Wine Bar Hunting in Paris

Bar Etna

After some reading at Brasserie Lola, my favorite café so far, I hopped on an afternoon train toward Saint-German. I was headed toward Bar Etna based on a review that mentioned they “encourage indecisiveness” - perfect for a tourist who was both opinionated yet out of his element. They hadn’t opened yet when I arrived, so I wandered and found a Champagne bar with a delicious list but cold atmosphere. I drank some Meunier while reviewing my photos from the Louvre, anxious to get to my real destination, and reminding myself that it was now “bonsoir” time.

After backtracking, I found the sliding doors of the entirely glass storefront had opened, with just one patron inside who seemed so comfortable in his setting that I wondered if he was waiting to start his shift. His name was Thomas, and when I asked he told me he was drinking “something sweet.” We talked about the neighborhoods we grew up in, his brief and unsuccessful venture as a winemaker (resulting in him having to call all the locations that purchased his wine to tell them that the wines had restarted fermentation and were unpredictably exploding in storage), and which arrondissement I was staying in. I ordered a tart and stony Chenin Blanc blend from the Languedoc. Thomas told me that he had an old friend on his mind today, but that his friend was busy with work and he didn’t want to disturb him by reaching out. The conversation went still and Thomas stared at the wall, his eyes darting back and forth, unsure of what to focus on. He finished his cigarette, and told me he needed to walk for a while, leaving behind an “enchanté” and a half-finished glass of his something sweet.

Etna began to fill up by my second glass, a light and beautifully aromatic Loire Cabernet Franc, and I found myself eves-dropping on a married couples’ conversation in Italian about Piedmonte. They called out to an unsuspecting friend walking by, as if they knew Sylvia was hoping for a reason not to go home. Carolina and Laura soon joined, and the group asked for a bottle Vino Bianco, to which Clyde, the only guy working besides the cook, came back with a Chardonnay from Auvergne. Their rich conversation could only be a result of decades of friendship, and I was thankful to soak up some of this community.

I’m hooked on the pace of this place.