Paul from Paris

Remember Pascal Henry?

He was the 46-year-old Swiss gastronome who decided to eat at every Michelin three-star restaurant in the world. Henry planned to do this at the rabbit pace of one restaurant per day. (Maybe there were rest days or days for travel, in the style of the Tour de France, but this was the general idea.) At the time, there were 68 Michelin three-star restaurants worldwide.

Henry ate his way through 40 temples of gastronomy. Then, while dining at Ferran Adri's El Bulli, often referred to as the finest restaurant in the world, something strange happened. As the clock struck midnight, Henry disappeared. Not literally, of course: Henry said (to a journalist) that he was stepping out for a minute to get a calling card (like a business card, but with personal details). He left, and never came back.

The disappearance received heavy media coverage. Reporters always mentioned Henry's everyday occupation: back in Switzerland, he was a deliveryman on a scooter. They sketched Henry's gastronomic world tour. Sometimes, they pointed to the friendship between Henry and chef Paul Bocuse. Usually, they mentioned that there were no leads but that Spanish police and Interpol were working on the case.

Late last summer, there was a follow-up story: Henry had resurfaced. Not at the bottom of a Spanish quarry or floating head-down in the Mediterranean, but back at home in Switzerland. He hadn't really disappeared, after all; he'd just walked away.

According to news reports, ATM surveillance cameras photographed Henry withdrawing funds from his account, back in Switzerland, starting a few days after dinner at El Bulli. So the Interpol alert and the Spanish police investigation were called off.

Since then, the world has heard nothing further from Pascal Henry. This is too bad, because there's still plenty of mystery and, on my part at least, plenty of curiosity.

Why did Henry disappear?

Cynics suspect that he exhausted his funds and retreated shamefully. Some maintain that Henry skipped out of El Bulli without paying his bill. I'm skeptical: a thrifty Swiss, who saved up for this trip, wouldn't have miscalculated.

Romantics (like me) harbor other suspicions: maybe, after a memorable dinner at El Bulli, Henry was seized by the belief that he'd reached –and passed– the peak, and that it would all be downhill for the rest of his trip. Of course, he might have thought differently in the morning. But as he brought a memorable dinner to a close, maybe he thought: this is it; nothing can be better, nothing cas be as good.

Here's an equally romantic alternative: El Bulli as Scheherazade. As told in the Thousand and One Nights, Persian king Schahryar became despondent upon discovery the queen's infidelity. After having his wife executed, Schahryar embarked upon a long series of one-night stands, each concluding with an execution. Then Schahryar wed Scheherazade, and everything changed: one night with his young bride led to another, then another, and so on. On what point did Scheherezade differ from her many predecessors? She told stories. Suspenseful stories. Stories that left the king eager to hear more, the next night. What if El Bulli exercised such an attraction over Henry, leaving him eager to return (the next night!) and causing him to lose his resolve to try another Michelin three-star restaurant?

I posted last month on controversy that had arisen around new European wine-labeling rules.

The controversy arose when the European Commission's decided that rosé table wine could be made from a blend of red and white table wines.

This practice is common among New World winemakers and is permitted in Europe for some appellation wines, such as champagne.

The European Commission has now reversed course and decided against changing the rules on rosé wine: winemakers will not be allowed to make rosé table wine by blending red and white table wines.

A press release quoted Mariann Fischer Boel, commissioner for agriculture and rural development:

I take away the following points (that some may think cynical but that I see as realist):

• Commissioner Fischer Boel has many admirable qualities, but her listening skills seem to have improved markedly in the month since this issue generated media coverage and political pressure.
• The "good arguments" probably were political. What changed was the political palatability of the Commission's decision. The Commission's decision was subject to approval by the Council, and the commissioner probably figured out (or surmised, or was told) that this measure would be rejected. For the Commission, retraction beats rejection.
• The workings of European institutions really are technocratic. Did the position of the wine sector change? No. The technocrats made a bad decision. This needn't be a shameful secret. Everyone makes mistakes.
• Commissioner Fischer Boel is at the end of her term. When the newly elected European Parliament convenes, a new Commission will be appointed. If the rosé rules were motivated by other considerations, such as WTO trade rules, they will resurface later. But they will be dealt with by Commissioner Fischer Boel's successor, or in another forum (such as the WTO).

I’m a wine lover. I’ve even designed a course to teach about Europe and the European Union using a series of case studies that center on wine.

So I was surprised to read an article, “Is France Losing the War of the Rosés?”, that ran the other day in The New York Times. Yikes! There’s a war going on, here in France –where I make my home– and I’d heard nothing of it.

I looked over the French press, and I didn’t like what I saw. One article (entitled  “Rosé Producers See Red”) quoted François Millo, the head of a Provençal trade group, the Conseil interprofessionnel des vins de Provence.  Millo reported that jobs were in jeopardy, and that a decision by “Brussels” would lead to “counterfeit” wine that would erode consumer confidence.

