In 1976, I did not speak French so I hired Richard Olney to translate for me. A friend told me that Olney spoke French, needed some spare change, and besides that, he knew French wine. What I needed in those days was a translator, because I knew about thirty words of French.
     We covered the wine route from Richard’s home in Provence north to Burgundy in late November. It turned out that Richard knew French wine inside and out and that French wine knew Richard Olney. When we showed up, he was received with respect, and before we left, old bottles appeared.
     Richard had some addresses in the Beaujolais, where I had no producers. We began chez Georges Duboeuf (before he became known as the King of the Beaujolais), but I did not buy anything, thereby probably losing several fortunes. I did buy a couple of wines from Louis Tête. Both Tête and Duboeuf were and are négociants. Our third visit was to the rather modest Château Thivin up on the south side of the hill they call Côte de Brouilly. We were received by the widow of Claude Geoffray. He had developed a local reputation somewhat like Lucien Peyraud’s in Bandol. He had encouraged domaine bottling and improving quality and crusaded to make the wines of Beaujolais better known as far away as Paris. In those days, Paris was farther away than it is today.
     Madame Geoffray appeared to be in her late seventies. Apart from the taste of her wine, I still have a few vivid memories. At lunch, her green beans! I had been raised on canned or frozen. When she noticed my enthusiasm, she told me her secret. You have to get up early and pick the beans while they still have dew on them, she said.
     We had lunch in the dining room next to a welcome, fragrant fire of vine trunks and old barrel staves. The colorful tile floor, still there today, is patterned somewhat like an oriental carpet. We had a view of the naked winter vines out the window on a bright, glittery day. And Madame Geoffray was a joy, a personality. She had spirit, enthusiasm, generosity, and real class without a hint of aristocratic hauteur.
     About her new wine from the hot summer of 1976, the wine for sale, I wrote, ‘‘Loaded with fruit and quality. Difficult not to drain the bottle.’’
     Before leaving, Richard translated and Madame Geoffray agreed to ship some to Berkeley. Shortly after my return home, however, I received a beautifully written letter from her. She explained that her good friend Gerald Asher had imported Thivin into England for years but had moved to the U.S. and wanted to represent her in the U.S. market. Would I mind buying Thivin from him instead of importing it myself? How could I say no?
     Over the years I lost track of Thivin until I saw the 1991 on a restaurant list at the Château de Bagnols in the Beaujolais. I enjoyed it enough to phone to ask if they were still represented in the U.S. They were not, but importers were advancing rapidly, so I dropped by to see what had become of the memorable domaine.
     Mme. Geoffray’s nephew, another Claude, was winemaker and hadn’t changed things much, thank goodness. However, he had jumped on the filtration bandwagon, and I noticed a difference in quality between the wine before and after bottling. When I asked if he would bottle it unfiltered for me, he lit up. Like so many French winemakers (I think it was taught or preached at enology school) he thought everyone had to filter.
     We have been working together happily ever since, and I cannot forget the current Mme. Geoffray, Claude’s wife Evelyne, who treats me like an old friend and always has me to lunch in front of that same fireplace.

** This is excerpted from Kermit’s essay in our January 2004 newsletter. Today, Claude and Evelyne’s son Claude Edouard runs the domaine along with his wife Sonja. The wines are better than ever and the colorful tile floor is still there. **