We may be in Provence Azur here, land of famed Rosés that taste of peaches and blackberries, but the Beaujolais Nouveau has arrived.
At my neighborhood grocery store, bottles were arranged in pyramid formation by the entrance. Bottle labels were in primary reds and yellows, all festive. There wasn't a person at the counter without at least one bottle on the counter.
"Non vraiment, c'est mon dernier verre," echoed the café next door.
Around the corner, my favorite wine seller had a long table with glasses and bottles and slices of saucisson. Passer-by's took a sip. Some twinged. "Frankly," the wine store owner told me on the sly, "Beaujolais Nouveau is not my favorite." The evening was cool and our glasses filled. "Well," she added, "this year is pas mal, pas mal du tout..."
Earlier in the day, in Fayence, the church's door displayed a large advertisement hailing its Beaujolais Nouveau wine tasting. It was to be held pronto that evening at the Presbytery. I love France.
A votre santé!