The thought of counterfeit wine and jobless winemakers pushed to me ask questions. I went to the head of the AREV (the Assembly of European Wine Regions, a trade association dealing with wine on a European level). The AREV is fully informed on the situation and takes an alarmist view of the situation. It has posted an open letter to European Commissioner Marianne Fischer Boel (pictured below), who’s responsible for agricultural matters.

The crux of the problem: rosé wine has traditionally been made by maceration or draining or pressing, using grapes that can produce red wine. The European Union has issued a new regulation that allows blending, the mixture of white wine with red wine. Blending is allowed outside Europe, but has been off-limits for much European rosé winemaking.

The European Commission takes a reassuring posture. The excitement stems from new regula tions on various wine subjects, including labeling requirements. (The text of the regulation is soporific, and an excellent argument in itself for a cogent “citizens’ summary” to accompany each new regulation or directive.)

In a press release (that’s actually legible), the European Commission explains what’s intended. When communicating with the general public, the Commission takes a reassuring tone. It points out:

• a distinction between table wine (where blending has been forbidden) and appellation wine (where blending has been permitted, for example in the case of champagne);
• the International Organisation of Vine & Wine (OIV) permits blending in the making of rosé wines. By aligning EU producers with OIV policies, the Commission argues, EU producers will be able to gain traction in export markets;
• The scheme includes the possible (optional?) mention of “traditional rosé” or “rosé by blending” on labels, leaving producers and consumers with a choice.

After some investigation, I have the uncomfortable feeling of having encountered a mystery wrapped in an enigma. How much of the alarm has been coming from table wine producers? What do appellation wine producers say? In the future, will an appellation rosé (an Anjou or a Sancerre, for example), be made by blending or not? Being appellation wines, have they been made by blending in the past? And do New World wine drinkers know or care about winemaking methods when buying wine; in other words, will the change in EU rules really help the standing of EU producers?

There don’t seem to be easy answers to these questions (or the dozens more that I have, mostly on technical winemaking and trade points). I would fault both the wine industry and the European Commission for lackluster communications efforts. Surely both can do a better job. European wine drinkers deserve it.

[ADDENDUM: The European Commission subsequently reversed course and abandoned the new rules. I posted on this reversal on 9 June.]

Yesterday was a secular holiday of sorts in France: Michelin, the tire company, released the one hundredth edition of its restaurant guide for France. This was big news nationally, carried in depth by all French news outlets.

There's a method behind the Michelin guide. The company employs inspectors, who visit and rate restaurants all over the country, anonymously. Sometimes they make repeat visits.

Based on the inspections, Michelin decides which restaurants to include in its guide, and what ranking to give them. Excellence in the Michelin guide is signaled by stars (that to my eyes look more like flowers, maybe daisies, viewed from above).

I love what the star system means. It's written from the point of view of the driver, the motorist. A one-star restaurant is considered good, or very good; it's worth a stop. A two-star restaurant is deemed worth a detour. And a three-star restaurant is considered to be worth a journey.

Michelin tells a back story about the hundredth edition of its restaurant guide. The first edition came out in 1900, in the early days of motoring. New editions of the guide were not released during the first or second world wars (which is understandable), or in 1921 (which is not: what happened in 1921?).

Plenty of commentators (here is a nice example in English) say that a hundred editions is enough, that the guide has served its time but has become passé and should now be retired. They argue that the guide has become irrelevant because:

• like movie reviews, restaurant reviews are plentiful –especially on the Internet– and are more timely and descriptive than Michelin's; and
• Michelin elevates a certain kind of formal French cooking that has become out of sync with diner's actual tastes and preferences.

One rebuttal to these arguments is economic: in 2008, MIchelin reportedly sold 370,000 copies of its guide for France, about ten times as many as its competitor, the Gault & Millau guide.

I think the Michelin guide is best viewed as a national monument or French cultural institution. I've always been struck by how the Michelin guide looks like a Bible. Both look and feel the same, with thin pages, and lots of chapters; what most sets the Michelin guide apart is its red cover. And it's democratic (even catholic, with a lower-case "c"), referring to standards of quality and excellence that everyone understands and appreciates:

• The star system is so clear that the Michelin guide otherwise doesn't need wordy reviews. The Michelin guide's text reviews are the shortest I've see anywhere, consisting usually a a short string of brief descriptions. There's a cultural consensus on what constitutes a starred restaurant;
• The Michelin guide does a good job of rating. If you eat at a starred restaurant, you will likely enjoy a memorable meal. The Michelin guide may miss out on ethnic cuisine or simpler bistrot fare, but its picks are good. I've never heard anyone complain about a meal at a starred Michelin restaurant. (Of course, diners and Michelin will recognize when a formerly great restaurant is on a decline, but that's an issue of ranking, separate from the question of inclusion among recommended restaurants.)