I get no kick from champagne.... yeah, right

It is Tuesday, and I am back in Paris now. The weekend was great. I had a blast, and it was totally what I needed to relax after twelve days in a row of work.
I am feeling much better physically now, thank you very much. My shoulder and allergies are no longer problems. My foot is much better, but after I sit for a while, or when I just get up, I have this limp that goes away after a little while. No big deal. I am sure it will heal in time, or I'll just buy a cane.
Champagne was fantastic. I got to a little town in the Champagne region called Reims on Saturday morning. I got into the hotel and almost immediately turned around to get out and see some of the maisons de champagne (champagne houses). The first one I got to was Taittenger. I hadn't heard of this house until last year. Ruta and I were staying at the Chambers Hotel in NYC, and when they found out that it was our honeymoon, they sent up a bottle of Taittenger. I thought it was nice of them, but I didn't really appreciate the significance. I do now.
Taittenger uses ancient Roman tunnels, dug about 60 feet below ground, to store their champagne. I got to take a walking tour of these tunnels; there are over two million bottles of champagne just lying around for anyone to touch and trip over (as I did).
I just think that champagne is amazing. The stuff is about 300 years old, and the process to make it is pretty difficult. I mean, letting grape juice ferment is tough enough, but then they add more yeast and sugar to the bottle (once the grape juice is fermented). The yeast eats the sugar, and the by products are alcohol and CO2, which is what gives it its bubbles. That's the simple version; there is so much else that goes into making this stuff, and the French are nutso about it. There are actual laws in this country governing how you can or cannot make champagne. There are only three types of grapes that you can use to make champagne (chardonnay, pinot noir, pinot meunier), and champagne must be rested or aged for at least 15 months. If you don't follow these rules, or any of the many others, you cant sell your swill under the name champagne, or if you do, you can be heavily fined. Oh, and all of your grapes must come from this area of the world, this little region. If they don't, you can call whatever you are making what ever you like, but you cant call it champagne.
I mean, these people are a little anal about this stuff.
Anyway, Taittenger is the only major house that still does almost all of this stuff by hand. They have these guys called "riddlers" who come into the cellars to turn the bottles three times a week, when the bottles are resting. There are all kinds of technical reasons for this, but in the end, its about quality. My point is that the riddlers only job, all day long, is to turn champagne bottles a quarter of a turn to the left on Monday, and a quarter of a turn to the right on Wednesday, and so on. That's it. That's what these people are paid to do. Now, they will turn about 40,000 bottles a day, so it takes a while, but still, that's not a bad job. I mean, you cant really complain about "on the job stress" or lack of training when all you do is turn a bottle about three inches to the right or left all day.
At the end of the tour, Taittenger sits you down with a nice glass of their vintage champagne. That's the other thing about champagne. It is so hard to make, and the grapes are so sensitive, that you cant make good champagne from the grapes of just one year, usually. It usually takes a mix of grape juice from several years to get a good consistent product. When you do have a really exceptional year, and can make champagne from the grapes of just that year, that is called a vintage year. These come along about every two to three years, usually. I asked when the last vintage year was and was told 2000. I said, "But that is seven years ago? I thought you said every two to three years?" To this, I was told, "Well, the planet is warming up, and weather patterns are changing. It rained all summer this year. Our grapes were very bad."
No such thing as global warming? Sure.
Anyway, next I went to G.H. Martel. It is a nice little, family run champagne house. The tour was cool, and afterwards, the five of us on the tour just sat around in this very Napoleonic room, sipping champagne and talking rugby (more on that later). It was a real pleasure. Good champagne too; I bought a bottle for myself.
I tried to get into Veuve Cliquot, but they were too snobby to let me in. Veuve is French for widow, so this is the champagne of the Widow Cliquot (klee-co). They are the first champagne house to market to the younger crowd, and they also refer to their champagne as "le grande dame de champagne" (basically, champagne's main squeeze). They are known for better than average champagne (but not great) and for their-cut throat business practices. Long story short, when the actual widow Cliquot found herself single again, she took over the company. When she was about to die, she bequeathed the whole company (which was doing very well) to her business partner, and left nothing at all to her sons. Yikes. So not only would Veuve Cliquot not let me in, they also have a history of being royal jerks.
Screw off, hosers!
That night, I got myself all dressed up and out dinner at a restaurant called Chevre et Menthe (goat cheese and mint). I only really tried the place because the guide book I have recommended it for vegetarians. Let me tell you, while the idea of goat cheese and mint doesn't sound appealing, it is one hell of a pairing.
