The old wine master swirled his glass and held it tilted against the light, nodding approvingly and smiling. He breathed in its scent deeply, swirled it again, then raised it to his lips and sipped, swishing it like mouthwash over his tongue and finally swallowing. A perfect concoction, he announced to the small crowd holding its collective breath, It confronts the nose boldly with a muscular assault of graphite and ginger .... gushes over the palate like a shovel full of freshly turned earth. He took a second sip, blowing out his cheeks and closing his eyes. An undertone of acid washed jeans with the most delicate suggestion of mildew and the finish .....it coats like sweetened paint thinner and has a hint, just the most subtle hint, of tarmac. Salute! His audience applauded these generous accolades and promptly formed an orderly line to the tasting table, glasses in hand, while he withdrew an ironed, monogramed handerchief to wipe his overworked brow and polish his spectacles. His work was done.
Servers, all in black and trying hard not to intrude, passed among the guests with silver trays of salmon mousse, melon slices dipped in vanilla honey, tiny finger sandwiches of roasted pork with garlic sauce, and water crackers accompanied by miniature silver thimbles of thyme, sassafrass, mint and wild apple butter. Digesting the scene from the relative safety of the wine cellar - a cheeseburger in one hand and a diet coke in the other - I tried to make sense of all this elite-ness and failed miserably. It was all too much ado about nothing and it reminded me of scenes from"Alice in Wonderland" - the Queen's croquet game and especially the Mad Hatter's tea party. I seemed to have fallen down a very deep rabbit hole indeed. Meanwhile, the wine master ( much like the hedgehog ) appeared to have fallen asleep amid all the chattering guests but no one seemed to notice or mind. The party continued until closing.
Eat, drink and be merry. And all that jazz.
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