A Waiter in Paris by Edward Chisholm

Author:Edward Chisholm
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Anansi Press Inc
Published: 2022-04-26T18:07:24+00:00

Learning About Wine

My meetings with Franjo the sommelier at the small café have become more frequent, to the extent that he now invites me to sit with him while we eat so that we can talk about wines. Originally I wanted to learn about wines to become a waiter, but now the subject fascinates me (one must know about wines, to live it is indispensable…); so, too, does the person telling me about them, Franjo.

We sit opposite one another in the small booth, Franjo always facing the door and the bar as he ‘doesn’t like to look over his shoulder’, he says.

In truth he says very little about himself. However, when he talks about wine, he can talk for hours. Recently we’ve moved on to the wines of Burgundy, ‘the wines of the dukes’, as the sommelier calls them.

‘…The sixty or so kilometres south of Dijon produce some of, if not most of, the finest wines in the world. There’s no question. Of course, Chablis is a Burgundy, but it is in an isolated area, between Dijon and Paris. This you know, I assume. Tell me, what is the main red grape variety in Burgundy?’

‘Pinot noir?’

‘Good, but don’t forget that Beaujolais is made from Gamay. In my opinion, neither variety does as well anywhere else in the world. They lose their finesse when planted in warmer climates…’

The sommelier has very little time for New World wines. ‘It’s like literature,’ he says. ‘You’ll never read everything; just concentrate on appreciating the classics.’

We finish the last of our glasses of Nuits-Saint-Georges. There are, of course, other advantages when learning about wines: firstly the sommelier seems to have a fixed, and very low, price per glass at the café; and secondly I go back to the restaurant with a nice buzz after my break as we’ve usually drunk quite a few glasses. All in the name of education, of course.

‘This one is juste un vin du village,’ he says of the Nuits-Saint-Georges, ‘but a Grand Cru or Premier Cru really is something.’ He loses his train of thought and stares out the window. ‘I think that’s enough for today. But you’re getting there. That’s most of the main regions – apart from champagne, of course. We’ll save that for graduation.’ He picks up a fork and begins eating the plate of sauerkraut in front of him. The sommelier eats incredibly slowly, I’ve noticed.

Despite his rough exterior the sommelier has turned out to be quite friendly, but he has never said anything personal. The stories that the other waiters tell about him – for example that he has spent most of his life in Russian prisons, having been involved with a militant group, or that he was once a hitman – are plainly not true. But I decide to ask him what the badge on his lapel means.

‘Mon dieu! It means I’m a sommelier. If you don’t know that—’

‘No. The other one.’

‘You had me worried for a second.’

He stops eating and without looking down touches the small brass badge on his lapel next to the golden bunch of grapes.

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