Here we are. Love happened. The Man pronounced the word at the moment when people started choosing lightly woven garments over cashmere. Because Spring arrived as well: volumes and doses are being lowered in order to give the full floor to smiling, seducing faces. It would be clever to discuss this abrupt transition of ice-cold to torridly hot, but we don’t feel like it yet. Later, promise.
more pertinent to break one’s head over the bottle to be presented at the first
date. A rosé? Does the Man-philosopher, poet, jazz fanatic “do” brosé*?
lose, so there we go. The Akakies rosé, fully xinomavro from Kir Yianni’s vineyards,
chilled in the bicycle basket. Hoping that neither the warm temperature, nor
the trembling hands, nor the belly butterflies endanger the freshness of the
bottle. The Man, declaring himself a non-connoisseur, discovers crisp fruit, cinnamon,
licorice and acidity. He tastes, smiles and confirms.
Him smiling, makes the world smile. His appreciation of the wine convinces me. Within two days, we’ll be discussing the climate change.
*stupid world for rosé tasted by brothers