1986: My Happy Life in Provence

Chapter 551 Heading home to get married!

During lunch, Ronan, beaming with excitement, told Theodore about his 'spur-of-the-moment' idea and asked if the invitation could be made to its fullest potential.

Theodore suggested sending the invitation to Greguar and praised Ronan's wit, though he was somewhat worried about whether his plan would work.

"This plan sounds good, but can you guarantee you'll be sober enough to pry him open up?"

Do you need me to help you remember what you were like last night?

Ronan clung tightly to Theodore's large black backpack and slapped it twice.

"It's all up to us tonight!"

In the evening, Ronan and Theodore met with Greguar in Piazza del Paine.

As Theodore said, Greguar did not know Theodore and even took the initiative to inquire about his work.

Theodore answered truthfully, saying that he was a sommelier.

"And what about you?" Greguar asked Ronan.

In the morning, they simply introduced themselves by name, without discussing their professions.

Ronan pointed at Theodore and said with a smile:
“I am learning wine tasting from Theodore, who is the most famous wine taster in Provence.”

The fake sommelier identity was just a prelude to bringing out the small bucket later; he absolutely couldn't drink too much today, and getting the inspector to talk was even more important.

I'm not afraid if I ever recognize Greco-Robbery in the future.

I never said I only had this one profession. I have many professions. If you don't believe me, go and ask around.

Greguar nodded:

"It's such an enviable job."

Ronan asked quite naturally:
"And what about you? What do you do?"

Greguar blurted out:

“I’m a writer.”

Theodore turned his head away and chuckled to himself, thinking tonight was going to be interesting, two 'liars'.

Ronan calmly pressed on with the question:

"That's an enviable profession. What kind of novels are you good at writing?"

Greguar answered naturally, clearly having invoked this false identity more than once:
"For food-related items, I write down anything that looks delicious or tastes good, so I can use it in my novels later."

Ronan used a false identity as a prelude.

Greguar used a false identity to prepare for tonight.

He inquired in the afternoon and was told that there would be country dishes at the celebration that evening.

Being a Michelin inspector is a full-time job, and the job involves eating. Every meal you eat each day must be purposeful, and you must record what you eat, otherwise your salary will be deducted.

He had planned to take the day off tonight, but since he was forced to go to work, he figured he might as well write something down.

His identity as a novelist can explain some of his subsequent strange actions.

The three chatted casually for a few minutes before arriving at the outdoor celebration venue.

Today, cars are still prohibited from entering Papal Castle, but police can be seen maintaining order in many parts of the square.

One of the police officers, noticing the three men's attire and the direction they were heading, responsibly offered a warning:
"Gentlemen, please remember where you parked, but it would be best if your wives came to pick you up in the evening. I swear, that's the safest and fastest way to find your car."

The Châteauneuf-du-Pape Wine Festival has been held for over a dozen years, and during each event, the police station's phone lines are constantly ringing off the hook with new and troublesome incidents.

Ronan and Theodore politely expressed their gratitude.

Having experienced last night's banquet, they fully understand the significance of this statement.

But Gregoll, who had only arrived today and wasn't very familiar with the drinking atmosphere in Châteauneuf-du-Pape, said nonchalantly:

"It's such a beautiful night, let's not let them come."

The policeman was used to this:

"Then I hope you enjoy your drink."

Theodore explained to the two that Châteauneuf-du-Pape consumes 40 to 50 bottles of wine each year during the wine festival.

Ronan didn't know if the number was true, and he found it hard to imagine how many people had worked together to create this miracle, but he was certain that tonight's celebrations of the harvest year must have played a significant role.

They arrived on time, but the square was already incredibly noisy. It's possible that the organizers were plantation owners, and the number of farmers in the square was seriously excessive tonight.

Farmers usually work in the fields, and if they want to chat with someone, they have to be separated by several acres of land, and the sound of tractor engines will also be mixed in. Their voices are louder than the others, and they often forget to adjust the volume of their conversations, whether indoors or outdoors.

