A Wine Amateur in France

Contributed by Jana Llewellyn

When my husband and I decided to book a trip to France last February, our main goal was to take in the country while sipping delectable and plentiful French wine, whether we were in Paris or the Burgundy region. I had come a long way in my wine journey—all the way from the fruitiest Arbor Mist in my wine-drinking infancy stage, to an interest in somewhat more complex flavors at a reasonable price. Having never been to France, I hoped my husband and I would fit right into the wine-sipping culture of the bistros and brasseries we’d heard so much about. We had heard that the French drink wine during lunch and dinner; that bottles cost only as much as soda or a jug of iced tea here in the States, and—perhaps the silliest of all—that wine gushes out of fountains in the center of Paris. Of course we didn’t believe this last rumor, but it was enough to convince us that we were in for a luxurious and relaxing trip. Among our more pessimistic expectations was the rumor of the snooty French, who we thought would sneer at our paltry attempts to speak their language, even though we had practiced "bonjour," and "Deux verres de vin rouge, s'il vous plaît," for a month or more. Through what I hoped to be a wine-induced haze, we wouldn’t be able to see their narrowed eyes, nor understand any whispered French insults.