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‘You don’t need to worry about them being stolen.’ I turned to find a very sweaty Luca behind me, red-faced from his intense ski session.
‘Are they not cool enough for this set?’ I asked, turning the Intersport barcodes over. I was probably the only person this side of the mountain with rented skis.
‘I can’t imagine there are many thieves up here, but I suppose you never know,’ he said, propping up his designer skis and poles, monogrammed with inter-looping Ls and Bs.
‘Time for a break?’ I asked.
‘I’m done skiing for today,’ Luca said, much to my joy and delight.
‘Really? That’s a shame. OK, well, tomorrow is another day,’ I said, in faux disappointment.
‘Don’t let me stop your practice,’ he said, gesturing back up the mountain, ‘make the most of it.’
I quickly backtracked. ‘No, no, I’ve had lots of practice today. I don’t want to overdo it.’
We left our skis and walked towards the bar. A large wooden sign withTaverne à Champagnein individual, battered gold letters creaked gently in the breeze, welcoming us into a bar area sculpted from ice. It was a feast for the eyes, with pyramids of glasses decorating the shelves, flanked on all sides by bottles of Champagne from every one of the French houses. Bollinger, Moët, Pommery, Cristal, they were all represented with bottles of all sizes on display. The regular bottles and magnums looked tiny in comparison to their older siblings – the eight-bottle Methuselahs and sixteen-bottle Balthazars – both of which seemed extremely lavish until I spied a couple of forty-bottle Melchizedeks on the bottom shelf. There were tables and chairs covered in sheepskin rugs and people quaffing Champagne everywhere.
‘Bonjour, hello, welcome.’ A beanpole-esque waiter appeared as we approached the bar. ‘Follow me, please.’ We walked past a huge firepit and were seated in a polished wooden booth. I sank into the cosiness of the red, velvet cushions as the waiter hovered over us.
‘Would you like to order some Champagne?’ he asked, handing us both a menu.
‘Is there anything else?’ I laughed.
‘Water?’ Luca smiled.
‘I actually would like some water, but Champagne sounds good too,’ I said.
The waiter gave a nod and scurried off leaving us to peruse the enormous selection of Champagnes. This wasdefinitelyone for my socials. I held the menu up and took a surreptitious snap, blocking Luca’s face but catching his muscley arm and the Rolex on his wrist.
#ChampagneValley #ChampagneLifestyle #HowIRolex
That’d piss George off.
‘Have you decided?’ The waiter returned and filled our water glasses and Luca gestured at me to choose. Eek – I hadn’t properly looked.
‘Are we getting a glass or a bottle,’ I asked quietly. The prices were eye-watering, so if I was in any way expected to pay, I’d be sticking with the water then skidoo-ing it home.
‘Whatever you like,’ he said. Ahmagaaddd, that made the decision harder.
I ordered two glasses of the Moët rosé and there was the faintest nod from Luca to confirm I’d made a good choice.
‘Moët’s rosé is far superior to its white,’ he said.
We settled into our seats, which were heated from within, and the waiter handed us woollen blankets to keep us extra snug. There were heaters above us and the firepit crackled quietly in the corner, keeping us warm, despite being surrounded by snow. I took my ski jacket off to reveal Liv’s low-cut, red top and Luca stripped down to a long-sleeved purple thermal and put his sunglasses on. Oozing confidence, his arms and legs all over the place as he lounged comfortably in his chair.
‘This is the firstTaverne à Champagneand they are looking for investment to expand,’ Luca said.
‘It’s pretty impressive,’ I said, looking around, as Luca’s ski boot rested against mine under the table. Maybe he couldn’t feel that I was there through his boot. I moved my foot away and a few seconds later, he moved his to rest back against mine. ‘Are we here to test out the service or the vibe?’
‘Both,’ Luca replied, ‘and the Champagne, of course.’
‘In case they are serving Prosecco?’
‘Non, for our own pleasure.’
‘Well, it seems excellent so far. They must make a fortune?’ I said as a waiter walked past with a magnum of Premier Cru Mumm and 4 glasses.
Luca laughed. ‘That’s the idea,’ he said.
