Ep. 11 | The Land of Wine: Air France, Everyday Bistros, and the French Baseline

I haven’t been drinking wine for very long—perhaps five or six years at most. It’s not as though I’ve been drinking it daily, nor have I spent those years cellaring prestige vintages. My routine has mostly revolved around accessible, everyday bottles in the $10 to $15 range.

I open with this confession out of an abundance of caution: if a true sommelier or seasoned oenophile reads this, they might wonder what on earth I’m rambling about. To be clear, I enjoy wine, but I am an absolute novice who happily sticks to the budget shelf.

From a purely practical standpoint, wine is rarely a cost-effective pour. Compared to the spirits I frequently enjoy—vodka, gin, tequila, and whisky—wine doesn’t offer much value per ounce, even when stacked against mid-tier bottles around the $50 mark. Take bottles like Grey Goose Vodka, No.3 London Dry Gin, or Don Julio Reposado. None of these are bargain-bin spirits, yet none exceed $50, and a single bottle lasts months in a cabinet. A bottle of wine, by contrast, barely survives a week once uncorked.

Naturally, I steered clear of pricey vintages and kept my routine to $10 supermarket bottles. And yet, even without access to Grand Crus, I genuinely love wine. My grasp of grape varietals covers only the basics, but there is immense joy in discovering how terroir and winemaking alter character from bottle to bottle, or that quiet satisfaction when a glass pairs perfectly with a meal. Perhaps down the road I’ll develop a deeper palate and explore finer vintages, but for now, I remain a curious novice.

We traveled from Helsinki to Paris aboard Air France. For this trip, our first encounter with French culture didn’t happen upon touchdown at Charles de Gaulle Airport—it began the moment we stepped into the Air France cabin.

To someone who loves aviation, flag carriers often serve as cultural blueprints, offering subtle hints about what a society values most. Fly a Korean carrier and you are served warm bibimbap and ssambap; fly Japanese domestic routes and beverage carts roll out hot beef consommé; fly Finnair and you receive endless pours of tart blueberry juice alongside Marimekko-patterned napkins; fly US domestic routes and flight attendants hand you entire cans of soda without hesitation. In that regard, Air France proved exceptionally generous with its wine.

Anyone who has flown short-haul routes within Europe knows that in-flight hospitality has largely been stripped down to bare bones. Intra-European flights are treated strictly as utility transport rather than premium travel. Naturally, I expected nothing on a short hop from Helsinki to Paris—let alone a complimentary meal.

Yet Air France rolled out a full, elegant snack service. The menu alone offered an unmistakable statement of French identity. We were handed a fresh jambon-beurre sandwich paired with a classic madeleine. Offering France’s quintessential street sandwich alongside its most iconic tea pastry on a short two-hour flight was quintessentially French.

When the beverage cart arrived, I asked for red wine. Without missing a beat, the flight attendant handed over a paper cup alongside an entire 187ml miniature glass bottle. Anyone who enjoys a drink in the air can appreciate the pure satisfaction of that gesture—it may be a small personal bottle, but receiving an unopened pour directly in economy is a delightful touch.

Novice palate or not, that glass of red was easily the best wine I had ever tasted in economy class. Part of it was certainly the ambiance and the sandwich pairing, but the experience left a distinct impression: Air France refuses to cut corners on wine, even in the back of the plane. It felt like a direct reflection of the French way of life.

Throughout our days in Paris, I didn’t embark on extravagant wine tastings. Still, enjoying a relaxed glass of wine or champagne once a day felt just right.

Every single pour was noticeably superior to the $10 bottles I bought back home. They weren’t high-end $50 labels either—most were complimentary welcome half-bottles from hotel front desks or modest €6 to €8 house pours ordered at casual corner bistros. Yet without exception, every glass was well-balanced and genuinely delicious. It was a clear reminder of why France holds its reputation.

To truly understand how deeply a society values a craft, you shouldn’t look at its exclusive luxury tier. You have to look at the baseline quality of its most affordable, everyday options—the things accessible to anyone on an ordinary Tuesday.

Back home after the journey, my weekly routine returned to the usual $10 bottles. If anything changed, it’s simply that when strolling through the market aisles now, I find myself lingering near the French section, tempted to reach for a $30 or $40 bottle just to chase that baseline once more.