I’ll never be as refined as the likes of him. Somehow, he can taste ripe apricots glazed with brown sugar butter in a white wine, and a woodsy fall day underlying a white pepper and smoky cheddar in a red. People ecstatically agree—wondering how they didn’t taste it on their own to begin with. Customers eat that shit up. I don’t get it— It all tastes like wine to me. But the customers love him and so do I.
