Lunch was a set menu kind of an affair, which at fancy food things means that there’s nothing I can eat. Anyway, it's lunch. I don’t like lunch. I taste better when there’s an edge of hunger hanging over me and there's always bread.

In a random act of kindness, Big Joe ... ...

whispered something to the waiter and a plate of vegetables (strangely reminiscent of American Chop Suey) appeared. If I were the kind of sort who ate shellfish, the best lunch action was happening at the large communal table near the oysters where some happy guy was carving a jambon leg. Oh, if only I could bring myself to eat that stuff.

After lunch, back to the salt mines.

The first person I bumped into was Thierry Puzelat who at first I thought was hungover (possible) but underneath the shades was the biggest, baddest shiner I ever did see. I was trying to get to the bottom of the fight, who hit who and mostly, why wasn't I invited to this party? I got no satisfaction.

I logged another 45 wines in the afternoon. The highlight happened about 3pm, in the Beaujolais. You know my motto, toujours gamay!

In the rear of the room was Morgon Heaven.
I love Morgon, one of the exquisite villages for Beaujolais. There’s a vein of crushed rose petals that kind of drives me crazy, a thirst that must be satisfied.

Three of the original Gang of Five revolutionaries who broke away from the crap that used to pass as Beaujolais were clustered together: Thevenet, Chamonard, and the leader of that group, the Jules Chauvet disciple, Lapierre.

Marcel Lapierre was down with a 'grippe,' and his wife, lushly beautiful woman with a tousled head of graying blond hair (who drives the boys wild) was pouring. Lapierre who started the wine revolution in his appellation is a Beaujo God but--the wines are just ok for me. Jean Paul Thevenet’s were all over the place. The 2006’s might be gorgeous. The 2005? If you see the Clochet? Buy it. Filled with texture, fruit and tannin. The Vielle Vigne on the other hand was reduced and bretty. I might buy a bottle, plunk it in a wide mouthed pitcher and let it breath for several hours to see what is going on. The 2004 on the other hand was a great big WOW, and starting to get ‘pinotte.’

The wine that I fell in love with was Domaine Chamonard made by Genevieve and Jean Claude Chanudet. I had never had these wines and I don’t know if they are at all available in New York (though I see that restaurant Bouchon in Napa has them). The wines were stunning. The Domaine 2004, “ Le Tari,” had a wee bit of glycerin and a pond scummy bit that was like salt on a tomato. The 2004 Morgon had a distinct bacon aspect, the 2005 Morgon was full of charm. Charm. Charm. Yet, very firm. The 1999 was elegant and rosy and was only now starting to evolve. What a treat! They opened the 1993, a 14-year -old Morgon which threw minerals left and right as if it was in some battle on Mars and then it dissolved into an elegant peony, ants and all. (Big Joe just phoned to tell me that Chamonard wasn't a natural winemaking guy and though he is reportedly one of the Gang of Five, it really isn't so. If you know the truth here, please write, call or send a smoke signal. Never the less, it doesn't change the fact that I really liked the wines. )

When I heard the tasting went on until 8:30 I wanted to cry. I was so tired. Enough. Enough. Eleven hours of tasting is too much. But I persevered and glad I did because I found Annie & Philippe Bornard from the Jura. Philippe looks like a newer version of Roman Polanski.

(cont...)