Last week I had dinner with Stacy. And if you’re not reading her blog, I have nothing more to say to you.
Except go read it. (She also wrote one of my favorite memoirs of the year, Falling Apart in One Piece, so go read that too. Gosh, you have a lot to do. I hope you didn’t have any plans.)
Anyway, Stacy and I were dining and wining and we had a bottle of rosé. And it was so good that I wondered why I ever bothered drinking anything else in the summer.
So a few days ago I presented myself at the wine store and asked for a bottle of crisp, delicious rosé. The wine store guy recommended Muga:
I don’t like it. I hate to be the suspicious type, but I think the wine guy purposely recommended the kind that I wouldn’t like so that I’d come back for another (possibly more expensive) bottle of wine. Look times are tough and everyone’s out to make a buck.
Good thing I’m wise to his plan.
And to teach him a lesson that his deviousness won’t work, I’m going to drink the wine I don’t like. And maybe get another bottle of the exact same rosé it so that he doesn’t catch on about how I’m suffering.
Don’t tell him.
But if you have a rosé that you love, please let me know.
This is my post from three years ago. Oh, boy.
One year ago ...
- Time - 2009