Change of Plans

My alarm went off way earlier than I would have liked this morning based on how crappy I slept last night but I had to heed the call because I had an 8:25am train to Reims booked to go taste some champagne in the Champagne Region! Yes, I had planned a vacation from my vacation and was going to leave Paris for a night to spend today tasting in Reims and the next in Epernay. And I could not miss that 8:25am train because my first visit, at Taittanger was scheduled for 9:45am! I threw myself into the shower, threw together an over night bag, ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and, quite proudly, found my way to Le Gare de l’Est via Le Metro with ease. This was exciting as I took a gamble on which side of the Metro I was supposed to exit, and I got it right! The morning was already hot and humid enough in Paris that my upper lip was perspiring before I even left the apartment, and I’m not one to sweat. At Le Gare de l’Est I found an attendant to point me in the right direction, it was 8:20. He gave me the rail number, in French, which I could actually understand and then said something else that I could not. Sensing the confusion on my face, he turned to English, “Go! Go! Hurry up!” Got it, it was at the other end of the station and I needed to haul ass. But I made it on and settled into my reserved seat with about 90 seconds to spare. It’s 99 miles to Gare de Reims and the high speed rail got me there exactly on time, in a whopping 46 minutes. Come on California, we need to get our shit together on high speed rail! I was equally surprised by how non-scenic and blasé the views were and that nobody ever checked my ticket, not once.

I hailed a cab outside of Gare de Reims and made it to Taittinger by 9:30, just on time since they requested that patrons arrive 10-15 minutes before their tour to get checked in. I was STARVING. That PB&J for breakfast was small and not going to do it. I thought I had a piece of caramel in my purse from the end of my dinner last night but alas, that wasn’t even in there. Perhaps I should have ate more before going to drink champagne but it was too late to do anything about it now. My overnight bag was a little cumbersome and though they had no coat check the lady the reception was kind enough to offer to let me leave it up there with her. I joked that I just had to remember it before I left.

I kept waiting for other guests to arrive but, well, none did. Out of curiosity I pulled out my phone and looked at their availability for bookings for the day, crap, it showed 19 tickets still available or my tour. Was I going to be the only one?! AWKWARD! And sure enough, the host came out and it was just me. Super awkward. Now let me set the stage, for the most part, the champagne houses don’t just offer tasting like one would be used to in Napa, Sonoma, Paso Robles, any other US wine region, they offer tours of between 1-2 hours with a “tasting” at the end that is 1 or 2 glasses of champagne based on your tour selection. To kick off this tour, the host led me into a little theater and turned on a video outlining the history of the property. *Yawn*. Here’s the cliff notes, it used to be massive cathedral built and managed by monks. Then came a war ravaging right through the town and it was destroyed, the chalk caves below are all that remain. Champagne has been made there for two or three hundred years but the Taittinger family only acquired the business around 1930. There you go. I would have been happy just hearing that, I didn’t need a ten minute video.

My host led me down a steep spiral staircase into the uppermost level of the chalk caves where the bottles are aged. He showed me a staircase that the monks once used that now led to nowhere, because, per cliff notes above, destruction. He then launched into more history as my eyes glazed over. An empty room with an iron gate was to our side and this is where shit started to get interesting. That empty room was/is the “Library” that housed bottles of their champagne from each and every year going back to 1960s. But it was now empty., Why? Because the family, yes the Champagne house is still run by the actual Taittinger family, got bored during the COVID lockdown and decided to OPEN ALL THE WINE AND DRINK THROUGH THE LIBRARY! Every last bottle, gone. If that’s not another sad COVID story I don’t know what is.

The caves at this site span a total of 2.5 miles and hold 2 million bottles of champagne. Once stacked in deeeeeeep and tall stacks the bottles won’t move for a minimum of ten years before they are placed on racks. On the racks they are hand turned between 1/8 and 1/4 turn about three times a week. Only TWO riddlers work for Taittinger and those two people alone do all the turning at a rate of 6,000-8,000 bottles an hour EACH! Their wrists must be wrecks!

The host walked me through the bottling process and the importance of making sure the Co2 is dissipated and something or other else happens or else the bottles will explode while aging in their giant layers. If they were to explode they do so within a couple months of first being stacked. Their are only about 60-100 bottles that explode a year and they only know it happens if the bottle happens to be on one of the ends. And there’s nothing to do about it. He said normally then bottom will blow off and the rest of the bottle will remain in the stack until it eventually disintegrates. Proudly, he was actually able to show me a stack where one had exploded.

