where:
Le Cochon à l’Oreille
15, Rue Montmartre
Paris

when:
midsummer

character:

When it all gets to be a touch too serious, there is always Beaujolais, the Django Reinhardt of Burgundy. An oddity among jazz artists (he is the one made of Gamay instead of Pinot Noir), he is that one, you know, the European one, the one who plays guitar and not trumpet or sax or piano, the one who was born in Pont-à-Celles and not New Orleans or New York or the South Side of Chicago. Bright, fresh, vibrant, its pleasures are all up front and easy on the ears. Is it the deepest, most complex jazz one has ever heard? Perhaps not. But oh does it ever swing. Oh does it ever go down easy. And oh does it ever remind us that it is not always about interpretation and theory and soul-moving genius (not always about terrior and vintage charts and terminology better suited for the chemistry textbook), and that it is so much oftener about simply pouring the stuff out and drinking it. Which is to say it is about what it has always been about—pleasure.

tastes like:

Django Reinhardt’s “Oh Lady Be Good.”

pairs nicely with:

Sitting and drinking and people watching at Parisian outdoor cafes which are every bit as lovely as Parisian outdoor cafes are supposed to be (but sometimes are not); assiette de crudités de saison, tartare de boeuf charolais, and any assortiment de fromages du moment; Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette, Dance in the Country, and (especially) Dance at Bougival, all by Renoir; the Garden at Square du Temple, the Garden at Square Georges Cain, and (especially) the Garden of Les Halles; traveling to Paris with one’s mother at a very tender age, sitting among her friends at an outdoor café, being poured one’s very first, very small glass of wine, the desire to be served one’s second glass of wine, and the very first French sentence a boy nine addressed to a (slightly astonished) French waiter, as the adults talked on and the boy whispered: un peu plus, si vous plait.