My Grand-Père

This is my grandpa, Jean-Baptiste Guagneur.
We say “Gaynor” here in America.
I know, it’s a bit of a stretch.
I called him Gramps.

Gramps was born in Corsica on January 2nd, 1919… we think. Legend has it that his parents reported his birth in the new year to either delay military enlistment or because the birth registry office was too far away. The joke was on them, though, because my grandfather joined the French Merchant Marines as soon as he was old enough.

The youngest of four siblings, my grandfather is the only one to come to America, jumping ship when he met my grandmother at the Cantine in New York City around 1944. At the time, my grandmother (who was from Marseille) was engaged to another man. But, as you can see from the photo, my grandfather was hard to resist.

Gramps is the reason I feel so connected to my French heritage and have a business that focuses on French wines today. While my grandmother became a true New Yorker, accent and all, my grandfather had a thick french accent until he died in 2008. He thought in French, spoke it often, and referred to things by their French names: libellules (dragonflies) or margherites (daisies)—two of his favorites.

My grandfather was a career restaurant worker: the maître’d of Le Chanteclair in NYC until it closed in 1979. Owned by French race car driver René Dreyfus who won the 1930 Grand Prix of Monaco driving his own Bugatti, Le Chanteclair, had an extraordinary wine cellar where you would easily find a Romanée-Conti ’49 or a Château Latour ’53.

My grandfather didn’t drink much, but he certainly poured some beauties. He was an incredible chef in his own right and a total gourmet. A former patron once said of him, “Maître’d Jean-Baptiste finished every dinner; fish, meat, or fowl personally and I have not seen such a skilled craftsman serve every diner since.”

When I decided to move to France right out of college, my grandfather was delighted, until I told him I’d be moving to Paris. A true Corsican, he said, “What a shame to live amongst the Parisians!”

Jokes aside, Gramps was thrilled that one of his grandchildren had fallen in love with France. While my grandfather became an American citizen, France—especially Corsica— held his heart. I know that if he were alive today he would beam with pride that I became a sommelier, especially one who loves French wines over any other. I have no doubt that he would have taught me a million new wine words and phrases that I’d never heard before…and a few choice French words for annoying clients or customers.

My grandfather was not fancy— well, maybe just a little— but he was as Francey as they come.

Chin!