Open Mind, Open Palate

Carter and I entered the sumptuous restaurant, which was as well known for its decadent desserts as it was for the outlay of cash usually required to eat or drink there. Electric candelabras cast golden hues on every gaudy table we passed.

As we sunk deeper into the establishment, mouthwatering fragrances floated from the kitchen.

We approached the hostess’s podium.“Reservation for Elba, Carter Elba,” my date said in a hushed but confident voice.

The hostess led us to a small table for two in a private section of the restaurant, right in front of two large bay windows. Taking a seat, I couldn’t help but watch our reflections in the windows as I pretended to gaze at the glowing city beneath us. My reflection looked so delicate and waif-like next to Carter’s impressive stature, but I didn’t mind.

A waiter floated to our table. “What can I get the lovely couple for drinks tonight?” he asked in a thick, French accent that sounded almost cliche.

Without consulting me, Carter replied, “A bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947 and two rounded glasses, please.”

I looked at him. He looked at me.

“Trust me, you’ll love it,” he said.

The waiter smiled and left to fulfill our order.

“I guess I’ll keep an open mind,” I said. I wasn’t familiar with that particular wine, though I had to admit its name and the year of its vintage had piqued my curiosity. It sounded expensive.

A few minutes passed before the waiter returned with the wine selection. He set two glasses down in front of us and smiled at me, saying, “Ladies first.”

I smiled back as he first poured my glass, and then Carter’s. I raised my glass and tipped it back, preparing to taste it.

“Stop! You need to experience the wine before you taste it,” Carter implored.

I was confused. I had no idea what “experiencing” a wine entailed. What more was there to a good glass of wine than its taste?

I wanted so much to roll my eyes and just down it, but I resisted the urge. Instead, I followed along.

“Swirl it,” Carter instructed me.

I swirled it.

“Sniff it.”

I sniffed it . . . and chuckled. “Is this for real?” I wondered.

But then I stopped chuckling. My nose seemed to come alive with notes beyond just fruit-based.

“What the hell?” I thought. My nostrils buzzed with scents that were more than the usual grape tones.

“Is it blackberries?” I wondered. “No, that’s not it. Maybe currants, then. Currants mixed with a peppery aroma of mint, smoke, and nutty oak.”

My eyes grew wide as my sense of smell raced toward over stimulation. Why had I never taken the time to experience a glass of wine before?

With such a wondrous aroma, what might it taste like?

“Can I taste it now?” I asked.

He nodded.

I took a sip. All the notes in the wine’s bouquet came full circle as I rolled the taste over my tongue. It was sweet, a little tart, but mellow. It was . . . the best glass of Merlot I’d ever had.

It was tall, dark, handsome, and easy on the senses, just like my date. I wavered between making eye contact with him and keeping my eyes on the glass of wine. I longed for another sip.

I think Carter noticed my dilemma because I heard him snicker.

“Are you laughing at me?” I asked, smiling.

“No, not at all,” he replied. “But aren’t you glad now that you kept an open mind?”

He raised his glass. “A toast?” He asked.

Intrigued, I raised my glass and met his with a gentle “clink.” I began to wonder what the rest of the evening might hold in store for us.