On a rainy night in Portland, OR I shuffled my way through the endless stretch of suburbia (what? I’m from a big-ish city) to land at Bar Vivant, a place rumored to have an incredible selection of champagne and sherry. It did not dissapoint. Using vaccum-sealed pumps and these individualized dome case things, my glass of Guy Charlemagne emerged from the dimly lit space like the enchanted rose in Beauty and the Beast. Originally an elementary school, this space had a weird, circular layout with everything spread closely far away. There were elements of Andalucia and a Paris cave: blood red fleur de lie textured wallpaper and high tops with candles, tapas, macarons and champagne. The wine list, as seems to be the case with most places that boast a thorough cellar, was extensive and disorganized, but impressive.
So I did what I do. Located myself in space and time, the weather, my mood, hunger level, the book I brought, taste cravings, etc. and discovered that blanc des blancs was (as always) an excellent idea.
See next post on Vin Jaune/de Paille tasting.