Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,88

her. If she’d had some at her disposal, she’d have paired it with a nice Pawlet. Or even a sparkling rosé would be delightful with Castelrosso.

Focus, she told herself. You have all that you need for right now.

“Our first wine today is the Sauvignon Blanc. This grape loves seaside conditions, and that’s exactly what we have here.”

Nearly everyone reached for their glasses. People were always eager to drink. In some classes, the least ideal circumstance was when people arrived already half-drunk and the classes became more like a guided exercise in getting wasted. She didn’t get that sense from this particular crowd, but she wanted to keep things in check.

“Before you taste the wine, let’s first turn our attention to the Capri. Now, when it comes to pairing, there are two schools of thought: like with like, or ‘what grows together goes together.’ And then there’s the ‘opposites attract’ approach. For the Sauvignon Blanc, we’re going with the like-with-like: Capri, a pasteurized goat’s milk cheese from Massachusetts. Notice the color: very white and no rind. Goat’s milk is bright white, while cow’s milk is more golden. And you see that in the cheese.” She told the class to taste it, ideally first without the bread. “You’ll note that the flavor is tangy and acidic. And cheese, like wine, is living in the sense that the way the cheese tastes today is different than the way it tasted in the spring.”

She gave them the go-ahead to taste the Sauvignon Blanc and then suggested they try it along with the cheese. “You’ll note that the wine is also acidic. What flavor notes do you detect?”

People raised their hands: Grapefruit. Lime. Grass. She nodded, encouraging them to also smell the wine. “Some of the lightest-colored wines are the most aromatic. The great wine critic and writer Lettie Teague has said that eighty percent of a wine’s ‘flavor’ is actually its aroma. So it is not pretentious to sniff your wine. It’s actually a shame not to.”

She watched Sadie bring the glass to her nose with a smile, a smile that said, I’m learning something.

Leah, feeling in a groove, started to move on to the next pairing, then remembered to ask if anyone had any questions. A woman in the front row raised her hand.

“I’m just wondering: Could you pair this cheese with rosé? Or any of these cheeses? I mostly drink rosé in the summer, so . . .”

Leah swallowed hard. She felt like the press secretary for a president who’d just invaded a small defenseless country. How should she justify an obviously bad decision?

“You can absolutely pair the Capri with rosé. Hollander Estates is the North Fork’s oldest winery, so the varietals we grow and the wines we sell tend to be on the more traditional end of the spectrum.”

Another hand raised. She realized that at some point, a lone man had made his way into the room. He had slicked-back hair and watched her with sharp blue eyes.

Leah, trying not to look as confused as she felt, acted like he was just any other attendee. “Yes?”

“Is there any difference between wine produced out here and, say, wine produced in the venerable region of Bordeaux?”

He had a heavy French accent: it was the prospective buyer. What was he doing there? She knew he’d visited the day before, and she’d made herself scarce. No one told her he was returning today. But then, neither of her parents had said much of anything last night. Her mother didn’t even make it to dinner, taking to her room with a headache.

Leah took a gulp from the glass of Sauvignon Blanc she’d intended only for display purposes.

“We have more in common with Bordeaux than, say, Napa. Both here and in Bordeaux wine growers can’t take good weather for granted. They have to deal with rain during harvest just as we have the threat of hurricanes—obstacles we both overcome to make beautifully complex wine.”

Great. Now her father wasn’t the only one challenging her. She hoped that after she successfully lobbed his little missive back at him that he’d leave, but he stayed until the end of class. Mercifully, he stayed quiet for the rest of the hour. But as the last of the customers filed out of the room onto the veranda to continue enjoying their wine, he approached her.

“Henri de Villard,” he said, extending his hand. She shook it, and the look in his eyes unnerved her. It was as if he knew something she didn’t.

“Leah