In Vino Nihil Nisi Veritas

Vino Nihil Nisi Veritas

He knew it would only be a short while left in his quarantine cum self-imposed exile on the island. And when the most doleful parts of spring’s rebirth to him had passed it seemed it was already fall. The idea of summer seemed only to have been that. The winter of his discontent, chasing barn owls on the isolated island without her or them, had caught up to him in the form of ennui he’d never before known. He could not complain as the entire world it had been in its own quarantine, felled by pandemic that would at least see him in paradise at the end of the summer and into his first semester as an adjunct. But is there any greater sorrow than to be alone in the garden of Eden in the dog days of summer, with only barn owls and mezcal for company?

He accepted the position in Santa Barbara, California for the weather he said and the salary he knew and for the relatively small department there, but he knew himself well enough to know it was as it was a place he had no memory of her. The ever-present sunshine and ocean fragranced air would do him just as good as it had in Cozumel where he’d sought solace and faced fears 80 meters under water, floating not on air, but in time. He’d been told the sea had no memory.

The cottage in Montecito was on the land belonging to the University. It was quaint and tree-filled, though the variety was not what he had anticipated especially for California. There were a sufficient number of birds there to keep him occupied. The quiet is dissimilar to his days in the Mayan Riviera where the solitude had embraced him as much as he’d embraced the silence.

He was nervous to be back in the land of the living. The friendly American faces, polished and tan, were welcoming but different from the Mexican faces that had coddled him in the better part of the last fall and winter. The staff was amiable to the point of obsequious and he chalks it up to California living. He wanted no part of any of it.

He sat alone most days in between classes when there wasn’t enough time to stroll through Santa Barbara or to return to the serenity of Montecito.

Professor Frey, “Call me Annabelle” comes over to him and he has mayo on his chin, and it makes her chuckle before greeting him.

“Hey Grant”

“Hi Rose.”

“Anna ,” she reminds. “Eating alone… again? You know there is a staff lounge in Loris Hall right. We don’t bite. Except for the computer sciences department and the dental school.” She chortles and he genuinely smiles as it comes to him.

“I prefer to eat out here in the wild though. It’s beautiful.”

“I can see that. They spend your salary on a quarter of this lawn every six months so it’s hardly the wild. Listen, I won a wine tasting at the silent raffle. I don’t want to be a no show especially because a friend of mine is the sommelier. Well, I guess she’s an oenologist… Anyway, if you aren’t doing anything, Saturday, I would love for you to go in my stead, but I have to write a full report or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Uhm… okay.”

“That is great. No questions asked. I’ll email you the details.”

********************

The restaurant is empty when she arrives ladened with bags and breathing a bit heavier. She always loved it when there was no one there and she could remind herself of the first days, six years ago, after she’d left her old life behind. Keith and the firm and her family. When Annabelle had suggested a blind date, her compliments for spending a thousand dollars on a tasting for two, she was suspect especially since Annabelle had done this once before. Two years ago, Annabelle thought Louis from Economics would be a fit. How Annabelle didn’t at least suspect that he was gay was beyond her. She didn’t gain a lover that night, but he was a very good friend now.

She did feel bad that Annabelle didn’t tell the bird vet, or whatever he was, that this was a blind date. Though Annabelle wouldn’t call it that, she knew her well enough to know that a single man and a single woman at a winetasting couldn’t be anything else and if she got another best friend out of the deal she’d be okay with it. This one was widower, Annabelle told her over the phone when she said that she wouldn’t be coming.

He arrives in his tweed blazer with the dulling green patches at the elbow. He is not expecting the place to be empty. He has sweat on his brow, though not from the uncharacteristically warm October. His anxiety of having to engage with a native English speaker gives him cause to sweat.

He takes in the ceiling of the place, like looking at a barrel on its’ side from the inside.

In a moment, she arrives.

“You must be Grant?”

“Hello, I’m Grant.”

“I’m Jessica.”

“Grant…” he says again and notices a tiny freckle above her left eye. It hasn’t occurred to him that he has said his name twice, and he won’t until attempting to fall asleep later that night. He’ll cringe like he used to.

“Well… Grant, I hope you’re not driving because we have quite a tasting planned for you.”

“Thank you. I’m not driving. ”

“Please, please have a seat.” He does and she follows suit. “Rose is a friend of yours as well?”

“Yes, a colleague, but she is proving to be quite a friend. She’s really good at getting me out of the house lately.”

“She’s good like that. I have known her since I first got here.”

“From?”

“I’m from New York, state then city.”

“How long in California?”

“Six years. And you? You study birds?