Here are a few other fun facts that I found fascinating: 1) A magnum of wine will taste better than a standard bottle. And let me tell ya, a standard bottle looks REALLY small when you see it set in line with all the official bottle sizes up to the largest 15L Nebuchadnezzar (it’s the second smallest in the picture below!). The magnum tastes better because the wine has more room but when you get past the magnum they aren’t actually aged in the larger bottles so the taste is the same as a standard 750 ml. 2) When it’s time to finalize and cork the bottles, they are turned upside down and the necks placed in some freezing ass water for ten minutes to freeze the sediment (that is now settled at the neck). In a matter of six seconds the bottle then goes through four machines which pop off the metal cap they are aged with, causing the frozen sediment to explode out (and that’s how they get rid of the sediment), then they are corked, and then caged. 3) Each and every bottle of the 6 million they send out a year is manually inspected and if the bottle itself has any type of nic or scratch it is pulled aside and those are the bottles that are left at the winery to be used in the tasting room since the integrity of the wine is fine, only the cosmetics of the bottle are damaged. When it was time for my tasting, I pressed them to show me where the damage was on the bottle they were pouring.

The host was going to ignore some of the most fascinating parts of the cave until I inquired about what I was seeing. Throughout the caves there were carvings of all sorts in the walls faces, shapes, very random. Apparently these are carvings that solders made during the First World War. They would hang out in the caves to rest and carve into the chalk walls to entertain themselves. Some soldiers even carved their names into the cool rock. They really shouldn’t glaze over that history so much because it’s actually pretty cool.

Finally, an hour later, it was time to actually drink some champagne. On my starving tummy I was worried how this would go but even champagne was better than nothing to fill me up. Upstairs in the tasting room the Sommelier poured my first glass, their Brut Reserve, as I looked at him confused and asked if that meant the Rosés were coming next, as I was doing the “Oh my rose” tasting. The poor, proper, French, Som looked mortified to realize he had poured me the wrong champagne. I assured him I didn’t mind so I ended up with a bonus tasting. Again, mind you these tastings are each a glass. So basically, I had three glasses of champagne as my breakfast.

Surprisingly, even on an empty stomach, I barely even felt a buzz. As I finished my time at Taittinger and walked out towards my lunch destination one of the other hosts chased me down, “Your bag madame!” Oh yeah, that overnight bag. Oops!

I had made lunch reservations at Le Jardin de Les Crayers, the sister restaurant to the Michelin starred Au Parc. While not buzzed I was getting seriously hangry and could not find it in me to laugh when the maitre’d looked at the time and said that I must be hungry since I had arrived five minutes early. Yes, I’m starving motherf*#@er. My lunch was delightful, a sashimi salmon with beautifully balanced vinaigrette and fresh herbs, roasted quail, and a unique dessert. From the description I had a hard time figuring out what the dessert actually was but it turned out to be heaven; a giant airy marshmallow atop a creamy sauce with caramel drizzle and popcorn. I loved it. As I ate my lunch and drank my aperitif I also reflected on the fact that perhaps I was already champagne’d out. I was definitely champagne house tour’d out. I didn’t need to spend another hour at Mumm after lunch learning, yet again, the champagne making process. I realized I was dreading the Mumm tour, especially knowing that they don’t add any other additives or anything to the champagne they export to the US so I could literally drink the exact same champagne at home. Just to see, I pulled up the train schedules and looked at what options were to get back to Paris sooner.

There was a 2:15pm train back to Paris on the schedule, mind you I was supposed to stay the night in Reims and return at 4:30pm tomorrow. I decided to walk the two miles, carrying my damn overnight bag, into the town center to a chocolate shop I had wanted to visit and then see how I felt as it was right by the train station. The timing could be spot on. As I walked I reflected on my relationship with alcohol at this point in my life and listened to where my heart and head found agreement. Alcohol doesn’t play as much of a role in my life as it once did, which is physically, emotionally, and mentally better for me; so I really didn’t need to be here. As I walked on I was in complete peace with my decision, at this point I’m more excited to buy salt than champagne. And suddenly I started to rush, now I wanted to make damn sure I didn’t miss that 2:15 train. The chocolate shop wasn’t even open, most of the town wasn’t even open. With the lack of tourists it just must not be worth it to the shop owners. Another sure sign I should just go.

At 3:01 I was back in Paris and it felt right. The Metro station is adjacent to the train station so I could hop right on the Metro and be dropped off just blocks from my AirBnB, no problem with my handy little unlimited ride card! I’m not sure what I did but may card didn’t work and the man behind me, who looked like he worked there and was just getting off, used his and just pushed me thru in front of him so I didn’t have to deal with it. I think he tried to explain something to me about the card and I used my standard apology I don’t speak French well line to which he just laughed and wished me a good day before walking off. In reflection, I think I had paused to make sure it accepted the card and waited too long so the turn style locked again.

