We had some friends over for pizza and wine last weekend. In preparation for his former med school buddy and fellow wine enthusiast’s visit, the P-Dawg purchased a host of gadgetry, including something called a “wine aerator” with a “de-sedimenting sleeve.”
While we mothers buzzed around, breaking up toddler scuffles and cutting pizza into bite-sized pieces, the two men stood around our kitchen island sniffing, swirling, and sampling vintages. They marveled at the supreme filtration capacity of Dan’s french pewter aerating and decanting funnel, and every once in awhile, one of them would gaze out the window and say in all seriousness, “This is nicely structured, though lightly acidic.” Or, “This is compact, yet surprisingly supple.” And, “I’m picking up some lavender with a hint of candy corn.”
There was a large wine encyclopedia open on the counter, and the P-Dawg and his buddy would periodically access it for detailed information about the bouquet, maturation, and characteristics of the vintage being imbibed. A different type of glass was used for each selection sampled, and in between flights, the P-Dawg and his friend rinsed their empty goblets with palate cleansing sparkling water.
The two of them almost keeled over dead when I filled a glass that had previously contained zinfandel to the brim with pinot noir and gulped it down between brownie bites. “Yeah, this is pretty good!”
“Hey, how come you guys aren’t having any dessert?” I demanded of the P-Dawg. “Betty Crocker an insult to your discriminating palate?”
“Maybe.”
“Wine snob!”
The P-Dawg sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “If I were a wine snob, Rimarama, I would have done a blind tasting and de-salinated the goblets.”
(Duh.)
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