In Search of Dessert

Sunday morning I woke up around eleven to the sounds of Jonathan and the guests cleaning the Plature from the previous night’s debauchery. Thanks to a space heater and Jon’s Dad -who came to the farm early to start the fire that keeps it warm – this was the first time that I slept through the night at their farm. The farm is in a valley that happens to be higher than the city of Neuchâtel itself. The farm is located in a cove, and is surrounded by thick forest. When I finally took my first step outside I expected it to be freezing. Instead, I was able to lay down on the picnic table and sunbathe without my jacket. 

Afterward we went to St. Blaise, the village we lived in before moving to Geneva. First we stopped in our favorite tea-room, which has a decent view of the lake, but more importantly, has an incredible selection of pastries, cakes and tarts (and chocolate, truffles and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream!). In my book they rank in the top three best Cappuccinos in Switzerland, which they had better at 4.50 a pop, and they have the world’s best "Escargots" (Cinnamon rolls). They are giant and stuffed with sticky cinnamon paste. I have to keep a wary eye on my plate as I wind down to the gooey, compact center:  Jon will risk pissing me off by snatching the heart off my plate it’s that good.  

We spent the next few hours in Gigi’s kitchen with her and Martine, her daughter and our landlady when we lived in the building. Jon and I always love spending time there. We make a point to visit them more often than some of our friends I think. There’s just something special about the most random of relationships, and she never fails to make Jon laugh until tears fill his eyes.  I learn all my French swear words from her.

For the evening we nestled into Jon’s parents living room with a homemade pasta bolognese and six bottles of red wine. Yep, six. One, two, three, four, five, six.

Actually, we were conducting an experiment. With myself as the server (and DD), we held a "degustation à l’aveugle" or blind taste test. Jon and I have already chosen the two white wines for our wedding reception, and now it was time to choose the red. The room was very quiet as the three of them went to work. They would sniff deeply into the glass, hold the glasses up to the hanging light over the table, jot notes, take a first, tentative sip, jot more notes, and finally a larger gulp to swirl around the mouth with a piece of baguette. At one point I reached over, grabbed Jon’s glass and took a sip. Instantly I frowned, and made the "this is horrid" face.  "Don’t do that!" he barked in all seriousness, "You’ll influence me!"

I also played along, with very small portions. When we had all tasted all six we shared our rankings and discussed them. This is definitely an exercise for Europeans. I am not sure that Americans could ever reach the level of nonchalance that I witnessed as Jon and his parents discussed each wine. Wine is their culture. Whether they notice it or not, they have been raised with a verbiage, knowledge, even jargon of wine that flows effortlessly out – one that would usually make an American sound pretentious and silly. When they described their written notes I heard terms like "notes,"  "roundness," "color" "maturity," "integrity" and "length."  One wine was deemed best initial taste, but did not have the longevity for a meal with filet de boeuf. The specificity with which they labeled each wine’s taste, and region, was astounding. They however did not seem find it all surprising that they had all three, without sharing, noted red cherries in one bottle. There was a slight dispute as to whether it was red cherries jam, or black cherries, which left me shaking my head in wonder.  Meanwhile, my vocal notes read "flat and dirty socks" and "Disgusting, makes me cough," and "nothing to say. boring."  On the other hand, I was extremely proud to discover that I had picked the same top two, and same least favorite as Jon and his mother. Even more, I had written notes that were identical to some of their own, such as "Same taste as glass 1, but without the acidity." I drink red wine maybe once every six months, and I drink wine period maybe once a month, so I was shocked and pleased to see how close my responses were to theirs. So, does that mean that all this "wine connoisseur" business is a bit of b.s.