It's unlikely to encounter a sommelier cat, and yet, lucky me, I happen to know one. He lives in the old cantina sociale of my village, and he doesn't wear the tastevin purely out of comfort, also refusing to wear the less demanding little bell. He's haughty, the cat: grey with white paws, he has long whiskers that quiver before the barrels, following an instinct and a logic that cannot be understood. By licking a few drops fallen on the floor, he has acquired a precise and professional knowledge to guide every request.
If you could present yourself at his door — because let's be clear, it's obvious that he's the master of the place — he would look at you with condescension and, in tune with your alcoholic need, like an interpreter of emotions, he would suggest one of the many wines from the cantina, among Monica, Carignano, Vermentino, and others, almost always contradicting your initial intentions. For the feline sommelier, pairing a wine with an experience is no small matter, especially since wine is already a complete experience in itself, and one must not dare to force his verdict with improbable amateurish technicalities. Once, among the many other sales conducted and meowed with benevolent insolence, I wanted to buy a Cannonau DOC to impress my suitor at the time, presenting him with a dinner and also an intense and strong woman, "of great structure and body" like the wine itself. The cat began to linger pensively, grooming his thick tail at length and rhythmically. In those moments I hesitated, expecting in the end to have to leave without a bottle as a sort of punishment for my brazen presumption. Incredibly, he gave his approval and approached the Cannonau barrel, sniffing it with pleased satisfaction and then blissfully allowing his back to be scratched with a consequent loud purr. After so many trials, the student had reached — without surpassing him — the master translator of promises at 13 degrees, who refuses celebrity and silver saucers around his neck.
00 Comments
No comments yet. Be the first!