Bonjour ça va ?
After five glorious weeks at (one) home, I’ve finally returned to my (other) home in Paris—and it’s time for a Café SVP. I’ve decided to spice things up this year and combine the cultural commentary and vino ventures into one newsletter. It’ll be more condensed, more pointed but it’ll enable me to give you more of what you want, more regularly. Let me know what you think!
Winter Blues in the City of Light Deprivation
It was always going to be tough coming back to Paris—transitioning from summer to winter is never easy—but I wasn’t prepared to feel as acutely homesick as I did. It was as though a slideshow of Bondi was playing on rotation in my head and no matter how many times I blinked my eyes (or cried), I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that this gloom was now my reality. Morning after morning, I’d wait patiently for Lady Soleil to arrive and cheer my dampened spirits but the clouds just never seemed to part.
I initially pegged my morning moanings re the sun’s whereabouts to the fact that I was hypersensitive to le soleil post-Australia. But a little digging on the Internet proved that I am not entirely folle: although it’s known as the City of Light, Paris receives little-to-no sun exposure during the winter months because of cloud coverage.
Paris was crowned the City of Light, not because of the Tour Eiffel’s nightly light show, but because in 1667 King Louis XIV ordered the streets to be lit with lanterns and windowsills to be illuminated with gas lamps in order to lower crime rates (no dark corners for crims to hide in), making it the most well-lit city of its time.
Paris is a northern city—it shares the same latitude as Vancouver and Seattle. (New York, in comparison, is on the same latitude as Madrid and Naples). And if you feel like you are stuck in a hole during a Parisian winter it’s because you literally are: the city is located within the depths of the Paris Basin, a geological sag in the craton. As a result, Paris is victim to low-pressure systems which coddle the city in low-hanging concrete-grey clouds that block the sun.
In January, Paris receives on average just 63 hours of sunlight for the whole month—that’s a little over two hours a day. 2018 was the darkest year in recent history when the sun showed its face for an abysmal ten hours in the first month of the year.
As a country that jokes that its national sport is complaining, I’m sure that there are many a French who revel in the seasonal suffering and the melancholia it inspires. C’est tragique, c’est chic. But others—like Hemmingway who declared in A Moveable Feast that “all the sadness of the city came suddenly with the first cold rains of winter”—just get depressed.
I, along with an estimated 20% of the capital’s population, fall in the latter category and am cursed by Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). It’s a peculiar kind of depression, more sickly than hopeless. No amount how much I sleep I never feel rested and every movement seems slowed by a sticky lethargy. The most frustrating thing is knowing that this will all fade away with some rays of sweet, sweet soleil, yet even this realisation can’t snap me out of the unshakeable irritation that comes with being SAD.
For my first few winters in Paris, I used to combat (or succumb to) my SAD-ness by listening to Jack Johnson and crying in front of YouTube clips of Bondi Rescue for days on end. However, after ten years here, I’ve (thankfully) armed myself with some more tactful coping mechanisms to keep my disposition sunny when the weather outside is anything but:
Invest in a sun lamp alarm clock! I recommend it to anyone who is not lucky enough to rise with the sun. Days are so much easier when you wake up to (an albeit artificial) sunrise and not a blaring iPhone alarm. I also love the sunset function which helps me settle into sleep.
Start your day with a Light Box: I’d only recommend this to those who really struggle with the winter blues but sitting in front of it for just 20 minutes each morning feels like a shot of espresso to me. If you don’t want to invest in one for home, you can also book in with your medicin traitant for light treatment (covered by social security!)
My obsession with light is backed up by this episode of The Tim Ferriss Show podcast with neurobiologist Andrew Huberman who explains how to use light exposure for optimal health. Sounds dry but it’s super interesting.
Take a vitamin D supplement! So grave are the effects of light deprivation here that newborn babies are routinely prescribed Vitamin D for the first 18 months to help them develop properly. So you should consult a doctor about taking one too! It makes me significantly less irritable.
Schedule routine rhythmic exercise! Daily cardio to a beat, like running or skipping, has been proven to help (and has helped me) alleviate the symptoms of depression.
Word on the Grapevine: Pineau d’Aunis
Whilst I don’t recommend drinking away the winter blues, there’s nothing like a glass of red to warm the body and soul when the sun can’t do it for you. Cet hiver, all that’s on my mind is a rather obscure grape variety from the Loire Valley: Pineau d’Aunis. Perhaps it’s because its characteristic notes of white pepper remind me of warming winter spices; perhaps because as a notoriously sensitive and moody variety I feel like it’s my grape-incarnate (at least when I’m SAD).
If you’ve never heard of Pineau d’Aunis (FKA Chenin Noir), have no fear: it’s a bit of an oddball variety that’s shrouded in mystery. No one’s sure why it’s called Pineau and not Pinot (they are pronounced the same way), its exact provenance, or if it really was the favourite wine of King Henry III in the 13th Century (as the Loire Valley regional rumour mill would have you believe.)
What is certain is that it’s très sensible to both disease and terroir (its soil and growing conditions), thrives in low-yields, and has suffered beaucoup over the past centuries. Obliterated by phylloxera in the 19th century and then threatened again by the construction of various railroads in the 20th century, there are only environ 435 hectares of old Pineau left (in comparison to 1741 ha in 1958). Given how complicated it is, it’s no wonder many a winemaker opted for local crowd-pleaser Cabernet Franc instead.
But for those vignerons who do succeed in taming the wild beast that is Pineau d’Aunis, the results are spectacular. It is an incredibly versatile grape variety: found in both still and sparkling white, red, rosé wines, it can be a single-varietal (i.e. 100% Pineau d’Aunis) or a blend (with other local varieties like Chenin Blanc, Cabernet Franc, and Gamay).
Although it is usually a lighter wine, my first introduction to it was through Les Editions de Vin Rare’s Très Très Vielles Vignes, a medium-body red made from 100% Pineau d’Aunis (from vines that are between 107 and 135 years old!)
I’d recommend bringing a bottle of Pineau d’Aunis to your next dinner party as an ice-breaker: chances are few people will have heard of it and the characteristic notes of pepper are so peculiar-yet-obvious that even your friend who has destroyed their tastebuds drinking cheap plonk their whole life will be able to pick up on them. A conversation starter in a bottle.
Tasting Notes
A few bottles and winemakers to look out for when hunting for Pineau d’Aunis:
Très très vielles vignes: Epître N°1875, TTVV, AOC Coteaux du Vendômois, Pineau d'Aunis from Les Editions de Vins Rares. (I find this such a curious wine ‘project’ more than anything. The guys behind Les Editions rent out parcels of vines from other winemakers and then curate a ‘team’ to make the wine—just like how an editor may commission a story from a certain writer for their publication.)
Domaine Bobinet « Aunis » 2020. Which I found available for sale in Australia here!
Préambule Pet Nat 2018 from Emmanuel Haget
Clos de Tue Boeuf Pineau d’Aunis
+ many more! Let me know if you taste any goodies.
A la semaine prochaine!