Hip Hops: A glass of Wee Heavy, the French Riviera — and thou

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Hip Hops: A glass of Wee Heavy, the French Riviera — and thou
Deli in Nice, 2024.

Having just returned from France’s southernmost frontage on the Mediterranean Sea, an area otherwise known as the French Riviera (to English speakers; to the French, it’s the Côte d’Azur), I have Wee Heavy (a.k.a. Scotch Ale) on my mind instead of local Pastis.

As analogies go, this one is a head-scratcher even by my meandering objectives, but stay tuned as I roll forward with it.

First, the Riviera, a vicinity I somehow missed during wandering times of yore when time and effort were constantly expended toward a goal of going places; some might say I never really got anywhere at all, and they may well be right, but at least I’ve managed to visit a great many European locales, which I keep doing for the simplest of all reasons: it makes me feel happy in a way almost nothing else in life does.

Train station bar, Nice.

Consequently we spent last week in Nice, a municipality of the French Riviera located on the seafront near Monaco, Cannes, St. Tropez, Antibes, and other charming settlements familiar to James Bond, where land and water meet, affording one the opportunity to linger over an adult libation or three (and those lovely gratis ripe olive nibbles) while considering that as human beings, we have evolved from wriggling worm-like sea creatures, and will be returning to our oceanic points of origin soon enough, assuming the ashes are scattered according to written instructions.

In short, melancholy is acceptable in measured doses, and the crashing of the waves is wonderful music. The weather in Nice was gorgeous save for a single rainy day, and Carnaval provided an amusing backdrop, although rather disappointingly so, given that it isn’t a spontaneous street festival at all, but a carefully curated, gated and ticketed series of flashy events, and a tad too formalized for my blood.

Truffle topping (rear) and sausage (front), with a tasty local bottled beer.

The food in Nice was sublime, exactly as you’d expect anywhere in France, albeit marked by especially mouthwatering examples of pasta and pizza that I’d commonly associate with Italy, hence a significant “I did not recall that” teaching moment.

Nice was the property of the House of Savoy until the time of the American Civil War, when these...Read more