My experience of Beaujolais wine was, for a long time, restricted to the cheap, fruity low-alcohol plonk in the floral-labelled bottle marketed by Georges Dubœuf. The stuff we naïvely labelled “Beaujo” and would lug to barbies and student pissups as a ‘sophisticated’ alternative to a sixpack of stubbies. Geez, those were the days. Over the years I focused my attention on the…
