The blood is slowly trickling back into my burgundy stream as I write, early the morning after attending the famous bring a bottle (or three) party that is the annual Paulée de Meursault. We were asked to the Château de Meursault for noon on the most gloriously sunny autumn day, only to disappear into its vast cellars for the next seven hours. This was the third of the Trois Glorieuses. You can read about the first two in Breaking my Hospices duck.
Of course the long lunch was punctuated by typical Burgundian drinking songs with the accompanying hand movements...
