Little old wine drinker, me

I only ever went to one wine tasting in the UK. It was organised by The Wine Society and held in an upmarket hotel in Cambridge. I didn’t really enjoy it. Blazered and chinoed young men with names like Sholto and Tristram dispensing wine to middle-class couples overeager to show off their own knowledge of the subject. So, on Tuesday, I had my reservations when our friend Colette suggested we went to a tasting in nearby Chauvigny, which she’d seen advertised in the local paper. For one thing, everyone present would have been more or less weaned on wine, whereas, in good light, I can just about tell the difference between red and white. Add to this the fact that drink makes me ridiculously overconfident about my ability to speak French, and there seemed every possibility of my making even more of a prat of myself than usual.

Nevertheless, Colette had assured us it would be fun. Pierre and Louise, friends of hers whom we’d met and liked, were also going, so we decided to tag along. I should point out that Colette is 79 but is very much, as they say, ‘still game’. She was the first neighbour to call on us to welcome us to Rue des Carmes, and we have become good friends. She reminds me a little of my dad at her age, in that she has no hesitation in speaking her mind on any subject, often quite loudly and at some length.

We went in Pierre’s car, and the journey took about 25 minutes. I’d expected something like the Cambridge event and was looking for a hotel, or perhaps even a small château, so I was a little surprised when we drew up at a small trading estate just outside Chauvigny. Our venue, La Moustache, is a ‘Cave Pub’ situated between a boulangerie and Toutsie Salon Toilettage, a shop selling pet accessories. My spirits rose; the evening was clearly looking up.

On entering, we appeared to be in a beer warehouse. Crates were lined up, floor to ceiling, along the walls, and an impressive array of bottles was laid out on several tables. At the back, a few customers were standing at a bar. A sign on the counter said ‘Happy Hour 18.00–21.00’. Nearby, a couple of teenagers were playing at a pool table.

None of us said anything for a moment or two, then Pierre went up and spoke to the barman. A moment later, we were led to a small area slightly to the left of the main room. Here we found a long table and six chairs. Six wine glasses were laid out along with a small card saying ‘Reservé’. Pierre asked if anyone else was expected. The barman shrugged and said, ‘Sometimes people come, sometimes they don’t.’ Definitely neither a Sholto nor a Tristram.

He disappeared into a back room and then returned with two opened bottles of wine, one white and one red, both from the same local vineyard, La Tour Beaumont. He gave us an interesting little lecture on the white, which is made with the comparatively rare Fié Gris grape, poured us a glass each, and left us to it.

The wine was fruity and pleasant, but nothing exceptional. We sat sipping wine in silence for a moment or two. Then Colette said, ‘Nothing to eat? You’d think they’d at least give you a biscuit.’ Louise noticed a laminated menu on the next table. We decided to share a couple of platters of bread, cheese, and charcuterie, and Pierre went off to order these.

We finished the white. As there was no sign of our host, Colette told Pierre to pour out the red, a Cabernet Franc. We used the same glasses. No-one commented on this. I was beginning to feel quite at home. We all agreed the red was better than the white. We finished the bottle, ate our food, and the general mood lightened considerably. Colette suggested getting another red, which I thought was an excellent idea. Louise looked at Pierre, who was driving, but he assured her that he didn’t mind.

Colette was telling us about a recent holiday she had had in Alsace and how much she had enjoyed the wines there, when our host returned. He looked a little taken aback at our having finished two bottles of red, but said nothing.

‘Do you have any Alsace wine?’ Catherine asked.

‘We have a Gewurztraminer, Madame,’ he replied.

‘We’ll have a bottle of that …’

She looked at the menu.

‘… and some apple tart to go with it.’

Our host nodded and scurried off. Pierre looked thoughtful.

While we ate our tart and drank our Gewurztraminer (Pierre had a Perrier), Colette told us about her sciatica, her temperamental boiler, and her problems in configuring her new mobile phone.

On leaving, we each bought six bottles of the red. After some deliberation, Colette also bought another bottle of the Gewurztraminer.

She fell asleep on the way home. When we arrived at her house, Pierre gently woke her and saw her to her door, carrying her box of wine for her. I heard her say what a delightful evening it had been and that we should do it again soon.

Pierre wished her goodnight and told her to sleep well.

***

On Thursday, Prime Minister Jean Castex announced that the curfew in force in a number of major cities was to be extended to 38 new departments, starting at midnight on Friday/Saturday. Fifty-four of France’s 96 mainland départements – and approximately 46 million people – are now under curfew from 21.00 to 06.00.

While this second wave of the virus – since the end of the lockdown in June – has only cost 2,000 lives compared to the 30,000 in the first wave, there are two worrying aspects to this resurgence. First, a significantly ramped-up free testing programme, soon to be expanded even further, has led to a sharply increased caseload that hospitals are struggling to meet. Second, this time around, the virus has spread far more quickly throughout the country. The first wave was confined mostly to Greater Paris and the east. This time, it is all-pervasive. Summer vacations and students returning to universities are likely to be contributory causes.

Nearby Haute-Vienne, Indre-et-Loire, and Maine-et-Loire are all now under curfew. So far, our department, Vienne, has escaped, but one senses that it is only a matter of time.

At the moment, the curfew is the only restriction placed on the newly-added departments. There are no lockdowns, no reductions in public transport, and no restrictions on travelling from one region to another. Schools, colleges, and universities remain open. So do markets. People are advised to work from home for a day or two a week where possible, but only advised. It is difficult to see how long this can last if the number of cases continues to rise at its present rate.

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