When in Paris, we wanted to do as the Parisians do.

Or rather, given our limited French, what some expats in Paris do.

And so we found ourselves wandering the streets of St. Germain in search of La Derniere Goutte, a little wine shop my friend Barbra, a former and soon-to-be-again Parisian, had recommended.

The weekly wine tasting at La Derniere Goutte, which means “the last drop,” had been billed as a low-key and warm experience. The pours were generally delicious, the managers friendly and the regular clientele just as friendly (and likely to get more boisterous as the afternoon ticked by).

Approaching the store, we took this window display as a sign of good things to come …

 
… which turned out to be true.

Paul, the friendly Michigan transplant (and manager of the store’s neighboring restaurant Fish) who led the wine-tasting, guided us through a series of pours from Vignobles Orliac, a family-run vineyard in Montpellier. The whites were super crisp — we especially liked the Bergerie de L’Hortus Cuvee Classique Blanc — and the rose was a dry delight.

Standing outside the tiny wine store, swirling, sniffing and sipping as people wended past us on the narrow street, we began pondering the possibilities as the tasting wound down. 

Macaroons? Escargots? Maybe some dinner?

It turned out all of the above were in the cards that night. But, that’s another story.