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Like good little wine tasters, they all tipped, swirled, and buried their noses in the aroma of crisp Chablis.
“What do you smell?” he prompted.
“It smells fresh.” This learned conclusion came from Bella, who went on to take a healthy slug despite his previous efforts to instill in her patience.
“Citrusy,” muttered Kennedy, then eyeballed her phone that had just chirped urgently.
Probably an audition.
Don’t let me down, honey.
He turned to Jules for support.
“Tuscan summer breezes…no, wait.” She sniffed again. “Autumnalbreezes. More specifically, Florentine.”
Right continent, wrong country. Though she was completely off base, he waved her on because he had a sneaky suspicion he was about to be thoroughly entertained.
“I think there might have been a herd of Chianina cattle the next field over. I’m definitely picking up hints of barnyard mixed with earthy. Am I close?”
“Uncanny.” Tad was having a tough time keeping his lips in a straight line.
Considering the glass, she continued with a touch of a finger to her chin. “Now the taste…” Taking a healthy sip, she sloshed it around her mouth, making sure to hit all the receptors. Just like he had taught her.
“Fruit-forward, attention-seeking, grabs you by the nuts and holds on until you scream “uncle”… how’m I doing?”
“The Court of Master Sommeliers better make room. There’s a new sheriff in town.”
“Well, with a palate as refined as mine, they could do a lot worse.” She laughed, warm and husky, and he felt like he had swallowed the sun.
He took a sip, then…just chugged. So much for his second level sommelier training. “Tastes good.”
Jules’s face bore all the strains of incredulity. “That’s the best you can do? Tastes good?”
“You’ve used up all the good adjectives, smart ass.”
Cue brazen Jules grin.Holy shit.He flicked a glance to see if anyone else was knocked flat by that molten ball of light. Only him? Alrighty then.
The phone at the hostess podium rang, drawing Bella away. Kennedy texted violently. She was prone to dramatics with her ne’er do well boyfriend and Tad suspected he was on the receiving end of that killer thumb tirade.
“Maybe I can come up with some exciting adjectives for your special sauce.” The sauce was supposed to be peppery-sweet with heat from the chili flakes. He slipped a bite past his lips and chewed. Robust flavors, a good kick, but something was missing…
“Did you use guanciale?”
“No, pancetta. I couldn’t find it at the store and Frankie said it was practically the same thing.”
He frowned. Frankie ought to know better.
“It’s not the same. Guanciale is cured pork jowl and it can be hard to find, but not impossible.”
His heart wrenched at how miserable she looked. “So it’s no good…”
Quickly, he backpedaled. “Are you kidding me? It’s fantastic, but let’s try it with guanciale next time. I’ll get you some and you’ll see the difference.”
The guanciale is key, Taddeo. It brings the dish together.
“My mother used to cure her own, you know.” Now what in the hell inspired him to share that nugget?
Jules’s eyes widened. “Really?”