Even so, the crisp sounds of glasses clinking and corks popping as they leave the bottle are still clearly audible, giving an idea of ​​how many people are enjoying their drinks here.

The atmosphere tonight is even more intense than last night. When the 'battle song' plays, everyone will jump into a sea of ​​grapes.

Ronan and his group found seats and sat down. The first thing Greguar did was pick up the menu on the table, examine it, and then nod in satisfaction.

"Very good country food."

Ronan also picked up the menu and nodded in satisfaction.

The events hosted by the plantation owners featured dinners with a strong Provençal flavor, stretching out like a marathon with over a dozen courses.

On average, 10-12 different wines are tasted during each course.

With such high intensity, he might already be reaping the rewards before the main course even begins.

But before that, we need to see how much alcohol Grégoire can handle.

Ronan took two small buckets out of Theodore's black backpack, gave one to himself, and placed the other next to Theodore's feet.

Grégoire noticed Ronan's strange behavior out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but ask:

"What are they here for?"

Ronan shamelessly said:

"The wine is spit out; my master Theodore and I only taste it, not drink it."

Gregoll sighed, though he didn't understand, but he respected her:
"That's a pity."

Ronan handed over the bucket, kindly reminding him:
"There are many kinds of drinks tonight, and I'm afraid you might not be able to handle it. I can share with you."

Greguar put down the menu with a big laugh:

"Men of Bordeaux have never known what it's like to be drunk."

Ronan chuckled and put the bucket away.

Very good, very good.

It was called a celebration, but it was really just a large outdoor dinner party.

The preceding speeches and presentations didn't interest anyone, but once the appetizers arrived, the real revelry began.

Greguar had laid the groundwork beforehand, taking out a notebook from his suit when the appetizers were served, making a few notes with each bite, until there were several lines of text at the end of each dish.

He would also take notes while drinking, but usually only a short sentence.

Ronan silently kept this detail in mind—Michelin inspectors would carry notebooks with them while eating and take extensive notes.

When the white wine-braised duck was served, Ronan seized the opportunity to get information out of the woman.

"You like duck too?" Ronan asked Greguar, tearing off a piece of duck meat. "Not everyone likes duck. I thought only the locals of Papal Newcastle could stomach the taste."

Greguar bowed his head and wrote furiously:

“In our line of work, we don’t have the right to like or dislike certain foods. Even if I don’t like certain foods, some of my readers do, so we have to try everything.”

Ronan shrugged:

"It sounds like your job is similar to that of a food critic, eating all sorts of delicious food and then commenting on it."

Gregoller put down his pen and scoffed, saying:

"Food critics? They're a bunch of guys who get paid to do things. How can they compare to my profession?"

"Oh?" Ronan leaned on the table, intrigued. "You mean, even if someone paid you, you wouldn't specifically praise certain foods?"

Greguar replied dismissively:
"Pretty much, but my profession doesn't allow me to do that."

Ronan looked in other directions to lower Greguar's guard:
"It's quite interesting. It sounds like the people at Michelin. The Michelin Guide rejects all advertising, but if they wanted to, hundreds of clients would be begging them with money."

Greguar, seemingly oblivious, craned his neck to look at the next table: "What wine goes with duck? Hasn't the wine for this round of dishes arrived yet?"

Ronan twisted his neck, seemingly also looking for where their drinks were:

"Yes, why isn't the wine here yet?"

Hurry up!

Make sure this person drinks more!

The plantation owners in Papal Newcastle were very hospitable and also invited a live band.

And tonight's guests are our good friends—the happy Papal Newcastle people.

With each new dish served, the band would come on stage and perform a song, each song designed to ensure everyone enjoyed the drinks.

They sang all night long the night before, and they still have great voices today.

Every time they appeared, Greguar, sitting opposite Ronan, would have a couple more drinks and remark:
"You two pathetic wretches!"

