or, It Must Have Been the Wild Turkey.
Just back from a few days’ indulgence in Bordeaux – just. We needed to get away for a short break and, you wouldn’t even class us as living oop North, but the last flight this year from Liverpool-Bordeaux was last Tuesday and the final flight back on Sunday. So we had no choice.
Usually when we go to Bordeaux it’s a day trip up from Arcachon and inevitably we have lunch at La Tupina because why wouldn’t you? So we had dinner there Tuesday evening to get it out of the way. Bread Report (at restaurants, cafes): ranged from OK to dire, mostly less than OK. Wednesday/Thursday we just wandered round the place trying out new places and it is a great city to wander around.
You might have heard that they produce some wine in these parts. Being aware of this we produced a little list of bars a vin in advance and went on a pilgrimage of these holy sites.
The first place you have to know about is the Bar a Vin http://baravin.bordeaux.com/ Right in the centre of the city, opposite the tourist office is this magnificent establishment which is heavily subsidised by the wine industry. It’s terribly smart but totally laidback. They serve about 30 wines by the glass with prices starting at 2 euros, the most expensive being 8 euros. They even have rooms and spaces furnished and lit in different styles for your ultimate drinking comfort. Bit like heaven with waiter service.
So Wednesday/Thursday slid along in a little succession of bar, wine bar, lunch, wine bar, supper, etc – don’t know where the time goes. All of a sudden it’s Thursday evening and Sue needs the loo so we step into an unscheduled bar where I just happen to notice on the drinks list, my favourite Bourbon, Wild Turkey. Well, what was I to do? Could have been a mistake.
Thereafter a couple more wine bars winding up at the delightful and thoroughly recommended, Le Wine Bar, http://www.lewinebar-bordeaux.com/ where we rounded off the day with a bottle of wine and a large assiette of charcutery and cheese. Oh dear. Got soaked in a cloudburst on the way home and by the time we reached the hotel I was feeling thoroughly ill. It wasn’t as drastic as it could have been but I’ll spare you the details.
Friday the poor boy could only manage a Ricard (to settle the stomach), a sole meuniere, vanilla ice cream, and half a bottle of sancerre.
The thing is, before you jump to conclusions about overindulgence, four days on I still have all the symptoms so it could be a mammoth hangover but, more likely, a bug.
The PArtisan Baker 