As a young man, I learned that some of the best schools for learning about and enjoying the wines and foods of France were the quaint and cozy bistros a vin (wine bars) that are found through- out Paris. That lesson, learned long ago, is still valid. Owned by men, nearly all of whom have a passionate love of wine and who spend much of their free time traveling in the countryside seeking the best of the good little wines of France, there may be no better places in which to taste and test all of those wines you have heard or read about but have not yet discovered.

Rarely fancy, invariably with a friendly neighborhood clientele and almost never expensive, most of these places have between 12 and 50 wines that can be tasted by the glass an any given day. You can start off with a young, crisp Beaujolais; go on to a simple, almost unknown wine such as the Syrah from Domaine Barthes in the region of Languedoc; continue with the good Cotes du Rhone that the owner is bragging about; and then finish off with a glass of les Forts de Latour. You can order your wine by the glass, by the half-carafe, the full carafe, the bottle or the magnum but, because the owners of these wine bars buy in bulk, and thus much more cheaply, you will find that your bill will always be surprisingly low.

The wine bars I most enjoy are those that open early in the morning, have an unpretentious neighborhood atmosphere, and feature good food, friendly people and reasonable prices. Most of the wines offered at these places sell for anywhere from FFr 9.50 - FFr 50 per glass and one can easily dine at most of these places for under FFR 120. I especially those wine bars whose owners re- cognize that wine is meant to be drunk with food, and whose spec- ialties are simple, bistro style dishes that can range from cold plates of cheese or charcuterie especially designed to match the wines that are being offered. My true favorites have no printed menus, and both the wines and the daily culinary offerings are hand-written on blackboards that are hung behind the bar. Those new to the wine-bar scene will do well to remember that almost all of Paris wine bars are closed on Sunday.

With no apologies at all, Le Tartine is definitely my favorite Parisian wine bar. Located in the Marais, which most Parisians consider the true heart of their city, this wine bar is as close as one can come to the realities of what Paris was like during the 1920s and 30s. The old, almost never polished mirrors and woodwork; the marble topped bar; the eighty year old wood refrigerators; and the smell of fresh cheese that invariably fills the air makes this an ideal place for romantics. So truly Parisian is this place that the three young women who work behind the bar are all dressed in black and give the appearance of being eighty year old war widows.

On my last visit, even though several of the tiny tables were free, I chose to stand at the bar where I started off with a glass of young Gamay from the Valais, continued with a glass of Sancere; and went on to a Croze Hermitage. With all of this I had first a platter of paper thin slices of ham served with good Normandy butter and excellent dark country-style bread and then a small whole cheese, a crottin de sancere that the owner buys directly from a small dairy in the countryside.

A close second in my order of priorities is the Bistro des Augustins, one of the few wine bars owned by a woman. On my last visit I arrived just after the owner had locked her doors for the evening. It took a bit of pleading but I succeeded in convincing her that I would be forever heartbroken if she did not let me have a glass of wine with her. The company with whom I shared this tiny wine bar were two young men, both of whom were quietly but intellectually drunk and an eighty year old street-lady who was just as quietly but not at all intellectually drunk.

As I stood at the bar sipping my first glass, of a Grand Cru Julienas, I reflected on the old metal siding on the walls that over the years have had received at least a hundred coats of paint; the absolutely terrible oil paintings on the walls; and the well worn leather banquettes that lined one wall. I also reflected that this was one of the few places in the Latin Quarter where one can escape from the hordes of tourists. By now, two of the owner's friends had come in, and they challenged me to a blind tasting. I easily identified the first wine served as a white Sancere. The second, a Saint-Amour was as easy, but the third, which turned out to be a Puligny-Montrachet eluded me. I managed to console myself for my failure by consuming two generous slices of the excellent home-made Tarte-Tatin

Click here for some of my recommended Wine Bars in Paris

© Daniel Rogov