He looked at Ronan and Theodore with a pained expression and said:
"With such a great atmosphere, how did you manage to spit out every single sip of alcohol? Didn't your stomachs protest?"

Halfway through the 'marathon' and before the main course even arrived, Greguar was already incredibly excited.

The most obvious sign was that his notebooks began to be filled with exclamation marks and question marks.

Ronan also noticed that after drinking a certain type of wine, he drew a smiley face on the back.

Theodore was a very good 'assistant,' he replied with a smile:

"Like you, our profession also prevents us from doing certain things. There are still many wines to come, and we need to objectively record their taste."

Ronan shrugged and added with a smile:

"That's right, you can't pay to advertise in the Michelin Guide, can you? These are the rules."

Greguar raised his hand to signal to the waiter that his glass was empty.
“Michelin’s refusal to advertise began at the start of this century. When the Guide was first launched, advertising was allowed, and companies would cooperate very actively. However, most of those clients no longer exist. Only a very few advertisers’ names are still around today. One of them was Peugeot. At that time, Peugeot did not produce cars. Its specialty was making foldable bicycles, using a technology called the ‘Captain Gerard System’.”

Ronan exclaimed "Wow!"
"How do you know? I've never heard of these things."

Greguar raised his newly filled glass and gave a half-joking reply:
"Due to work reasons, I once interviewed a Michelin employee in Paris, and he told me this."

Ronan, barely able to contain his excitement, said:
"Dude, your job is so enviable. You get to know so many people. To be honest, my dream was to be a Michelin inspector, but they're so mysterious. I didn't know how to join, so I ended up as a sommelier. Being a Michelin employee is so cool!"

Gregull looked at Theodore warily. In fact, he had a very pleasant time with Ronan and Theodore tonight, so much so that it felt like they were 'coaxing' him.

He didn't want Ronan's 'reckless remarks' to spoil such a pleasant atmosphere.

How could you say such a thing in front of your master?
Fortunately, Theodore did not show any unusual behavior and still had a smile on his face, which put Greguar at ease.

However, he still tried to dissuade him:
“I advise you to give up this idea. Because of my work, I know some information about inspectors. These people usually need to have 8-10 years of work experience in the catering industry before joining Michelin, and then receive 2 years of professional training. Once they start working, they have to work very hard to ‘eat,’ including not being able to rest on weekends, and they must be in restaurants of different styles.”

Greguar took a sip of his drink and continued in a complaining tone:

"After dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant, the next meal must be at a small restaurant. Over the course of a week, an inspector has to taste 10-14 different styles of cuisine. After half a month of this activity, they have to change locations to ensure that their faces don't appear too frequently in one area. After that, it's just constant eating and constantly changing work locations. It never stops."

Finally obtaining useful information greatly excited Ronan, and he pressed for details:
"How many inspections does a restaurant need to be conducted before it can receive a star rating? Is there a rule about this?"

Greguar realized he had said too much and looked down at his plate:
"I don't know."

Ronan quickly stood up and urged the waiter to bring out a fresh bottle of wine.

"Here, here, don't stop the drinks, buddy."

A person's stomach capacity is limited.

For outsiders, it's impossible to have a complete Provençal dinner, especially after drinking a lot of wine.

After finishing the seafood platter, Greguar put down his fork, and his record of that dish remained forever.

But the record-keeping of the wine continues.

The battle songs never stop, and the wine never ceases.

The battle hymn hadn't sounded yet tonight, but Ronan knew he would always have his chance to strike.

Around 8 p.m., the 'la la la la' of Papal New Castle finally began to play.

And Jackson, who hadn't been seen all night, arrived as scheduled—whenever the battle song played, he would miss that kid named Ronan especially.

After Jackson joined in, Ronan stopped spitting out alcohol and officially joined the revelry. Gregoll, who was nearby, also experienced firsthand the drinking enthusiasm of the Papal Newcastle people.

