julia, dreams of terrine, and a glass of wine

It’s Friday night again and I am sitting in the leather recliner that lies on our new Pergo laminate floors.   Rheagan is swinging.  A glass of cabernet franc is sitting on the table next to me, and Pretty Woman is playing in the background.  No matter how many times I watch this movie, every so often I catch myself realizing the quality acting in this film.  It was such a heavy influence on my adolescence, yet I never really appreciated the skills of the particular artists.

 Gabriel is at work, selling wine, laughing, and telling stories about Rheagan.
I miss him.  I often wonder what our relationship would be like if we were home at the same time; I figure we would probably have no wine left in the house.  Right now I am drinking the remnants of a half bottle that a wine representative gave my sommelier to try. Only a small amount was missing from the glass receptacle, and after a week, it is still here. What does that mean?  For me, drinking a decent wine; at least I didn’t have to drink from the rack.  For Gabriel, since it was made from Truchard Vineyards, I suppose he will regret not drinking it sooner.

 For those who don’t know about “the rack”, it is the dusty wooden wine shelf in the corner of our dining room.  Last summer when Gabe was studying for the second level som exam, I went to World Market and bought a variety of wines.  He had to study, after all.  But now that he has succeeded with that stage of the exam, he has surpassed that quality of vintage.  I am stuck with it.  So, usually, on Friday nights when no one is around, I wistfully crack open that bottle, and suffer.

 Not tonight.  No, tonight I am drinking Palazzo 2007 Cabernet Franc, and loving every minute of it.  The dark cherry and earthy spices linger on my palate, and I dream of steak diane or liver with onions.  It’s been such a long time since Gabriel and I went out for a proper romantic meal, I am not even sure the last time I had either dish.  I miss French food.

 October could not come sooner.  In October, we will drive 121 with the top down, turn onto 29, and make our way to Yountville.  If we were there now, I would dine on duck
terrine with sweet tea glaze and cherries, rabbit sirloin with dates, and Persian lime sorbet.  I would hold my husband’s hand.  We would fall in love through food.  Although
I will miss Rheagan, it is has been a long time coming.

 For now, I will drink my glass of Palazzo, and patiently wait.  I wonder if Gabriel will bring home anything special tonight;  I’m dying to dream about what I might partake of next.

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