Posted on May 28, 2005 at 11:12 am
Because last night, my husband surprised me. To mark the occasion of our ten years together, he invited over all of our favorite people who were invited to the wedding but didn’t make it, or those we hadn’t met yet, and cooked dinner for us all. And he pulled some amazing wines out of his stash in the basement (what we call "The Cellar").
Here’s a rundown for all you closet foodies:
1982 Veuve Cliquot Brut
1995 Batard Montrachet Grand Cru
1995 Chateau Beausejour Saint Emillion Premier Grand Cru
The two 1995s were contributed by our friend Chile.
Wine guys do this sort of thing. Just like you would think nothing of bringing a skein of Koigu or Fiber Artist-something over to a friend’s house to share, wine guys like to give each other wine of outrageous retail value, mostly to show off their cleverness in having bought the bottle back when it cost six bucks, and practiced the restraint of not drinking it in order to have it years down the line, only to open it to discover that heh, this is pretty good stuff. (That’s official wine guy lingo for pretty good stuff) Never mind that silly Sideways talk of mouth feel and fruit acids and long finishes (sample dialogue:"Is that apricot in there?"); real wine guys–especially the Francophiles– look at each other meaningfully, widen their eyes, and sigh. There is seldom need of language; they just know. In having held on to a promising bottle, in stashing it in a consistently temperatured spot in the basement for seven or ten years or more, they feel part of the process, of having cellared it well and preserved the magic synthesis of terroir and wine maker. By sharing it, they get to show off a little, and how is that different really from any other hobby?
But because I drank enough of each of these to appreciate them, I couldn’t sleep. When I drink, even a little, I can’t stay asleep and I wake up at two in the morning. Then it’s a matter of how much I had to drink before I can fall back asleep. Terry had invited me at the last minute to drive out with her, and I told her I would if I survived the surprise dinner party, but at four this morning I had to email her to let her know that I was not going to join her. It’s a bummer, yes, but I have Fiber Frolic to look forward to in a few weeks, and a class there with Alden Amos, so I’m content. I know that there is a danger here in telling all of this that the blog will think that I have a pattern of expectation and frustration when it comes to fiber events, but I just want you to know that under these circumstances, with such glorious wine to drink, food to eat, and company to share, I really need not feel any twinge of regret, even for Cummington.
But just so that you know: wild horses ain’t keeping me from Fiber Frolic.