About an hour later, Ronan easily obtained the notebook that Greguar had been protecting like a treasure.

This wasn't 'stealing'; it's because the laptop fell on the ground and was stepped on a few times by a passing waiter.

Ronan has to pick up something this important for Grecoul.

The wine list above is numbered up to 89, but this is not Greguar's complete record for tonight, as he wrote another part on the white tablecloth.

Even though he's drunk to this extent, he's still thinking about work. It seems the Michelin inspector mentality has seeped into his very soul.

At this point, there was no need to ask him anything; Greguar just started rambling on his own.

“So-called food critics aren’t good at food, they’re good at ‘bragging.’ Their goal is to become famous and be flattered. Ideally, chefs would get goosebumps and their hair would stand on end just from hearing their names. If they’re smart, they’ll act on their own. You see, the food critics have achieved their goal. They’ve gained fame and fortune. And what about us? What about us?” Greguar complained bitterly to Ronan and Theodore.

Theodore offered no emotional comfort:

"You can do that too, learn from those people, and you'll gain both fame and fortune."

Gregoll laughed so hard he almost fell over, as if he'd heard a hilarious joke:
"Do you know why I'm doing this job? Because I'm ordinary enough. Whether it's my demeanor or my appearance, those loud and attention-grabbing people are eliminated from the start. So I'm an ordinary person, and an ordinary person can only live a life of obscurity."

Ronan silently made a mental note—a person of ordinary appearance and personality who liked to keep records.

Okay, now he knows two key elements.

Greguar seemed to have started talking:

"Moreover, most of the people in our line of work are women, because women are more cautious than men. A few days ago, I went out to dinner with a lady, and she noticed that a waitress's nails weren't perfectly smooth. But in my opinion, there was nothing wrong with that; it was just that the woman was being too picky. What kind of caution is that? But because of this trivial matter, they lost a nail—"

Greguar suddenly clutched his head and slumped onto the table:

"It's about time to end tonight. I've had too much to drink. Let me sleep for a while, and then I'll go home."

Ronan, undeterred, asked:
How many inspections does a restaurant need to undergo before it can receive a star rating?

Greguar's confused reply:
"Six times, four of them only need to get one star to make the list."

Ronan and Theodore exchanged a knowing smile.

Men are indeed less cautious than women.

See, you've asked everything you wanted to know.

The man from Bordeaux eventually fell on the land of Provence, the only thing standing was his mouth.

After sleeping for a while, Greguar said he was fine and could leave on his own, no matter how much Ronan and Theodore tried to persuade him to stay.

“He definitely won’t be able to drive away tonight, so nothing serious should happen.” Theodore, who was experienced in identifying drunkards, advised Ronan not to worry too much.

The two went to say goodbye to Jackson, ending their trip to Papal Newcastle.

But on the outskirts of the square, they encountered Greguar again, along with the policeman who had warned them earlier.

The policeman asked Gregolle very patiently:

"Okay sir, you say your Citroën is avoiding you, but look, there are hundreds of Citroëns parked around here now. What are the distinguishing features of your car? Do you remember what color it is?"

Greguar said, swaying unsteadily:

"It has big eyes, wears a long red dress, and has a huge butt—"

Not far away, Theodore said to Ronan:

"You can rest assured, the police in Papal Newcastle are very experienced in this."

Ronan shook his head, as if still shaken:

"It's really not easy to put on a festival about wine; you can't miss any part."

Theodore remarked:
"A nationwide carnival is certainly not an easy thing to achieve. While tourists are having a blast, everyone must be prepared and work together as one."

Ronan looked at Theodore with gratitude.

While he wasn't Ronan's mentor in wine tasting, he taught Ronan a great deal in other areas.

Our trip to Papal Neustadt has come to a successful conclusion!

Next stop, head back to Lourmaran for the wedding!
(End of this chapter)