“Merry Christmas,” Miss Moller had said. And we, as a class, repeated it to him. Learning a language in high school actually meant becoming familiar with a language, in my case. I couldn’t, at the time, and I can’t speak French either. But in many cases I can understand it.

And it was thanks to Miss Moller. The French course focused less on the French language and more on the French. We had what she calls “cultural experiences.” And it came back to parties. Together, we made chocolate mousse and pancakes, we ate Yule log and we watched slides. Every summer, Miss Moller went to Tahiti, and every year we saw slides from her trip. I realize now that she could have used that as a tax deduction, but it was no less exciting.

She looked so worldly and classy, ​​and she made learning fun. Maybe that’s why I took his French class for three of my four years of high school. We also read French history, watched French films and listened to French pop music. To say that I was a Francophile would be an understatement. And ironically, I didn’t go to France afterward.

Higher education, my job and my family became priorities. Sure, I’ve been to Asia several times, but the closest I got to France was looking at the northern border of Vietnam (formerly French Indochina) from the modern Chinese side.

Then an old friend came to see me at work one evening during vacation. We had met years before at a fine dining restaurant in Marin. This place was the first true chef-driven restaurant outside of San Francisco. It was the French Laundry before the French Laundry. And I didn’t really feel at home there. It bordered on pretentious and I was anything but pretentious.

And him too. Eventually we developed a friendship over many unpretentious evenings. It was in this restaurant that I first heard the terms “startup”, “technology” and “domain”. And some of these terms I learned from him. He had a business and eventually he offered me a job.

“I appreciate it,” I said. ” Really. But I want to be a writer.

He took it calmly.

But he added: “If you ever change your mind…”

Flash forward to this much more recent vacation. I changed restaurants several times, but I always kept one foot firmly anchored there. I became a writer, but my writing became inseparable from my career in the restaurant business. They say write about what you know, and this is what I know.

“How are you doing?” I said to my old friend as we exchanged hugs. “It’s been a long time.”

We covered all the major topics: family, work, etc. Then we got into the details. It was like old times.

“We just came back from Paris,” he said. “We took our whole company there.”

“Maybe I should have taken that job,” I joked.

He laughed.

“Maybe you should have.”

I told him about Miss Moller, our cultural experiences and that I had actually never been to France.

“You should go,” he said. “It’s wonderful.”

I looked around at all the partygoers.

“I’m not really in a position to do that right now,” I said.

He looked me straight in the eye and said something I didn’t expect.

“I tell you what,” he said. “I’ll send you there.”

Now people promise all kinds of things in bars. In vino veritas – in wine there is truth – is a famous saying. But I have discovered that many of the truths spoken are sometimes regretted and not always intended. I attributed this to the spirit of the season and we continued our conversation about other things. I fully expected to never hear from him again – until I received a phone call the next day.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I will send you and your wife to Paris for a week. Just tell me when you’d like to go.

We discussed several topics, not the least of which was the generosity of such an offer, and my inability to accept it.

“If it was anywhere other than France,” I said to him, thinking of Miss Moller, chocolate mousse and crepes, not necessarily in that order.

Finally, I accepted. And the following December, I was walking on the Champs-Élysées, sipping mulled wine and eating roasted chestnuts while the snow slowly fell. It was like a scene from a movie, literally a dream come true.

It’s funny, I never really believed in Christmas miracles until one happened to me.

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• Sometimes the path you’re on winds, and sometimes it takes you right back to where you started.

• Christmas in Paris is Christmas on steroids. You really have to see it to believe it.

• Ironically, my wife – who has a deep fear of flying – did not accompany me. She accompanied me the following year when I returned to Paris. But that’s a whole different story.

• Miss Moller, wherever you are, I hope you have a Merry Christmas.

• And to my friend and his family, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Jeff Burkhart is the author of “Twenty Years Behind Bars: The Spirited Adventures of a Real Bartender, Vol. I and II,” host of the Barfly podcast on iTunes (as seen in the NY Times) and award-winning bartender at a local restaurant. Follow him at jeffburkhart.net and contact him at [email protected]