The above phrase (translated loosely from the French) was how my inquiry regarding the Côteaux du Lyonnais, a small appellation in between Beaujolais and the Northern Rhône Valley, was met. This articulation came from the mouth of a very opinionated wine broker who lives in a town so small I am unsure it could even have qualified for anus status. At least he gave me sausages…I also drank some old wine and if any of you are mold averse, I would recommend looking away for the moment.
The one on the left was a 1997 Devevey Hautes Côtes de Beaune Blanc “Dix-Huit Lunes” and in very good shape. On the right, a 1988 Guigal Côte-Rotie, also tasting very well.
I am now going to drive up the D974 and look at some vines, then later head for Lyon. I will make a dispatch from there, depending on the WIFI strength. There are never any guarantees that things will work here, and when they don’t, the situation is often met with a shrug and a cigarette.
Speaking of which, I am growing very weary of these. The Gauloises are seriously going to put me in an early grave. The laughter of the French is often accompanied by the deep sounds of clotted mucus unpeeling from their lungs. It’s worse than an anus stuck between two chairs.