“I wouldn’t say I study birds. Well, I suppose some of them.” He laughs, he hopes it sounds off the cuff, because he’s attempted a joke, and later when he curls in fetal position, he will assume he flirted. The next morning, he will think of the moment again and cringe at the sight of a Monarch’s cocoon, left over from earlier in the year and obviously stuck in an eternal chrysalis until strong wind will come and blow it all the way to the ocean. “I teach about them and write about them. But I do teach… at the University, obviously. I’m a…” he clears his throat,”…ornithologist.”

She giggles and then pulls back with the sweetest of smiles though he could have been certain she’d thought of something else, perhaps another time or place but certainly not where they were, not even about him, though he was right in front of her, and she was looking at him in the eyes.

She wonders why he is nervous if he doesn’t even know it is a date. It should take any pressure off him. In turn, she becomes a little nervous. The next words out of her mouth are mortifying in the immediate aftermath. She is sure she turns gray for at least nine whole seconds.

“Hornithologist.” She so wanted to have said that in her mind but the perplexity coming from his face is real and she wants to revert to the prepared speech, her Intro to Winetasting, instead she stands almost too quickly. “I’m going get started with some nibbles.”

“ You teach wine.”

“I wouldn’t say I just teach wine.”

“What would you say?”

“I’d say, I love it.”

“Don’t we all, but lately I’ve been in the land of Mezcal.”

“Where in Mexico?”

“Cozumel. Watching birds mostly. Writing.. Now I’m teaching.”

“I also teach. Oenology and viticulture at the University.”

“You’re an instructor?

“Professor, actually.’

“A PhD in wine?

“We call it oenology and viticulture.”

“I would love to see your thesis.”

“I’ll bet you would. Not on the first date, buddy. I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Tell me you use your title.” Did she say date?

“Every chance I get. I promise. I literally wrote the book on wine. I get to be the wine doctor.”

********************

“I took the leap and came to California. Noli timere.“

“No fear. Latin. Me too. One of the languages you learned for the doctorate?“

“I took it long before that. Benefits of a classical education.” She says in her best Hans Gruber impersonation. He stares back blankly. “A man who hasn’t seen Diehard. You’re like a unicorn.”

“You’re a woman who speaks Latin and makes wine.”

“Touché. Anyhow…”

In a few moments she returns with plates on a tray. There are deviled eggs, with- rosemary Pondicherry peppercorns and a raclette, with stale crostini warmed and drizzled, sprinkled with marzipan, white beans, chopped hazelnut, lavender burrata and Manuka honey. She had paired it with a very pleasant Sauvignon blanc and a pretentious Viognier, a Grigio blend, because who is watching when it fits the bill of fare so very well. But she thinks better of it in the last minute and asks what he likes.

“What wine do you like?”

“I think anything red will do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that.”

“But you must have a favorite?”

“It’s all the same really.” He says to be hyperbolic and she bites.

“Oh no, no, no, my friend. All wines are not created equally.”

“You would say that, now wouldn’t you?”

“Well… there is a reason they are called varietals... In vino veritas… How about this? What’s your favorite food.

“I would say Nigerian, but that’s sentimental. It’s sushi and ramen but I’ve been in Cozumel for a year and have missed both. What wine would you pair with lionfish pizza?”

Nigerian is left field and she definitely doesn’t see it coming. This guy is all right if he knows what Nigerian food is. He has actual potential here. Maybe he just needs some bubbles to loosen up just a bit. She’d experimented with bubbles in her day, some even with stolen hybrids.

“What about women?” She throws down the gauntlet. “You tell me what your perfect woman is, and I’ll tell you what wine you will love. Who is your ideal woman? What’s your type?

“I like beautiful women.”

“Eye of the beholder… but go on.”

“Point taken. I like women who are full of personality but doesn’t let her personality get in the way of who she is.”

“What do you mean?

“Self-assured and self-aware; The combination is intoxicating. I like a point of view and I like compassion. A wicked sense of humor but not at another’s expense. Athletic but only naturally so. Someone who prefers hikes to gyms, a bike ride rather than an elliptical. Someone who laughs last but not the loudest.”

“I got ya. I’ll be right back. You’re going to appreciate some wine tonight.”

********************

“ You know what makes this, the perfect Merlot, your perfect match. In this tiny little crystal glass there is a bright and forward red merlot that invites a bit of the ‘bec, Malbec if you’re stuck up but in this merlot it’s not enough to say grace over. Then the Cab and the Ganarcha comes in at the end ever so politely. This wine is everything you described in a woman. Your wine is your truth. Your lover is a merlot.”

He takes in every word. He already knows he will call her again. He already knows that he is smitten again for the first time in ages.

“In vino, nihil nisi veritas.”

“In wine, nothing but truth. You’re flirting… with me?” He gasps before he knows it. “Do I get to kiss you at the end of the night?

She takes a sip from the glass and blushes.