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There are Wine People. And there are Not-Wine People.
A study in wine personalities, and the problem of being one of them
I decanted the Chambolle-Musigny two hours early, because three felt dramatic. Lit candles — not the scented kind — and pulled the good stemware out of the cabinet. Lined everything up just so.
I told myself it was casual. Just friends. My wife looked at the setup and said, “You’re ridiculous.” Which, in my language, means “nailed it.”
“You remember we’re having chili, right?” Of course I didn’t.
We live in Vegas, so there’s no season to hide behind. No excuse for cozy excess. You don’t get to blame snow or autumn or “just something in the air.” When you make a big deal out of wine here, it’s entirely your fault.
The Full-Pour Friend showed up first, wearing gym shorts and sunglasses on his head, like he might go for a run mid-dinner. He hugged me hard, clapped me on the back like we’d just closed a deal, and immediately scanned the table for alcohol.
“You got anything open?” he asked, before even sitting down.
I pointed to the decanter. He poured a glass that could legally qualify as a bath. Then he sat down, took one sip, and said, “That’ll do.”
