It is a beautiful novel, it is a beautiful story...
The torpor of August seems contagious. Behind a tractor, the family car drags along. On the main road - your parents refuse to take the freeway - there is always a white line that prevents you from overtaking. The journey seems all the more interminable to you that the vacations at the sea are at the end. You are a child and you escape boredom by guessing the license plates, by splitting the air with imaginary shapes with your hand through the window.
As an adult, you realized that the best part of summer vacation was the idle time in the back seat. Without you realizing it, the marvelous landscapes of France passed by, impregnating you with their discreet beauty and their dizzying variety: orchards, market gardens, fields of wheat, rape... and barley!
As a child, you hardly noticed it; now you are passionate about it. It is almost everywhere in our old country, whether in a field or on the shelves of a bistro. At first glance, nothing has changed: you take a seat in the shade of the tired umbrellas of a café-restaurant for a midway refreshment. Hesitating between a Perrier-tranche or the Vichy-strawberry of your childhood, you look around the bar. Surprise! Alongside the dusty bottles of scotch, there are some dashing bottles of French whisky.
Whether you are a July or August visitor, whether you go to Corsica, Brittany or the Alps, the scenario will be repeated. A hundred of tricolored distilleries are now in activity. A new page of the national novel is opening. Unavoidable actors are taking shape; others will come; some will remain at the side of the road. Quality and time will do the sorting. And you suddenly think of the motto written on the back of the road maps that used to overflow from the glove compartment - GPS did not yet exist -: the best performances are those that last.
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France, Charente-Maritime, Single Malt, French Whisky
France, Lorraine, Single Malt, French Whisky