Not Just Any Port in a Storm

Roy and Thomas are the two true wine connois-seurs at church. Last Sunday after the post-service fellowship had wrapped up, Roy pulled me aside. Out of his backpack he pulled a single bottle of tawny port, a gift for another friend who had had the grave audacity to fail to come to church to pick up. Roy, not about to reward the ingrate with another opportunity, offered me the bottle: Penfolds Club Reserve from South Australia. I certainly have no well trained palate, but I do really like tawny port, and I told Roy so.

"Oh, but this isn't just any tawny port," Roy explained. "This is something special."

Right at that moment Thomas came round a corner and seeing the bottle, stopped short with an "Ohhh!" that was more the sucking in of breath than an exclamation. Thomas quickly assured me that this was the good stuff. "Try it over vanilla ice cream," Thomas recommended.

"Or better yet, with unsalted cashews," said Roy.

I thanked Roy profusely and took the prize home. It sat on our china hutch all week untouched, waiting, though I was mindful enough during the week to swing by Trader Joe's and pick up the suggested cashews.

Tonight, on this beautiful Friday night, Providence set forth a rare gem of an evening perfect in which to open it up. Stacy had a scrapbooking class to attend; the kids had had long days with no naps. They were in bed by 7:00 and out cold by 7:15. It started raining lightly and I could hear the drops on the roof. Otherwise the house was expectantly silent. I turned down all the lights except for one in the living room next to the couch. I retrieved my book from beside my bed (The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux), and sprawled out on the couch with a snifter from the freshly opened bottle, a small bag of cashews and the book. A couple of cashews, a sniff from the swirled glass, and then the first taste.

Oh, wow.

I choose not to put a trivializing exclamation point on that last sentence. It was not a time for shouting or crude ejaculations -- it was a moment of stunned silence. Oh, wow.

The two hours that passed after that were transcendental.

Stacy is home now, and L has woken up crying. The moment is past, like a foggily remembered vision of a former country. But Stacy brought home some custard pie from a friend's house, and L will likely go back to sleep... Stacy likes port...

Hmmmm... The moment may be rekindled yet!