Allô, allô, Bonjour!

Voici, the last Slurp! of the year; a colourful festive issue entirely dedicated to slurping and chewing. Allez, loosen your seatbelts!

Allez, riemen los!

The TV show Gort à la Carte is done and dusted for the year, peace and quiet have returned to Chateau la Tulipe.

But not for long. We have to get moving. The holidays are fast approaching.

Luckily the most important Christmas essentials can be easily snatched off the shelves.

Even though- as everyone knows- the summer in France lasts all year, the inhabitants of the ancient castle are entirely in the grip of the Christmas spirit.

For the winegrower and his family, Christmas is a time of spiritual intimacy, full of deep and lingering conversations about innermost feelings. A time for sharing, caring and family bonding.

But then, misfortune strikes unexpectedly. As the winegrower is busy risking his life putting up some last minute Christmas decorations, precariously balanced on a woodworm infested chair, the tranquil atmosphere is brusquely interrupted.
His hunting rifle still smoking, Maître de chai /game keeper Phillippe enters the cuisine.

'Voilà,' the hunter-gatherer smiles gleefully. 'Les oiseaux pour le diner'.

The winegrower's lover is inconsolable. 'Those poor little birdies...' the delicate lady of the manor sobs. 'Look at them, how graceful they were...'

Protectively, the winegrower, puts his capable arm around her slender shoulders.
'Oh hunnybunny,' hushes his tender baritone, 'the hunt is part of French winter living. "C'est la vie", as they say over here. Besides, these animals are dead already, so surely we will gladly make an exception to our vegetarian life style for this hand-killed game?'
Thanks to this pragmatic ideology, the dilemma was brought to a tasty culinary resolution.

And we were glad it did, because the next morning a task awaits père et fils for which they will need all their strength.

The next morning, as the lord of the manor shakes his head to clear it of any lingering dreams, Michel Rolland and Bruno Lacoste, winemakers of Château La Tulipe, ring the castle bell. Much too loud and much too early.
They have taken samples from the different barrels: the young wines need to be tasted.

These newborn wines have not yet cleared and are still murky, but even so the characteristic features of the vintage can already be discerned.
Especially when it comes to white wine the balance of sweet and sour is of vital importance. Too much sweet and you've got yourself and old-biddy's drink, too much sour and you're slapped in the face with a handbag.

The battle between good and evil, is what adds complexity to the wine. Stretching the boundaries of that clash is what excites us. Knowing exactly how far you can take it; that's what wins us medals.

This zesty sauvignon blanc 2014 almost leaps out of the glass with pure vitality. Juicy fruit, a stimulating balance of flavours and nicely low in alcohol. Magnifique.

One of the crucial elements of the Slurp philosophy is asking yourself: 'What the heck am I doing?'
One hundred years ago there was an artist who asked himself this question and wanted to pin down once and for all what Art was. Subsequently, he went to a hardware supply store and bought a urinal. He signed it with a random name, wrapped it in thick cardboard and sent it to New York for an important art fair.
The jury got wind of this provocative experiment and decided not to exhibit the offensive piece.

A few weeks later a magazine brought out a story about the rejection and, because of the very fact that no one had ever seen the piece, it became a hype and the mysterious artwork gained instant fame. Furious, the art experts threw the shameless urinal in the skip, hoping that would be it.
But the opposite was the case: because the piece was now lost, its renown grew to epic proportions and became the ultimate representation of the essence of modern art. Nowadays, almost one hundred years later, the signed pisspot is one of the most famous artworks on the planet and has been declared the 'most important art piece of the 20th century'.

As the urinal itself no longer exists, faithful copies have been produced and exhibited in all the major museums of the world: Museum of Modern Art in New York, the Tate Modern in London and the Centre Pompidou in Paris. Always on display behind reinforced glass, because even today there are puritans who take offense at the piece and want to smash it to bits.

Well, an artist that has caused this much uproar inspires curiosity. A valid excuse to stop off in Paris on our way home.

Finding a comfortable hotel in Paris is not always straightforward, but naturally a decent winegrower has his very own 'adresses'.

However, this time it did not work out too well: our hotel turned out to be equipped with a rather oversized wake up call system. "Can the winegrower and his lover please wake up now!" it boomed across the deserted square at 6 am.

But wherever there is shade, there must be sun; because we had got up so early, the croissants in the Bar du Marché were still warm.

As is not unusual for us whenever we decide on a cultural excursion, the exhibition turned out to be closed.

Not to worry, because it meant we could rev up the winegrower-mobile once more and set out to our favourite lunch spot; a restaurant the name and location of which we shall not be revealing, for reasons that will become clear to you later on.

The adjacent square has been basking in the clear morning light, but the restaurant is still cloaked in shadow. Nothing in the exterior indicates the miracle that will shortly transpire here.

Nervously the guests pace back and forth on the pavement. How much longer until we can go in?

When the Notre Dame strikes twelve, a ray of sunlight hits the facade and bathes the word 'restaurant' in a divine light, gérant Jean-Claude unlocks the door.

Getting in here requires a lot of persuasive power and Jean-Claude doesn't swallow everything you tell him.
Suspiciously he interrogates the unknown guests.
'Why do you want to eat in the first place? And why here? Why do you think we would enjoy serving you? Are you perhaps of the grumbling sour-puss kind?

Those kind of questions and worse.
But with remarkable resourcefulness the winegrower manages to lie his way trough this cross-examination and his name is added to the Great Book of Admitted Ones.

The festivities begin even before one has been seated. Centuries of experience have fine-tuned the ancient art of pulling-away-the-table-without-knocking-anything-over into one gracious move. After which the guest can daintily take her place on the exposed bench.

The menus are, even though generously endowed, drafted with a goose quill and the amuse bouche consists of fresh radishes, bread, salted butter and no bullshit.

The wine list on the back is, in spite of its calming contents, fitted with a hyper modern app that offers suggestions and serves up a sample.

The interior is so ordinary it becomes extraordinary: two rows of linen covered tables, red faux leather benches, wooden cafe chairs and that's it. Apart from dedicated staff in neatly ironed black and white, but more on that later.

And of course mirrors to toast with the people at the next table and a rails to deposit a handbag, hat or infant behind.

It wasn't cheap to adapt the entrance to the kitchen to fit the imposing headdress of Chef Jean-Luc, emperor of pots.

The battle against black and white thinking is in full swing here too: the white brigade consists of black men.

One of the charming features of this address is that manager Jean-Claude has outspoken opinions.
About his waiting staff he says: 'I've got nothing against school drop-outs. On the contrary, you can't drop out of school early enough. But not as waiters in my restaurant. I rather raise the prices of the wine a little so I can hire cheerful ladies with a passion for the job'.

For starters we opt for the Salade tiède de Pommes de terre et Filets de Hareng fumé and Escargots de Bourgogne.
And for the plat de resistence we follow the advice of the slate tile on the wall: Poelée de cèpes, which turn out to be 'aillée et persilée' as well.

Epineuil is a little known Burgundy wine, but so juicy and delicious that the winegrower insists on offering sips to the neighbouring tables.

When his beloved decides the lunch is over at about half past three, once again it is proven that the earth orbits the sun (although at that moment it might have been the other way around).

We can imagine you might like to visit this adresse. Unfortunately this is not possible.
On the other hand, we are not the worst; if you manage to clearly set out your motives and accompany your exposition with a character description that we find pleasant, funny, smart or all three then, who knows.... Send your requests to: [email protected]

You can find Château la Tulipe de la Garde Bordeaux Superieur exclusively at Sainsbury's supermarkets.
Cliquez ici for more information.