After resting in the apartment for a bit I did some more random exploring around the Vendome and another major shopping/fashion hub, Les Galeries de Lafayette. Outside on the hot street I discovered that they had mister fountains, a water fountain with a tall attachment that would mist you from above at the press of a button. A gentleman stood beneath misting himself and his Pomeranian. There are a lot of Pomeranians in this city! I took the Metro part of the way (cut me some slack, my feet hurt, I’m averaging about 25,000 steps a day!) and to my delight I was met by a woman carrying a pug in a baby carrier on her back when the Metro doors opened and I stepped in. I couldn’t help but pull out my camera to try to discreetly snap a picture. A woman, about my age, sitting across from me caught me. She winked and nodded and I could feel her smile through her mask. It felt like the most sincere human connection I’ve had in a couple days where with no words we obviously shared the same amusement. (Metro pro tip – always check the first stop after you get on and compare it to the map on the wall to make sure you are going in the right direction before you go too far! I have yet to make such a gaffe thankfully but always am watching the location.)

I did a little shopping but didn’t buy anything as I need to go back with my passport in hand so I can have my purchases processed as duty-free, heck yah I want that 10% VAT back! I tucked myself into the quietest corner I cound find, in front of Dior and Valentino at the Vendome so I could call home and chat with Brandon for a while and then, well, actually get on a Zoom board meeting for work. Not my own board but another very important meeting I needed to attend as the outcome affected my organization. One of my colleagues noticed where I was and sent me some shopping encouragement during the meeting. What she couldn’t see was the clothing and accessory trunks the fashion houses were bringing out and loading into a waiting van! The Board Meeting was quick and went well (exciting work things happening when I get home) and then I was off for a little more browsing.

I was HUNGRY again though and decided to walk to the Montmartre area to find a Moroccan restaurant that Chef Jean-Yves had recommended to me at my Monday dinner. Their couscous was supposed to be the best you could find. I hated the Montmartre area, it was ridiculously crowded and the frenetic energy was just too much for me. Thankfully I found the recommended restaurant to be tucked away on a little side street or else I would not have been able to stop there. I can’t handle that level of spaz.

I won’t name the restaurant to protect the innocent (hah) because while the owner was very nice old man, who spoke barely two words of English, the food was TERRIBLE. Immediately establishing we would have a hard time communicating, a local who spoke good English that was waiting for their take away order stepped in to help. I mentioned that I heard the couscous was good and then assumed they were a one-dish wonder type of place as no menu was presented and they asked if I wanted chicken or mutton. Uh, I’ll take the chicken, no sheep for me please. The owner looked at me and insisted, “mutton good.” “Non merci, poulet s’il vous plait.” The local asked where I was from and then drilled down to even what part of California, his brother-in-law lived in Los Angeles. When I told him near Sacramento he got so excited, the Kings were his favorite basketball team! He started launching into his memory of the NBA finals of the early 2000s and reminiscing about the Kings in their prime; Peja, Vlade, Bobby, Bibby, these were his heroes. It was an odd conversation to be having in Paris!

My translator got his order and left and then came out my couscous, the owner insisted, “Mutton better” as he placed my food on the table. Then again, maybe he wasn’t so nice and that smile was fake. The restaurant was called Au Clare de Lune; take my advice and don’t go there. It was the worst chicken ever, dry and flavorless. I was beyond unimpressed. Two locals sat at the table next to me and the waiter brought them menus and a dish of olives. What the hell? I would have liked that service!

I passed the Conciergerie on my way back to the apartment and some type of drama was being filmed on the steps. No clue what it was but it was interesting to watch for a few.

Passing by Notre Dame I did a double take as a thick French accent was singing “Mustang Sally” in the square. I laughed and muttered, “What the f*^#” and decided I needed to check this out. In the square, right in front of Notre Dame, a street performer was giving it his all. I joined the other spectators sitting on the benches before him and could not help but laugh at this juxtaposition of the gothic cathedral in the background and the terrible renditions I was hearing of classics such as “Space Cowboy,” “Stairway to Heaven,” and “Purple Rain.” The dusky lighting on the cathedral made for an awe-inspiring background. The fun ended when the police arrived. He didn’t pack up but sat down himself so it was time for me to move on.

On the bridge between the two Îles another street performer belted out French classics while her dog ran amok, after he ran down the street growling and barking after three people on bikes or scooters in the course of about a minute she finally put him on a leash, that little pup earned her tips.

The evening was cooler than they have been so far this week and I finally figured out how to fully open the windows in my AirBnB so the apartment actually cooled down a bit as I settled in for the night. I’m glad I made the decision to come back instead of staying in Reims. Also, how cute are these little cheeses I got from the grocery around the corner?!