dreams of midday wine + why i’m secretly french
So here’s the deal, duckies: I love drinking wine in the middle of the day.
In fact, I petition we immediately create an American custom of drinking wine with lunch every day and start taking two hour lunches. (Can we do that, just create a custom? Oh, wait…the French already did, didn’t they? And the Italians, too. Hmmmm.)
I scampered home yesterday from work to make a quick lunch and as I munched on my grilled brie and strawberry jam sandwich, I wanted a glass of cool white wine so badly that I practically broke my wine rack with the force of my stare (okay, exaggerator, party of one). However, as I had to shortly return to the office and type, type, type the rest of the day, drinking wine felt a little too wildly irresponsible for this gal. So I sadly said good-bye to my wine rack and went back to work.
Then today, I saw a quick post on The Kitchn about rosé wine and my wine nostalgia hit hard. It brought me back to a sunny August afternoon at a small café tucked in a corner behind the Versailles palace, just outside of Paris. My best friend, Sandra, and I had just braved hordes of tourists to tour the palace and were hot, tired and feeling rather peckish. We came upon this little, quiet café, where I was hit with the strongest dejà-vu that I had been there before. (In fact, I am still convinced it was the same café I ate at when I was 16 and where I discovered French bathroom door locks don’t work.) We sat at a table outside the door and talked with our waiter in French, ordering two glasses of rosé wine before we’d even looked at the menu. It was barely noon, which meant that the midday was here and wine was no longer taboo. (Though I’m not sure wine is ever taboo en France.) We ordered plates of croque madames, green salads and pomme frites, which we spent a leisurely two hours eating. I could have sat in that tiny café all day, drinking wine, talking and listening to the breeze stir up the gardens all around us.
Perhaps this is why I feel so at home in France and in Europe in general — the slow pace of the days, the reverence of bread and all carbs, the ability to boire du vin in broad daylight without looking like a lush. I just love it. I’ll call it a nod to my partially French heritage but really…well…I’m just looking for more excuses to flavor my days with a little vin. (Aren’t you?)
[Photo credit: moi]
P.S. If you’re reading this in a feed reader, like Google Reader, and suddenly, the posts are all out of order and Lenten Prayers from February are showing up — my fault. I was editing post titles the other day (because I decided I like doing them in all lowercase letters and the OCD maniac in me decided I should go back and change them all) and apparently, once I edited the post title, it bumped the post way back up my RSS feed. Weirdness. Sorry!