Let’s see …

Wednesday night, we were invited to a former colleague’s home for dinner, and six of us consumed … a bottle of Chardonnay, a bottle of rose, a bottle of Cote du Rhone and another bottle of red we didn’t get the name of.

Thursday night, we met a friend at a place we will be moving to later this week … and the three of us had a bottle of rose (it’s summer, after all) and a bottle of Cahors.  And then a glass of white, each, when we went to the corner cafe for dinner.

Friday night, we rested.

Saturday night, we met for dinner with French friends and former colleagues … and the six of us had two bottles of champagne, two bottles of rose, a bottle of St. Emilion and a second red we didn’t get the license plate of …

So, that makes 12 bottles of wine (and three individual glasses) among 15 people in three sittings.

And that is your semi-basic existence in Paris.

Alcohol in quantities that would seem astounding, in the States.

At dinner, last night, three of the Americans at the table were discussing how much wine could be imbibed at a dinner party, and one of the guests suggested that “it is very easy to become an alcoholic here.”

I know what she was getting at. Champagne before dinner, wine during it, and then more as the dinner goes into its second hour, and perhaps its third and fourth … and then as often as not you end up with one bottle exhausted, per person, and that can’t be particularly healthy, but always seems like a good idea at the time. (And, actually, I find wine to be less hard on my body than beer.)

The French pace themselves. You rarely see them falling-down drunk in that sort of Anglo-Saxon way. Each bottle is opened, it is poured out, everyone takes a taste and makes a comment (in my case, “I like it” … others might go with “nice bouquet, just opening”) … and then you eat and chat and the wine becomes almost an accessory. Rather like cigarettes might have been in an earlier age.

So, anyway, we have invited over a couple of people tonight. We know at least one of them is bringing a bottle, and so we bought three bottles ourselves (two of rose, one Cote du Rhone) … because, well, there’s that one-to-one ratio thing to consider. If things go well and the five courses — 1) melon, 2) roast chicken and potatoes, 3) salad, 4) cheese (Camembert and bleu d’Auvergne), 5) raspberry and apple tarts — unfold as scheduled, well, we could kill those four bottles. No problem. Also, all four of the people involved are (or were) journalists.

That sort of consumption isn’t unusual at all, in France. I’ve seen it and done it before. (Though not at this pace, and not for as long as we may be looking at.)

Interesting thing about this? When we get back to California, I’m sure our wine consumption will plummet. Because we won’t be eating in social situations, and we won’t have good and cheap wine all around us, and if a guest drops by he or she is as likely to bring dessert as a bottle of something nice. And, frankly, I just don’t drink much. In the States.

Which is probably just as well.  I’m not sure I agree with the journalist who said it’s easy to become an alcoholic here — basically, just by being here, is what she was suggesting — but we probably don’t want to test out the notion.

In the meantime, the corkscrew has become one of our most-used table implements. Behind the fork … about even with the knife … ahead of the spoon.