Welcome to my blog; inspired by Hemmingway's A Moveable Feast, a desire to record the more succulent and misshapen nuggets of my Parisian adventure in nibble-size lobes for your light-entertainment and my anticipated future memory failure, and to get some things off my chest and onto yours.

Thursday 4 March 2010

Cellar door

I'm all for keeping a constant stock of wine in the house, in order that one is not caught out at a pivotal moment of drunkedness, but the question I was asked in my local Nicolas came as a bit of a surprise.

Upon asking for a recommendation for a bottle on a Friday afternoon, I was asked, "is it for drinking now?" Taking this with both confusion at what seemed to be an inquisition relating to afternoon drinking, and with the naughty guilt of a child who had eaten all the sweets in one go, I responded with gaffaw, "not for now, but for this evening..." She seemed unimpressed and I realised that what with her running a wine shop, being French, and clearly uninterested in my drinking habits, I must have the wrong end of the bottle.

It turns out, as my brother later explained, that she was asking if it was for now or for 'laying down'- in the cellar! As a recently resigned busker and jobbing musician, do I really come across aristocratic enough to want to buy wine for the distant future? Is that normal here? Or just a cleverly flattering marketing strategy to make one feel good?

Whatever it is, it feels very French.

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