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“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just not getting it.”
There goes the tension in Dale’s jaw again. “Much of wine tasting is subjective. Are any of the rest of you getting green pepper?”
“I am. Definitely,” says Syrah man.
Dale nods at him. “Good. What else are you getting, sir?”
Dale is baiting him. Syrah man spoke unkindly of Cab Franc, and Dale wants to prove his Cab Franc is the best. I see this even if Syrah man doesn’t.
“Tobacco, I think. And maybe some violets?” He sniffs the wine again. “This smells different than any Franc I’ve ever had.”
A look of satisfaction crosses Dale’s beautiful features.
“Wait until you taste it,” I say. “Cab Franc isn’t my favorite either, but this wine is to die for.”
Dale winces at my use of “to die for.” I don’t care. The wine is to die for, and I may as well speak the language non-oenologists will understand.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s taste this puppy.”
Dale winces again.
“As before, take a small amount and let it sit on your tongue for a few seconds before you swallow. Think about how it feels on your tongue as well as how it tastes. Think also about how it feels in the rest of your mouth. Contrary to popular belief, our taste buds are only a very small part of our sense of taste.”
“It’s…light on my tongue,” a woman says.
“Yes, common for Cabernet Franc. How about the tannins?”
“What are tannins supposed to taste like?” someone asks.
“It’s not a taste so much as a feeling,” I explain. “They’re going to feel dry in your mouth. Think about a very strong cup of tea and how it feels against your tongue. Those are tannins.”
“I definitely feel the tannins,” Syrah man says. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but this is a lovely wine.”
Another smirk of satisfaction from Dale.
“Told you so, didn’t I?” I give him a wide smile. “What else are we tasting? Are you tasting the same things you smelled?”
“I’m still getting blueberries,” says blueberry lady.
“Good. I still think you’re tasting black currant, but since you’ve never actually had a black currant, blueberries are close.”
“I never knew what tannins were,” another taster says, “but it’s part of what I like about red wine.”
“You probably drink a lot of Cabernet Sauvignon,” I say.
“Yes,” she says. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“What else?” I ask. “Anyone getting blackberries? Plums? Black pepper?”
“There’s a spiciness on the finish,” says Syrah man.
“What’s the finish?” Blondie asks.
“It’s the last impression of the wine,” I reply. “What you taste once you’ve swallowed it.”
“Oh.” Blondie bats her eyes at Dale. “What do you think of this wine? Do you like it?”
“That’s a loaded question.” I keep myself from erupting in laughter. “He made this wine.”
“Oh!” Blondie smiles. “How wonderful. I absolutely love it.”
Yeah, right. And if Dale said it was crap, she’d agree.
I keep my mouth shut, though.
Because frankly, I’m kicking this tasting’s ass. The tasters, other than Blondie, are responding to me. They’re learning, and they’re having fun. Already I know they’ll leave here with wine.
I’m killing it.
I shoot a satisfied grin toward Dale.
Chapter Forty
Dale
Damn.
She’s good at this, and I have to follow her to do the other two wines—our top-of-the-line Cab and our Ruby, the Rhône blend, one of Uncle Ryan’s signature wines.
“Would anyone like another taste of the Cab Franc?” Ashley asks.
Several tasters hold their glasses up for a refill. Good. Ashley will continue to talk about the wine, giving me time to figure out how to top her performance. Of course, this isn’t a competition, so why do I feel the need to top her?
Voices buzz around me as Ashley asks questions and the tasters respond. I don’t hear their words, only the din of noise. The young woman with blond hair stays within three feet of me at all times, sometimes whispering and giggling with her friend, also blond, and sometimes trying to talk to me.
I’m not interested in her, and even if I were, she’s way too young for me. Of course, she’s twenty-one or older or she wouldn’t be able to come to the tasting. Ashley is only twenty-five. Also too young for me, so why can’t I get her out of my mind?
Yes, my parents are ten years apart in age, and they met when they were the exact ages that Ashley and I are now.
But I’m a mess. For the same reason that my little brother goes from woman to woman, I choose to stay out of relationships altogether. Donny is an extrovert to my introvert. Womanizing is easy for him, and as long as he’s never serious with any of them, he doesn’t have to try to make anything work for the long-term.
Womanizing is not easy for me. The few flings I’ve had were fun, no doubt, but I never felt enough for any of them to consider working hard at a relationship.
