Wine writer RICHARD CALVER becomes imbued with a book dedicated to the French ways of drinking, “full of inventive recipes for café drinks, aperitifs, cocktails and singularly French snacks, as well as many charming stories that enliven the recipes.”

After returning to the day-to-day following a holiday, a feeling of dissatisfaction can set in.

Back from my December/January New Zealand sojourn, getting into the regular routine seemed more difficult than anticipated.

I read a few articles on the internet that suggested ways to shrug off what the Americans call “post-vacation blues”.

One resonated: “As meaningful as it can be to get away from everyday realities, it can be equally powerful to reflect on and appreciate the life you’ve created.”

I reflected on how lucky I am with family and friends, and how I eat and drink very well.

I also reflected on the fact that in semi-retirement I have sufficient time to do a great deal of reading that my earlier, busy professional life didn’t allow. Getting inside the world of a book creates a different reality that is often more compelling than the everyday yet is now woven with the quotidian.

One such book, entitled Drinking French, took me back to France. It is a charming work by David Lebovitz, a Californian chef and author living in Paris.

This book is full of inventive recipes for café drinks, aperitifs, cocktails and singularly French snacks, as well as many charming stories that enliven the recipes.

The references to wine are small but notable, with the author acknowledging “no drink is more associated with France than wine”.

Having said that, he highlights a decline in consumption of wine from a high of 53 litres (nearly 71 bottles) per person per year in 2003 to 40 litres “nowadays”. The book was published in 2020. A number of sources I consulted confirmed that this trend has continued. 

Those sources also confirmed an observation by Lebovitz that one wine that has bucked the trend is rose’.

He notes that when he first arrived in Paris (2004) “no one in Paris would touch it”. He notes that this trend has not only reversed but that one in every three bottles of wine sold in France is rose’. Annoyingly, he does not give a rationale for this trend.

An article in an online magazine confirmed the numbers: “French wine is in the pink – people here drink more rosé than any other country, consuming 35 per cent of the world’s production.” 

This trend was attributed to the result of 30 years of hard work in Provence, “where the quality of the wine, vineyards and the price of land suitable for growing these grapes has transformed”.

Shifting focus, I was impressed by Lebovitz’s discussion of my favourite cocktail, the Kir Royal and its humbler cousin the Kir.

The Kir is dry white wine with crème de cassis whereas a Kir Royal is where champagne is used instead of white wine.

In this context, the stories inserted with the recipes add to the book’s charm. The author notes that the liqueur is named after a French Catholic priest, resistance fighter and politician Felix Kir (1876-1968), who was the mayor of Dijon, the capital of Burgundy.

Kir heavily promoted the local liqueur, crème de cassis, sales of which brought the region’s economy back to life after World War II, with the mayor becoming famous: “The blanc-casse’ (‘broken white wine), as it was previously called, was renamed Kir and the drink became a worldwide legend.” 

I’d recommend this book as capturing many recipes for food and drink that are quintessentially French.

Reading it also reminded me of the oft-buried feeling that I have when it comes to the perceived superiority of French food and wine. Growing up in NZ and working in hospitality bespoke the French produce as eminently better than the local. Post-holiday reflection continues. 

“Egotist: A person of low taste, more interested in himself than in me.” –Ambrose Bierce.