A survey of the disappearance of key components of the peasant cuisine of the Beaujolais.
My Parisian girlfriend recoiled at the €26 price of the champagne I suggested for her mother’s birthday party. We stood in a cluttered wine shop in the half-deserted town of Pithiviers, south of the capital. “I need to buy a whole case,” she griped. “Isn’t there any good champagne for under €20?”
A restaurant I used to frequent on rue de Trevise was staffed by a smiley black-and-white Labrador. He made the rounds amid the tables during service – never begging, merely enjoying the occasional caress from a regular.
After two years of releasing tiny quantities of his own cult cru Beaujolais, young Côte de Brouilly winemaker PIERRE COTTON is taking the reins of his 10-hectare family domaine.
From high on rue Ménilmontant, you can see straight out to the glittering tower of Montparnasse, far over on Paris’ wealthy Left Bank. The workaday, multi-ethnic neighborhood of Ménilmontant is a different world.
The head of the workshop at Maison Michel is Shariff Hisaund, who has been with the milliner for 29 years.
Bigger is rarely better in the French capital: these new establishments are ambitious in everything but scale.
Most of it is awful because it doesn’t have to be good.
The Beaujolais cru of Saint-Amour sees one-third of its annual production sold cheaply on Valentine’s Day. But a few newcomers are starting to make vintages built to last.
There’s a worldwide revolution going on in wine, and Paris is its frontline.