruyère? Do you have a favorite apiculteur around Aix (or a recipe that lets honey shine)? Drop a comment with your tasting notes, a market tip, or a photo of your own dégustation. Polite disagreements about whether I’m imagining the “apricot note” are not only allowed—they’re encouraged. Allez, racontez-nous tout!
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