Coup de Foudre Winery

One score and three years ago, I met my wife, who was living abroad in France. She was not yet my wife nor did she know she would be. While at a soiree in the French Alps, and with matters seemingly in hand, I sauntered off to the bar to work my French for a refill of Malibu and fruit juice. It was then that I noticed a Frenchman awfully close to my gal, making her eyes flutter and her beret tipsy.