Maybe I’m old school. Maybe I always was but who would have ever thought I would be saying that? Years ago I would have been appalled if someone said I was “old school.” I would rather have been drawn and quartered then considered “old school.” After all, when I was younger and knew considerably more than I know now, old school was synonymous with fuddy-duddy which meant boring cocktail parties, painful guests with too much liquor under their belts, stripped ties and grey flannels and all that rot. You know, pretty much everything that seemed to embody my parents and their generation. It was certainly not mine! OK maybe I was a rebel and yes, hell bent on making all my own mistakes and believing in saying everything that might possibly get a rise from either parent. I was an “uber contrarian” on most things only because I could and because it pleased me to no end that my parents were “vexed” by my behavior. Had I learned nothing, they mused, from my years in private schools abroad and my four years in a nice, expensive and sheltered liberal arts college? Had I not learned something, anything? Apparently not, so they concluded. Yes indeed, vexed they were in the very proper and old school way of thinking. How things do change!
Too much ranting mes amis? Or perhaps too much caffeine or worse yet, not enough wine? Deep questions. 
Inquiring minds must be asking, where is this going? If you are anxiously awaiting a vital nugget of information such as when are the Allies landing in France or if Japan surrendered, well I hate to disappoint you. First, I have something very important to attend to. I must open a bottle of red wine. To be quite honest, I feel lost if I don’t have one close by. I tried explaining that phenomenon to my internist the other day as he pointed an accusing finger in my direction and swore to him that I had one maybe two drinks in the evening with dinner. I felt as if I were on trial. J’accuse immediately came to mind and the words seemed to be written on the four walls. My feeble attempt at an answer failed to lower the accusatory finger pointed in my direction as if it were a lance ready to pierce me. Fine let him hurl those glares and the pointed finger in my direction along with that not so hidden sneer of superiority. Was I going to stop? As we say in French: Not only no but Hell no! 
There is a fun wine I like to keep at easy arms reach which is a 2010 Perrin et Fils Reserve, Cotes du Rhone Rouge. For one thing it fits nicely in my car’s glove compartment in case of emergencies. It’s a wine that’s very easy on the pocketbook and it has a lovely blend of Grenache, Syrah, Carignan and Cinsault. The wine in my opinion has wonderful hints of tobacco leaf, earthy soil, pepper and spice and finishes on a smoky note with just a tad of bitter cherry. Bottom line, it’s good value, it tastes superb, and it’s a great to bring when visiting family or friends. That’s a slam dunk! 
I came across a menu written on a chalkboard (pic above) and was immediately drawn to it. I understood what was clearly stated but not spoken. The translation in English is that rude people are more than welcomed however they should expect to pay a premium for their rudeness. I like that very much. Or customers could reach deep down and find some semblance of civility. The rude-risk premium would then be adjusted accordingly. Last but not least if a customer knows better and had been slapped around enough in their younger years for being rude, then politeness was hardly an afterthought. There would be no rude-risk premium at all. Life is sweet. Do we American generally turn rude once we step off that plane into a foreign country? I wonder if it’s perhaps a defense mechanism. Maybe the thinking goes like this: I can’t speak your language dude and you can’t speak mine which makes you really stupid and I don’t do stupid. Therefore I can be rude.  I over-generalized to be sure, but just a little, I suspect. Politeness in French society is akin to godliness. Maybe more so. Let’s just say that I happen to know from experience, that the French system expects, no demands is more like it, that to be a model citizen, to be successful in French society and to rise above the flotsam and jetsam, by default, the lower classes, politeness is a prerequisite. Nothing is more telling than bad manners. I think my parents told me that on more than one occasion! 
Perhaps another glass? Why don’t mind if I do. And thank you.