One-Sentence Story: The Tasting

Self Portrait with Bottle of Wine by Edvard Munch

This 1995 Pinot Noir from the Heart’s Leap winery in California’s Napa valley is a pinot for the ages, with layers of complexity, tremendous fruit and great depth, its deep purple color and concentrated, full-bodied, velvety taste reminiscent of an early fall day when the adventurous English woman you had married two years earlier came to visit you—she just happened to be in town, she said, and thought she would come by to thank you again for helping her—a woman you barely knew—to get her green card—well, you were bitter after your divorce, and firmly believed that you would never fall in love again, so why not help out a friend of a friend—its aromas of blackberry, clove, smoke, and vanilla evoking memories of how you took a good second look at her (a tall blond with graceful long limbs and a strong, plain face), poured her a glass of wine, and took her to bed, while its subtle hints of berry, mint, cocoa powder, plum, and toast are redolent of that sudden hopefulness you felt when she moved in with you—not to mention the laughter you shared on the plane to London when she took you to meet her family—as her new husband—and its superb long finish, with a lingering sensation that even after she left you to go to the ashram in India—no, the plot did not wrap up neatly like one of those Hollywood movies—perhaps it was that you were simply mismatched—you were too staid and boring, with your engineering job and your wine cellar, while she was possessed by wanderlust and a greed for new experiences—a trace of the desire she awoke in you persisted—all combine to provide perfection in a glass (you divorced her this time because you wanted to leave yourself free).

by Nina Zolotow

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