On Thursday evening last week I put on my coat, stepped out into the first bite of winter, and made my way to a creaking old wine bar called Le Rubis (10, rue du Marché Saint-Honoré, 1er arrondissement). I had an appointment with my French father-in-law and an equally French tradition. When I saw the crowd spilling out of the bar and onto the street, merrily chugging red wine and passing around plates of rillettes, there was no doubt about it: the Beaujolais Nouveau had arrived.
People like traditions: those special dates that mark key moments of the year. I can't help feeling that the Christmas season begins on the third Thursday of November. But marketing lurks behind many of our habits, including the consumption of Beaujolais Nouveau. Originally, quaffing the newly-bottled wine was a handy way of celebrating the end of the harvest. According to the Smithsonian Institute, distributors began competing in a race to deliver the first bottles to Paris in the 1950s. But it was of course Georges Duboeuf, the King of Beaujolais, who pushed the marketing into overdrive in the 1970s, with colourful labels, tasting events and the rallying slogan "Le Beaujolais nouveau est arrivé!" So now this harmless, fruity little wine is a national treasure. This year's batch tasted as it always does: light, cheerful and vaguely medicinal. But I'm English: what do I know about wine?
