I’ll admit, it’s much stranger to do a “dry June” or a “dry July” than a “dry January”. As a friend from London quipped to me on a recent visit to Paris, she doesn’t so much expect to reach August with a summer beach bod, as a summer belly, the fruit of too many crisp beers at barbecues.
In Paris, especially, it’s easy to find yourself slipping from terrace to terrace in evenings that stay light until late, an apéro here, a glass of wine there. It’s not a city that drinks to excess – but it does perhaps drink excessively, especially with a craft beer industry worthy of pulling market share away from wine and bobo wine bars fighting back with bright and energetic natural wines scoured from across the continent.
