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Postcard from the boulevards: Is it possible to find a good wine shop in west Paris?

Some sublime autumn highs and a couple of lows, capped off by trying to find a decent wine shop in western Paris – do they exist?

Late September and early October have put in focus the two extremes of buying wine in Paris.

It all kicked off with the birth of my son last month.

Out I went, heroically throwing myself into the wine shops of the 18e arrondissement, to find a suitable bottle of Champagne to mark the occasion.

I eventually alighted on a cuvée from a favourite grower of mine – Ruppert-Leroy (the name similarity being purely incidental).

Chatting through my options with the shop owner, he began to lament the rising price of grower cuvées.

He was saying that it was getting harder and harder for smaller retailers to secure allocations of certain producers.

Wine prices in France (even Paris) are far better than London but it’s true that – casting an eye over the Champagnes in numerous cavistes as I was – I was seeing a lot at €60, €70, even €80+ per bottle.

And for independent cavistes keen to stock and sell wines from independent producers, to an audience – even in an affluent area – that is price sensitive due to the comparative value offered by domestic wine, these are increasingly difficult propositions.

Small production and rising global demand has already squeezed the prices of Burgundy and certain cult natural producers until the pips have squeaked.

Is grower Champagne next?

In the end, my wife declared she wanted her first glass of post-natal wine to be something she truly loves, which is Beaujolais. We indulged, therefore, in a bottle of David (& Célia) Large’s very scrumptious Gamayhameha instead (see note below).

And the Champagne, for now, is on ice (figuratively speaking).

Twilight zone

Unfortunately, only a little while afterwards, we were back in hospital for a week to clear up a small – but thankfully very treatable – infection that Littlest Millar had picked up.

This meant a prolonged stay in the suburbs of north-west Paris.

When it comes to wine, Paris and London share one indisputable fact in common; if you want exciting wines and great places to drink in – don’t go west.

Western suburbs in London and Paris tend to be lovely, leafy – and dull.

This was particularly evident on both Friday and Saturday nights when I walked back from the hospital through Neuilly-sur-Seine to Levallois-Perret where I was couch-surfing at a friend’s flat and, not even yet midnight, there was nary a bar or restaurant open.

It was a ghost town. No hustle, no bustle, deader than disco. A far cry from the hubbub and life in the streets where I live.

In the bright light of day, I also noted with a critical but unsurprised eye, that there was generally a distinct lack of interesting wine shops to be had.

Small mercies

What there was, in rather too great abundance, was a profusion of Nicolas.

If independent cavistes highlight the dynamism and excitement of contemporary French winemaking, Nicolas represents stolid-verging-on-staid predictability, reinforcing my opinion that affluent western districts are deeply, deeply unadventurous places.

I wanted to buy a bottle as thanks for the friends who’d put me up over the course of the week but the choice at Nicolas filled me with dread.

There had to be something better. And, thankfully, there was.

In Levallois-Perret I came across Julien de Savignac which is a small chain of shops owned by a winery in Bergerac.

It has a very classic range but of better quality and greater interest than a bog-standard Nicolas, and complements it with some wines from smaller growers with organic/biodynamic/(even, whisper it) natural-leaning tendencies.

Then, in Neuilly-sur-Seine, the real find was La Petite Epicerie de Harry, a traiteur with a small adjoining cave filled with some genuinely interesting bottles.

Some classic Bordeaux and Burgundy for the well-heeled gentilés, but then grower Champagnes (said local bourgeoisie possibly less concerned by the rising prices previously discussed), great producers from Jura, the Loire and Beaujolais and – my eyes did not deceive me – a small section of international wines including from Eben Sadie. Well, well!

Little things

Afterwards, in the traiteur, after explaining I was buying a smart ready-meal to liven up the evening in the cramped hospital room, the lovely lady serving me promptly poured me a glass of white Burgundy on the house.

It’s the little things. Maybe it’s not all bad in northwest Paris. That said, my wife and I were both overjoyed to escape back to the 18e.

My uncle had to be in town, so we celebrated our hospital discharge by heading straight out to a charming bistro on the backend of Montmartre that had caught our eye, ate rabbit terrine, beef cheek and chocolate mousse, washed down with an excellent Savoyard Mondeuse and an extremely delicious Monbazillac.

Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime. If I can be persuaded to share my secrets…

Littlest Millar, meanwhile, slept through the evening like a lamb which was, perhaps, the greatest gift of all.


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