A friend — let’s call him Robert — told me a story of — well, I don’t remember all the details, and my notes are lacking. I don’t even remember the name of the restaurant in question, which is just as well, since Robert told me that that part of the story was not mine to tell. “But you can tell the rest of the story if you like. Just no identifying details.”
So once upon a time there was a sommelier, and he was useless. How useless? Utterly useless, and crass besides.
One day, a fine woman took her clients for dinner to the restaurant at which this sommelier served. They ordered entrees. She asked for a bottle of wine. The sommelier arrived.
“Sure. What can I getcha?”
The woman arched a brow. At least, I imagine she arched a brow, even though Robert neglected to tell me this detail. And if she didn’t arch a brow, surely she winced, because who wants to work with sommelier who doesn’t bring ideas to the table?
He had no ideas.
One of the clients, I think, mentioned what they were eating, and that perhaps a red would be called for. “Great idea,” the sommelier said brightly. “Er.”
They pushed, prodded, and finally it dawned on him to bring a 2005 Cabernet Sauvignon, Washington State. But before he did, he turned to the woman.
“You’re cute. I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers.”
In the months that my food blog has been gestating, I gathered material for some ten posts. So excuse the flurry of posts, please. I don’t intend to make a habit of it.