That's what Spain's Sibaritas Magazine plastered on their front cover. Inside? I'm their centerfold. I can't read a word of it, but I imagine they like me. On the same day I got a tear sheet from Michael Broadbent's August piece in Decanter magazine where somehow in his oh-so-simpatico way, he wove me into his narrative. "I rarely plug someone else's book but her views coincide with mine, and are brilliantly presented." I have always adored Broadbent, I love his book, Vintage Wine. Really just his notes but in his notes is a woven narrative that I have always found compelling. Honored to get his approval? Oh yes, indeed. Acclaim by someone I respect is a gift. Happy birthday to me. Speaking of which, in case you want to know what I was drinking, Bollinger 1985 from "the young collector's" (chapter one!) cellar. Gorgeous. Lime. Apple pie crust and treacle molasses. Drunk on the porch in Pinecones with the clack of waltz clogs in the background and Round Pond peeking through the piney woods.