I treated myself to a full on three course meal. I had an appetizer of fried bread with cheese and a kir (champagne and blackberry liquor, I hear these were real popular in the 70's, they taste like something you would drink to cool your Saturday night fever). Next came the salad- fresh tomato, avocado, cucumber, bib lettuce, cold potatoes and goat cheese, with olive oil and white pepper. It was super fresh and delicious. Finally, they brought out the goat cheese and mint tarte. It was hot and creamy and soooooooooooo good. I will have to make it for you all when I get home. The waitress suggested a rosé with this, so I had a little bottle. It was a good pairing. I would definitely go back. It was great. And, just to show you the difference between Reims and Paris, this whole dinner cost me 25 euros. That's about 35 dollars. In Paris, it would have been an easy fifty euros or more.
After that, I took off my sport coat and vest and rolled up my sleeves for some good, old fashioned rugby.
People were everywhere for this game. I am glad that I was not in Paris for it, as SkyNews was predicting that between 30 and 60 thousand of the English were coming into Paris for the game. Tickets for this match were going for about 1000 dollars a piece, so you can imagine how crazed people were. I mean, there were really people standing in the streets, watching the game through the windows of stores that sold TV's. I got into a pub early enough, but the pub owner was sending an employee in and out every once in a while to tell the crowd outside the pub what the score was.
Well, Reims is a small town, so the fact that an American was in their little bar, rooting for France, well, that was almost too much for them to handle. A group of French guys my age took me in, and we watched the game together. The bar was so jam packed, that I had to sit on the railing of the bar to see anything. Really, I had to rest my feet on the top of the chair of the guy sitting below me. We were literally on top of each other. You couldn't move.
In the end, the French played a great game, but the English played better. France lost by a small margin, and so, they are out of the running for the cup.
Everyone was so upset, that the drinking just continued. This bar had so many beers that I had never heard of, and these French guys just kept passing them to me. I don't know how long after the game ended that I left the bar, but when I did, I do know that I was thoroughly intoxicated. I wandered around for a good 40 minutes looking for a hotel that was about a ten minute walk from the bar. I even tried to call Ruta, but didn't get through, thank God. I don't know what I would have said.
The next morning was bright and sunny and warm, except that I felt like death. I got up at noon, bought three bottles of water, drank them all, had an eclair and a quiche from the local boulangerie, and headed to Epernay for some more champagne. In retrospect, this might not have been the greatest idea, what with my body still detoxing and all, but I was feeling pretty good after that eclair, so I figured, what they hell.
Epernay is much smaller than Reims, and about 20 minutes away on the TGV (high speed train). The only champagne house I toured was Moet et Chandon. It was exceptional. Their champagne is known to be some of the best in the world, so I treated myself to the Imperial tasting. I got two full glasses of their champagne (the brut and a rosé), while everyone else got a little half glass of Lord knows what. I definitely got glares from the crowd.
Screw off, hosers!
Moet et Chandon are the makers of Dom Perignon, by the way. I was able to ask what was so special about that wine and was told that Dom is aged for a minimum of six years, instead of the legal minimum of a year and three months, so it is a much fuller wine. Also, Dom Perignon is only made in vintage years, so they don't make one every year, which is why there is less of it, and why it is so much more expensive. I did not get to dry it, though. However, Moet et Chandon are happy to sell you a bottle in their gift store for the reduced price of 120 euros. Sure, I'll take three.
After that, I thought it would be nice to get out into the country on a bike ride, but the lady at the tourist office told me that, "We are Sunday; we have no bicycles- Sunday." I took that to mean, "Bike rental closed on Sunday, jerk face." I asked if I could walk to any of the surrounding villages and was told "No. Much far for walking."
Well, much far or not, I walked anyway (let's see who's a jerk face now). I got to a little town called Pierry, that is supposedly home to the largest champagne glass and cork in the world. Wow! Who cares!
So I just took off down this dirt road and headed into the hills. It was perfect. There was no one around. It was high sixties, and not a cloud in the sky. Below me was this little French village; above me was a thick forest, and all around me were rolling hills, full of grape vines. Most of the grapes had been picked, already, but I found a few bunches and ate them off the vine. They were juicy and sweet, delicious.
I just walked in the hills and sat and read, for about two hours. It was the most at peace I have been in a long time. I loved it there.
That night, back in Reims, I ordered a pizza and went to bed early.
The next day, I got up and saw the cathedral of Reims, where all the French kings were crowned. It was very nice. I am trying to think of something to say about it that was really deep and made a lasting impression, but really, I think the place had a strange odor and needed a face lift.
I got back into the Hyatt at about 2:30pm and got ready for work.
It was one hell of a weekend, and after all that champagne, I am still a little dizzy.