One score and three years ago, John Schwartz met his wife, who was living abroad in France. She was not yet my wife nor did she know she would be. While at a soiree in the French Alps, and with matters seemingly in hand, he sauntered off to the bar to work his French for a refill of Malibu and fruit juice. It was then that he noticed a Frenchman awfully close to a girl he had his eye on, making her eyes flutter and her beret tipsy. The French man must have the greatest one liner in the world, Schwartz thought as he yelled “FEU!” (‘fire’ in French). Once the room cleared out, he asked the girl what he could possibly have said to make her fall into his arms. Her answer? “He held my hands and asked if I believed in the Coup de Foudre.” After years of thinking he’d called her a cute cauliflower, Jon consulted a French friend who defined Coup de Foudre as a lightning strike, something unforgettable-“love at first sight”-be it food, wine or someone incredible.