THE morning fog lifted. All along the Cote d'Or, the gorgeous Golden Slope of vineyards that tints eastern France for 30 miles, the autumn sun beamed warm rays on the deserted towns. Except for a pair of black-clad grandmothers gossiping on the cobblestones and a couple of overalled, rubber-booted winegrowers closing a deal over a jug of Burgundy in the Cafe de la Cote d'Or, everybody in Nuits-St. Georges (pop. 3,600)-men, women and children, the schoolmaster and even the cure-was out harvesting the new vintage in the heart of France's Burgundy.
"To speak of Burgundy," say the French, "is to speak...
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