The third Thursday of November is the day annually when the beaujolais harvest comes to town. I brought home a couple of bottles of home and Josie wrinkled her nose in consternation.

"I thought beaujolais is meant to be rubbish."

"It is, apparently, but there must be some reason everyone drinks it now."

You can tell we are wine snobs with deep knowledge of the juice, despite knocking back a little EVERY DAMN DAY of our lives.

Suspicions were hardly allayed by the label of one, telling us it was pisse-dru.



'Thick piss.' Sounds like my kinda wine.

We chilled them a little, knocked the scab off and...well really quite good, I thought. A light and easy red. I still struggle with the big cabernets and merlots and the French pinot noir must be the most over-rated drink in the world.

But to wash down some gorgonzola slapped on chunks of pain de campagne fresh from the boulangerie... oui. Oui, oui, oui.