An Espresso Comes With Uninterrupted Wifi in France

I feel like Hemingway, sitting outside a small cafe with an espresso by my wrist. Granted, it is an espresso, and not a gin martini. Ah, but it is only one in the afternoon...

It's a marvel how much attention the French pay to their drinks. They start with their aperitif, to be poured gracefully into long stemmed glasses. I don't know what good, practically speaking, having a drink before a meal does, if it aids in digestion or prepares the palette, or what, but it's an enjoyable thing to do. Therefore, the point of drinking becomes unimportant; only the act itself matters. It serves to accompany pre-meal conversation as the violin does the piano. Pleasure for pleasure's sake, delight in simple joys.

Let us not forget the wine that comes with lunch or dinner. (As far as I know, the French don't make a habit of drinking at breakfast) It is always carefully matched to the entree, the main course, the cheese and dessert. I take my meals with my host mother and another student who rooms with me, and we dine quite simply. I understand, however, that in restaurants, it is a common thing to have a different wine with each course. But then, that is not surprising because it is often like that in the states as well, in upscale places.

Yet it's different here. Each Riesling d'Alsace, every Pinot Noir, is as much a part of the company as the lady with pearls, or her brother the businessman. The swirl of the glasses- raise them delicately to inquiring nostrils- belong, have a place with the things spoken, and even more with things unspoken. That is why there is no rush. They do not, as we often do, eat hastily, for there is nothing so abhorrent here as rushing. How can one appreciate without pause?

After the meal, there is another drink. I don't know the difference between an aperitif and a digestif, except that one is before and the other follows the meal. I don't think they actually have anything to do with digestion.

Alsace is chilly this time of year (actually that's an understatement). It's barely September yet it's already too cold for t shirts and jeans. I mention the weather because I am inappropriately dressed for it. Regrettably, I finished my espresso some time ago, which means my last defense against the wind is gone.

The thing is that the weather here changes the way you or I change socks. At the drop of a hat the sun comes out and you're sweltering, or else it retreats among the clouds and your fingers freeze. I don't mind when it rains, but not while we sit here at the Bistrot et Chocolat.

Coffee is drunk so often that it's a wonder anybody can sleep at night. I've yet to have a bad cup, and I'm not convinced the concept even exists here. But really, one drinks a cup at breakfast, perhaps an espresso after the morning class, perhaps another with lunch, perhaps with the family after dinner. After the digestif, of course.

I must get to my reading now. Au Revoir.