Chateau Talonneur Wine Tour

My doctor, a man versed in the art of long-suffering, recommended Efitol for anxiety and was prescient in his prescription - Companion’s driving never fails to unnerve me and I took one as we made our erratic way upstate to the rustic Chateau Talonneur for their annual wine tour – or as Companion calls it, “Open Souse”. It was one of a hundred such scenes we had known before – elbow to elbow with other pilgrims, warbling music and rows of bottles waiting as did Henry Hudson’s ninepins to be mown down, not unlike my expectations. The Bordeaux was strangely complacent, the usually loving Riesling aloof and distant. It was at the end of this long table when I took up a glass of pale coral ambrosia – it swept over and through me like a the winds of Valhalla and restored my countenance, my faith in God and seemingly everything that had ever been taken from me.

My rapture was interrupted by a large man who, reaching to the place where the glass had been, absently looked about until his eyes focused on my hand. I apologized at once but also begged him to tell me where this nectar was from. He raised up box labeled ‘Waldstein’s Blush’, saying, “My wife drags me to these things. This is the only wine I ever drink – half the calories. Here let me fill you up, there’s plenty.” As he pointed the gun metal grey spout at me and pulled the trigger, I realized that I had drunk from the cardboard carafe – and I liked it.

On the way home I was ignoring Companion’s good natured ribbing by feigning to read the precautions on my prescription. I happened to glance at the words, “May cause changes in smell or taste.” Companion agreed that I was redeemed, but when I think about that glass, inside. . .deep down inside. . .I still love it. God help me I do love it so.