There is such a thing as a wine emergency and it was yesterday.
The gentleman was in the cellar rummaging when I heard the sound of glass hitting glass but not necessarily a break, so I waited. It was a break, but it was a brilliantly orchestrated break: it would mean the end of a cherished talisman but not without giving of itself in its final breath.
He came out cradling the broken and fragile body, bleeding and waiting patiently while I ran upstairs to get a bowl and strainer. (Note to self: get a bowl and strainer for The Cave.) You thought we would maybe just throw it away? What's a little glass, people on the Coney Island boardwalk eat it for a living! The last time this happened I just let the glass float to the bottom.
A few were able to partake in the sad farewell, and (I confess) I stashed away for myself a glass to be consumed after work. The gentleman would exit about as intact as his lost love.
Last night...what a sad moment of wonder to have had a glass of this stuff. I'd tried a small bit of it earlier but by night it was sublime, it was heavenly, and then it was gone.
A less than sentimental sendoff.