I was at a dinner this week, a networking thing. The gathering was extremely pleasant and brought together by so and so to meet so and so and we started with a gorgeous champagne, Marc Hebrat Club Speciale 2004. The star of the evening picked up her water glass to toast. I looked to her glass, the lonely Hebrat. There was no way to save the situation. That glass was doomed for the dump bucket.
It soon came out that she didn't like to drink, she also gave up a profound diet soda and caffeine habit and was now turned on to water. There was nothing religious afoot, nor was she a friend of Bill's. At first I thought I should tell her, put yourself in my hands, I'll show you wines you'd love! Then I realized she, on some amimal level, made the right decision for her body chemistry.
I also realized there was a situation here to deal with that was perhaps out of my sphere of expertise. I needed someone practiced in finesse to advise me because perfectly lovely wines couldn't be allowed to attract fruit flies in her glass.
A second bottle was poured. A 2007 Faury St. Jo blanc that was too overripe, a little vegetal but went swimmingly with the food, especially the radish micro greens on top of the seared tuna. I wasn't loving the wine so I didn't mind that the sommelier poured our vivacious teetotaler another glass, which likewise went untouched.
However! I knew that a 2006 Vieux Telegraph was coming and I was starting to sweat. So I pulled the sleeve of the sommelier who had been pouring her even though she didn't even smell the wine. The glasses were lining up in front of her, like fashion accessories.
"The woman at the end doesn't drink," I said. Honestly I had no idea how to handle the situation gracefully and I do think he should have noticed.
"Interesting," he said.
The next time I looked at the end of our table her wine glasses had been whisked away, and there was more Vieux Telegraph for everyone, and it was young but quite delicious.
The last bit as poured into my glass. I was caught up in some sort of rambunctious repartee. For emphasis I flung my hand out sharply and toppled my glass, the sips that undoubtedly came from the undrunk portion from the guest of honor. The last swallows belonged to no one.
Poetic justice for my greediness?
