“Youare going to put Champagne on the map?” Blondine demanded. Though she sounded annoyed, Blondine did as Emma wished, taking a bottle from the fridge and setting it on the counter. “We are already world famous for our sparkling wine.”
“That’s true of champagne in general, but decidedlynottrue of Blé Champagne in particular.” Emma turned to Rosalyn. “You should see their pamphlets, and the website.Someone’sEnglish is not up to snuff.”
“I would be happy to look over things while I’m here,” Rosalyn offered, taking a stool beside Emma. “If I can do anything to help...”
“I speak very well the English,” insisted Blondine. “I study this for many years.” She reverted to French with a sullen shrug. “But it is difficult to understand the differences between English spoken in England, in Australia, and in America. Also, there are other countries where they speak your language, too. It is very complicated. Good thing champagne is a universal language, eh?”
“Indeed it is. To champagne,” Emma said, easing the cork out of the bottle with a soft sigh, and pouring the pale golden liquid into a flute. “Just a bit to start the day. Would you like some?”
“Isn’t it a little early for champagne?” Rosalyn said, glancing at the clock.
“See what I mean about the puritanical outlook of Americans?” said Emma.
“It’s not that. It’s just...” Rosalyn looked toward Blondine. “Is it customary to drink champagne with breakfast?”
Blondine rose one eyebrow. “Only for the old folks, like my father and Emma.”
“I am impervious to insults, dear girl,” Emma said. “When the great Noël Coward was asked why he drank champagne for breakfast, he answered: ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Andhewas a freaking genius.”
The room filled with the aroma of fresh baked goods as Blondine took several plump croissants out of a bag and placed them on a large platter. Their flaky layers glistened with butter. Despite her earlier protestations that she wasn’t hungry, Rosalyn’s mouth watered.
“These are from the Boulangerie Julien. Like I said, it is the best.”
Blondine bent down to extract butter from the small refrigerator. She cracked several eggs into a bowl, added a dollop of cream and some fresh chopped herbs, and whisked them together with a practiced hand.
“So, when is your father due back?” asked Emma.
Blondine made a face. “Soon, I think.”
“Gaspard’s a character,” Emma told Rosalyn. “He’s what I like to call a ‘great man.’”
“I thought you said he was a little...” Rosalyn held back in front of Blondine.
“I don’t mean ‘great man’ as in a great humanitarian. He has ‘great man syndrome,’ thinks his you-know-what doesn’t stink. Like all those artists and authors who walk around like they’re God’s gift, and never acknowledge all the women in their lives who do the cooking and the cleaning and the raising of children so the menfolk can focus on themselves. Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway—you know the type. Larger than life. Gaspard expects everyone around him, including his darling daughter Blondine, to do what he says, when he says it, and to accommodate him so he can continue with his great, important work.”
“I don’t know about this,” said Blondine with a shrug. “But it is true that he is... a character.”
They fell silent. Rosalyn changed the subject. “So, seriously, is it typical to drink champagne for breakfast here?”
“Only on special occasions,” said Blondine. “It is more common for lunch.”
“And for apéritif, and with dinner, and after dinner... ,” added Emma.
“Back home, we associate champagne with celebrations,” said Rosalyn, “though we’re hoping to change that by getting more bars to offer it by the glass.”
“We drink it for celebrations as well,” said Blondine. “But really, for us it is our local wine, like that of any other region. Bordeaux, Burgundy,Vin Jaunein the Jura. The locals drink it with everything, actually.”
“So how did it become associated with celebrations?”
“Ah, good question,” said Emma. “That was the work of Madame Jeanne Pommery.”
“As in the Pommery Champagne House?” asked Rosalyn.
“Yes,” said Blondine, pouring the egg mixture into a hot pan greased with a mixture of butter and olive oil. “Champagne used to be very sweet, so sweet that it was said only the British would drink it. No offense.”
“None taken,” Emma said. “She’s American, and I’m Australian. No Brits here.”
Blondine shrugged, as if it was all the same to her. “Anyway, Madame Pommery was the one to stop adding so much sugar. She invented brut—you call it dry—champagne. She was a young widow and took over the business from her husband, just like theveuveClicquot, who also had children to support. They both became major players in the champagne industry in the nineteenth century.”
