He got up and went across the room to his library, a long run of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, stopping in front of the section where he kept his wine books. There, in various stages of wear and tear, were Penning-Rowsell’s The Wines of Bordeaux, Lichine’s Encyclopedia of Wines and Spirits, Forest’s Monseigneur Le Vin, the current year’s Guide

Cassis. A village on the sea is a magical sight on a sunny day; a village on the sea with twelve excellent vineyards in its back garden is enough to make a man want to throw away his passport and stay forever. Philippe was already installed on the terrace at Nino, a restaurant with the thoughtful addition of three guest rooms,

“Italians make clothes and shoes. And one good cheese. Their wine …” Her mouth turned down, and there was a dismissive waggle from her hand. There was clearly no room for debate. Another victory, Sam thought, for the French superiority complex.

For the most part, the Provençal might be relaxed, even cavalier about timekeeping, but his appetite is not; the stomach must be served at noon.

’53 Lafite, ’61 Latour, ’70 Pétrus, ’75 Yquem, ’82 Figeac, ’83 Margaux.

I’ve heard the Villa Gallici is a nice place.” And so it proved to be—small, charming, and a two-minute walk from the cafés and other delights of the Cours Mirabeau.

Charvet.

It always felt good to be back in Paris. As his cab made its way down the Boulevard Raspail toward Saint-Germain, Sam was struck once again by the beautiful proportions established by Haussmann in the mid-nineteenth century—the generous width of the principal streets, the human-sized buildings, the magnificent gardens, and the unexpected pocket

The Cigale Récamier, a five-minute stroll from the hotel, was one of Sam’s favorite stops in Paris. Hidden away at the end of a cul-de-sac off the Rue de Sèvres, it had all the qualities he liked in a restaurant. It was simple, unpretentious, and highly professional. The waiters had been there forever; they knew their métier to a fault and the wine