My heart is beating fast. My stomach is churning a little. I’m going to Paris in two day’s time and I’ve been so busy with work that I’ve only booked two restaurants and saved a handful of location screenshots of places I want to go. The dread is setting in – have I fucked up? Am I going to miss out on some incredible food and drink because I’ve not done my usual intense Google Maps research to find the very best tastes in the city? I try and calm myself down. We already said we were going to try not to plan too much so we could wander and find some hidden gems. But what if we get it wrong? What if my food focussed spider senses fail me? Its ok its ok… its Paris for god’s sake, one of it not the food city of the world. I try to forget the panic and tell myself its all cool cool cool. Just finish your packing and do some map stalking on the Eurostar.
And then we’re there, sitting on the little balcony of our hotel before we head out for dinner. It’s only a 40 minute walk so we’ll have an hour to kill before our reservation. No stress of course, this is the land of aperitifs after all. Let’s get out the trusty phone and see what’s close to the restaurant. So many bars, a few I’ve heard of and some I’ve not. We appear to be very close to a whole little street full of cocktail spots, so, parfait chéri. Then some magic words appear… “exceptional cocktails” “cosy atmosphere” “focused on French produce and seasonality”. The photos show a large communal table surrounded by interesting bottles and glassware. OK here we go, let’s pray that we don’t arrive during a rush…
After walking down a few of the least romantic streets in Paris near our hotel – we were splurging on gastronomy not on the accommodation – I started to recognise where we were. Walking arm in arm down smaller streets lined with small dark shopfronts. What are they? There aren’t many prominent signs to tell you what’s going on behind those velvet curtains, but I don’t think we’re in that part of town… No… These are bars definitely. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be there. My heart is beating again, this time in anticipation rather than panic. Oh god I hope there’s space for us.
And then there she was. A sleek black sign and a warm glow from within and yes! There’s definitely space for us at the bar. Excitement gets the better of me and I completely fumble my first French “welcome how are you”. God that little green owl would be mad at me… But it’s fine. We’ve been brought to two seats beside a huge vase of flowers and I’m wiggling myself onto the stool. Glassware and ceramics are winking at me from amongst the bottles lining the shelves. Magazines are moved out of our way and we start perusing the menus on the wall. Its short and to the point. Just drink styles and the key spirit and flavour notes. Fuck yes I am here for it…
We don’t have that long before dinner and I start to worry I may not choose the best drink before we have to leave. The vibes are on point and I don’t want to miss out on what might be my favourite on the menu. The lady opposite me has something green and frosty looking. It must be the granita… lemon cucumber, elderflower and apple are the notes… no mention of what spirits are in there but it sounds fresh and zingy and that’s the one for me. My husband surprises me by choosing the sour but I’m pretty thrilled as that was my second choice. He’s usually a dark spirits and rich warm notes guy but this is strawberry and shochu. The brisk walk through the Paris air must have had an effect of some sort. And so we order and then, as usual, I’m nosying the manufacturing.
There’s an impressively stocked fridge and freezer full of delights. My frozen bevvy is whizzed up to textural perfection and a suspicious little box with many compartments is brought out that contains… herbs! I don’t recognise them all which for a curious gal like moi is a bit of a thrill. Each one is placed lovingly into the glass and its brought over, shimmering slightly with frost and the colour of a perfect zesty lime. I still don’t catch what spirit is actually in it because I’m too enthralled by the description of the greenery as ‘car park herbs’. It turns out it’s a bit of urban farming, growing produce on the unused space above buildings in the city – the first hint at the De Vie’s ethos of ‘farm to bar’. I’m told to eat them with the drink as I work my way down. Your wish (is also my wish) is my command.
I take my first sip and my mouth is filled with the taste of over-ripe apples that have turned sugary sweet, before it slips deliciously into a more savoury and slightly sour tang. As the chill melts off my tongue the elderflower cuts through – at first I thought it was pear but then the delicate florality appears. For the next sip I pluck one of the herbs, small and round and unfamiliar. I pop it onto my tongue and then suck another icy rush of drink into my mouth, trying to bite the herb while avoiding too much chill on my teeth. Another evolution – the herb, whatever it is, tastes both cucumber-y and parsley-y and seems to amp up the lemon. I like this game. I pluck another herb and repeat. What I thought was mint seems to actually be a shiso leaf (one of my favourite things) and a rush of basil slash mint slash licorice take over before settling into the apple sweetness.
