My first encounter with Port Wine was in the form of a Port Wine Stain on the forehead of the RA in my dorm the day I arrived at college. I had never seen such a thing before and tried to not look at it. The RA, who was family, was apparently used to it and made no indication I was staring. I think he saw something he liked anyway as he later took me to see both Rocky Horror and Tootsie.
My first encounter with Port Wine itself took place toward the end of my college career, when I took over an apartment from a friend who was an amazing pack rat and left about half his shit behind. Among his collection was a tiny bottle, airline size of Port. Had a Teeny-tiny little cork in it and was covered with dust. I was told by someone who may or may not have known what they were talking about that it was Portuguese wine and my stoner friend Mary, who always had the smile of a china doll on her face said she had drank some the summer before and liked it and I resisted her lobbying efforts to open it because it was not en ought for two people and I wanted to have my cake instead of eating it.
Then one day, months later, my dog, Sidartha Guitarma, was entertaining her sister, Norton, from across the street and in the process bumped the metal shelving unit the bottle sat on and it fell to the industrial grade vinyl tile floor and shattered. Gawd it stunk! In retrospect, I imagine the teeny-tiny cork had become dried out over the years, my theory being that it had probably spent some time in a hot car, and the contents had turnt to vinegar.
But I was not smart enough to figure that out for years. I just assumed Port was nasty and Mary was so stoned she would drink most anything.
At no time in the ensuing 22 years did I encounter Port again. I heard about it, but I never was offered any, not heard anyone express an opinion about Port until last month. Paul and myself were sitting in a wonderful little restaurant in Provincetown, Devon's, having had a wonderful meal and the owner came out with two glasses of Tawney Port for us. It was like the Prodigal Wine had come home, hands on hips hollering "Hay! Remember me?".
I sniffed it and the aroma was not vinegar, but a dark, calm, sleepy one of grapes. I tasted it, OMG, Mary you were right! It was wonderful, down to the last drop. The perfect after dinner wine. The big glass it came it was like a humidore to accumulate the flavor so it could attack your nose before your palette. Ah!
When I got home I went to Food Lion and recovered a dusty assed bottle from the bottom self, $4.95! I have a glass in the evening when I pull the book out and sanctify the day.
Thank kew Paul and Devon!
Topic: Shakesthegrounds Rumblings (Read 2595194 times)