Fleur Godart, at a glance

Fleur Godart is first and foremost a nose. Listening to her, one gets the feeling that her memories are emerging from a spice box, classified by olfactory atmospheres and scent families. This former winemaker's agent spent nearly twenty years unearthing the gems of European vineyards to share them with Parisian restaurateurs, with her skittles rickety in her backpack. A victim of the wine crisis , she had to throw in the towel from this beloved profession a few months ago, with a heavy heart. "At 17, I was selling my father's chickens at a market in Vincennes, and my neighbor at the stand, the winemaker Philippe Massereau, let me taste his wine. I had an extreme aesthetic shock," she says, miming the gesture as if she were swirling the liquid in a glass.

On the nose, precisely, an aromatic explosion, "an infinite mille-feuille: there were old roses, magnolia, jasmine, candied fruits, mango, pineapple, spices, and something almost oriental... But also freshness, like river water, or cut hay. Suddenly, I was at home. In a