As enthralled as I am with my drink, of course I have to try the sour too. It’s softer than I expected with an almost creaminess that I think must come from the whey. Perfection. Something I could drink far too many of, far too quickly. It’s in a beautiful stubby little coupe made of thick blue-green tinted glass. We come to learn that all of the glassware and ceramics here are very carefully curated and chosen to suit the drinks, which is another little detail that makes this one of most delightful bars I’ve been to.
I check my watch and then how far the restaurant is. Only five minutes, we can definitely fit in another before we leave. I’m musing over the ‘stirred down’ which I think must be a negroni/boulevardier riff with miso, french whisky and cherry, but when I order I’m told there’s another variation too swapping out the traditional campari for an eau de vie. I go for this one and promise to be back later for the other. ‘P’ picks the highball with apricot, almond and white whisky. Delicious sounding, non?
This time we’re both served beautiful stout ceramic cups that have come from the chiller, mine with a large sphere I presume to chill my drink like a large ice cube but without any dilution. ‘P’s also has a little central podium but his is adorned with what looks like a beautiful albino walnut. No no, it’s a special marzipan and you should nibble a little with each sip. I would have giggled at this had we been somewhere that felt at all pretentious, but it feels like we’re in the dining room of friends who are very into their cocktails and it just doesn’t seem odd.
Both drinks are a delight, mine taking me off guard with its lightness despite the Autumnul flavours. Not too syrupy, not too bitter. A very lovely riff. It was served from a little glass bottle, half now and the rest popped back on the fridge to top me up later. My husband’s is sparkling and a little zingy, with a delightful subtle whisky flavour minus the smokiness that I expected. Have I ever actually had a white whisky before? Of course they were right and with a little mouthful of the marzipan the drink takes you on another ride, adding sweet stickiness that you would expect from a traditional whisky but in a nutty, floral form that envelopes your mouth.
But now we must be off to dinner… we want to come back, we will come back… it was a glorious meal but I was thinking of that cocktail list…
Again we seemed to have luck on our side as a group had just left as we arrived and we took a seat again at the high table. We’d kept our promise of returning and so it was time for introductions and of course, more drinks. From now on you have to forgive me, because my notes are going to be far less precise. Two glasses of Terrasses du Larzac with dinner had left my insides glowing and my mind a little fuzzy, but I knew I wanted the Kir next – blackcurrant, white wine and pink pepper.
Pete also stuck to his word and ordered the miso, cherry and whisky stirred drink which was indeed a delight. So much so that I only got one sip and not one bite of the cherry. How rude. But my Kir was juicy enough, served in a little carafe shaped like a bunch of grapes. The white wine tamed the sweetness of the berries and the pink pepper left a little floral tingle on the tongue. Just, well, lovely.
We were very kindly offered some tastes of French whisky and bourbon (yes, French bourbon!) which were very very delightful. My misty brain can remember that one was called Hedgehog and that the whisky took me by surprise as it was so light and fruity. We then found out that on this particular weekend that we had chosen to visit Paris, there was a big old event called Whisky Live and as turned out to be the theme of the weekend, every bar we went to assumed we were in town for that. Maybe we would have been had we known! We also tried one of the ‘Monochrome’ spirits by Abstract Lab, the beurre. J’adore butter, j’adore booze – what could go wrong?
We started chatting to a fellow patron who we then learned also lived in Paris and was a friend of the bar, and then even more fun was had being given a tour of the rest of the building. It turns out that its sort of a pop up bar right now while the work is completed on the restaurant and other drinking spaces. Beautiful bare bricks and alcoves that will no doubt be made even more stunning with expert lighting and the warmth that happy tables of friends and lovers brings. I cannot tell you how excited I am to experience this when it’s done. You better believe I’ll be stalking their Instagram for every detail and update on when it fully opens!
One more drink for the road and we said our goodbyes to Barney and the team. I don’t think it was just my blood alcohol level that made me feel sad to be leaving, it really did feel like the stars had aligned and my panicked phone searching had uncovered us a gem. I don’t remember much of the walk back to the hotel other than clutching my new De Vie t shirt in one hand and my husband’s arm in the other, while letting Google Maps guide us home. Thank god for long suffering husbands, but thank all of ’em for Cave De Vie!
