An inexpensive, honest white Burgundy, unoaked and fresh with green apple and a bit of chalk. It is the kind of carafe wine a broke young writer could actually afford.
Flinty, citrusy, and made for a dozen oysters at a zinc bar. It brings the clean, spare snap of Hemingway's prose.
Hemingway's memoir of being young, poor, and writing in 1920s Paris, among cafés, racetracks, and Fitzgerald and Stein. Romantic about the city and unsparing about its people.
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