Your description v. amusing and Muddy Waters too. I visited the Ch d'Aydie
some years ago following a great evening at a tapas bar outside Lourdes.
We sat to eat and I asked the young waitress to recommend a local wine.
Outside it was cascading rain. The windows were steamed up. 'Madiran, monsieur.'
said the girl. Half way through Bottle 2, when the cook had joined us at the
table and a small man who turned out to be the local hotelier ordered more
madiran, I thought to note the address of the producer on the wine label. Things
therafter became riotous as we quaffed the powerful nectar and ate all the food
the cook kept bringing from the kitchen.In the morning at the small man's hotel
I was attempting to introduce a croissant into my face when the hotelier appeared
looking rather battered and offered to sell me the hotel. As an Englishman, he said, this place is just the ticket. And you. monsieur, I said, where are you going? He drew back a curtain to reveal a huge reclining blonde lady.
They were decamping to Peru or somewhere. We eventually drove out to
the Ch d'Aydie, set in rolling hills like Yorkshire. I rang the old bell. A woman opened the door, fixing me with a granite sod-you stare. I asked if a case
of the madiran might be available? 'Oddbins, monsieur,' she replied and closed the door. I've never forgotten the wine or that evening but I havent tried it since
Madiran
Your description v. amusing and Muddy Waters too. I visited the Ch d'Aydie
some years ago following a great evening at a tapas bar outside Lourdes.
We sat to eat and I asked the young waitress to recommend a local wine.
Outside it was cascading rain. The windows were steamed up. 'Madiran, monsieur.'
said the girl. Half way through Bottle 2, when the cook had joined us at the
table and a small man who turned out to be the local hotelier ordered more
madiran, I thought to note the address of the producer on the wine label. Things
therafter became riotous as we quaffed the powerful nectar and ate all the food
the cook kept bringing from the kitchen.In the morning at the small man's hotel
I was attempting to introduce a croissant into my face when the hotelier appeared
looking rather battered and offered to sell me the hotel. As an Englishman, he said, this place is just the ticket. And you. monsieur, I said, where are you going? He drew back a curtain to reveal a huge reclining blonde lady.
They were decamping to Peru or somewhere. We eventually drove out to
the Ch d'Aydie, set in rolling hills like Yorkshire. I rang the old bell. A woman opened the door, fixing me with a granite sod-you stare. I asked if a case
of the madiran might be available? 'Oddbins, monsieur,' she replied and closed the door. I've never forgotten the wine or that evening but I havent tried it since