Speaking French via J. P. Chenet Colombard-Chardonnay.

J. P. Chenet is a trusted wine by that it costs few euros, but you feel good and sing “Amsterdam” by Jacques Brel after having a bottle of it. And I had one that was J. P. Chenet Colombard-Chardonnay the day before.

A semi-dry drink with 11,5%. I uncorked it and the wine disclosed a standard good smell of white grapes. Drinking it includes more acidity than usual, which shouldn’t be unexpected if Colombard is there because this berry is notable for high level of that. Such concentration strikes when you begin to hold in a mouth or after instantly swallowing. Not my grape because it doesn’t let you relish the drink. Aftertaste is usual alright and without consequences of acidity. It is almost a light wine.

O, Paris. A wonderful city except periods when it is overpopulated with men. However, the world statistics horrifies in that there are more than eight billion humans now, and if we take one hundred years ago, there weren’t even two billion people yet (that happened in 1927). Certainly, I wouldn’t drive in Paris if I had a driver’s license because when I get this item, I will ride only for the satisfaction which from taking travelling rides. If a man uses a car to drive to his or her job instead of having a chauffeur or taking a taxi, it isn’t success for me. In past times, people who were lucky to be born or turned out as noble people used a carriage with a coachman if it was business, and rode a horse alone if it was a country trip.

Anyway, I watched a TV program in which French people were asked on defining of rich people–whose quantity reduced in France over the last years, and one must point to the worsened economy and high taxes–and I loved an answer: “access to good wine and cheese”. Absolutely, but the country’s oldest, and belonging to the most expensive category, Le Procope can’t provide these two things. Also, thanks to that TV program, I’ve learned about café Angelina on Rue de Rivoli. I wasn’t familiar with this venue, but, of course, I walked in that part. I’ve never paid much curiosity to a long queue that’s always there. After researching, I was glad that I have different tastes from the masses. That café gained a zombie-kind popularity as it is related to some paintings in museums. Maybe I would visit Angelina for the interior, but that parquet floor cheapens the place. It makes to believe you’re in a regular country house. The venue is known for XIX century dessert Mont Blanc. It flabbergasts me because this is anti-French thing. It seems it was left after Germans when they were in France in 1871. It is bulky and non-pretty shape. A vermicelli design associative with worms. I could carry on with the ingredients, but that place doesn’t know about beautiful as their tacky version of mille-feuille. This cake hasn’t one blatant interpretation in the world, as among them a whipped cream in a little spots. However, concluding about Angelina. What can one expect if this a tourist café?