Patrick drove his car down the tree-lined driveway of the domaine and parked in a spot marked "visiteurs". He sighed before killing the engine. This morning marked the start of his third week on La Route des Vins d'Alsace -a route traversing the Alsace region in the East of France- and he was weary, exhausted even.
It was not that the route was uninteresting, or the view anything less than fabulous. So far he had stopped at nearly a hundred domaines -wine estates- to taste wines in his quest for finding the (so far elusive) perfect wine. And he had at least one more week to go.
He picked up his notebook, and had to glance over to the sign on the domaine's facade to remember where he was. He quickly went through the list of wines he wanted to taste here. There were none that had any special notes or remarks. For a moment he considered leaving, skipping this place, so that he could just take a break, if only for an hour or so. But he told himself to get it together, pocketed his notes, got out of his car and walked into the main entrance.
Patrick found himself inside the tasting lounge of the domaine, a cosy space with a counter, some comfortable seats and tables displaying various bottles of wine. On the walls were black-and-white photos of men, each holding a glass of wine. Presumably they were ancestors of the current vignobles -winemakers- of the domaine. He walked up to the counter, and just as he was about to ring the call bell, a woman entered the room.
'Bonjour! How can I help you?' she said with a wide smile.
'Bonjour,' Patrick replied. 'I have an appointment.'
'Ah oui, monsieur Patrick, no? Welcome to our domaine!' She walked behind the counter. 'What can I get for you?'
As Patrick admired her disarming smile he felt a part of his foul mood wash away. Her brown eyes looked at him from amidst her beautiful round face, her long straight blonde hair fell on her shoulders.
'Is there anything specific you would like to try?' she asked again.
'Oh, I'm sorry. I, uh, would like to taste, uh, your...' Patrick stammered. He dug his notes out of his pocket, completely having forgotten what he had come for.
She looked at him, bemused. 'It is too early, isn't it?'
Patrick nodded, embarrassed.
'You know, early morning visitors usually buy much less than other visitors,' she said. 'It is simple: wine tastes better later in the day.'
'I agree. But if I only do visits in the afternoon, I can cover half as many domaines.'
The woman nodded in agreement. 'Since I have no other appointments this morning; how about this: I will get you a cup of coffee, and I will take you for a short tour of the nearby terroir. Then we come back, and you can taste our wines. I would like you to give us a fair chance.'
Patrick gladly accepted. He felt he could use some time in the fresh air, and this woman had a positive effect on his state of mind. Soon she returned with two to-go cups of coffee, and he followed her outside. They got in her Jeep, and she drove off the driveway and turned onto the road.
'My name is Catherine, by the way,' she said, glancing over to Patrick.
'And mine is Patrick. You knew that already.' Patrick took a sip of his coffee.
'What brings you to Alsace, Patrick?' Catherine took a sharp turn onto a road leading up a hill.
'I'm sommelier at a restaurant on the coast of Flanders. I'm looking for a wine to pair with the first course of our new menu, which we will launch this fall.' Patrick ran his hand through his trimmed beard.
'What should this wine pair with?'
'The main ingredients are oysters, citrus and a hint of miso. It's not hard to find something that goes with it, but I want to find a combination that does not just blend in with the sweet, fishy, yet earthy taste. I want something that sparkles, that makes you feel alive.'
Catherine parked the Jeep on the side of the road, in the middle of a vineyard at the top of the hill. 'Have you considered a muscat?'
'I have, but so far I think all of them are too sweet. I'm looking for a very dry wine.'
Over the next half-hour, Catherine told Patrick all about her domaine, the terroir, and the vines. As a sommelier, Patrick had, of course, heard countless such pitches, and was only partly interested. But the fresh air and the pleasant morning sun helped clear his mind, and Catherine had a way of keeping his attention. It was not just Catherine's cheerful attitude that sparked his interest. Her smile was definitely not her only beautiful feature. Catherine was wearing a gray vest on top of tight white trousers that accentuated her round ass and strong thighs. She was absolutely a pleasure to watch.
The tour ended at the oldest vines on the terroir, a small plot of sylvaner that was planted over eighty years ago by Catherine's great-grandfather. She was visibly proud of her heritage, and even Patrick, who had seen hundreds of wineries in his lifetime, thought that vines like these were truly special.
After the tour, as Catherine drove them back, Patrick realized he felt reinvigorated and was looking forward to tasting what the domaine had to offer. They entered the tasting room, where an elderly couple was now tasting wine. Catherine joined her colleague behind the counter and placed a glass in front of Patrick.
'Now, for your list,' she said, looking him in the eye. 'I assume you are ready now?' she winked.
'I am,' Patrick said with certainty in his voice. 'Pinot gris, dry. You have three...'
Catherine took a bottle from a fridge under the counter, but hesitated before pouring. 'The cellar is quieter. Shall we go down? Then you can focus better,' Catherine suggested, just as three more people entered.
Once again, Patrick gladly accepted: wine had to be tasted in piece and quiet. And perhaps he was also happy to spend more time alone with Catherine, although he was not ready to admit that to himself. He followed Catherine through the door at the back of the room, passing through a small warehouse filled with boxes, and down a set of stairs. They entered a long cellar, the walls lined with both stainless steel barrels and wooden casks. Right in the middle stood a long oak table with five sturdy wooden chairs on either side. Catherine took off her vest and hung it on a rack near the door. Underneath, she wore a white blouse, tight enough to clearly outline her large bust. It was cut rather low, showing a lot of cleavage.
Patrick could not help himself but stare at the beautiful woman, but Catherine pretended not to notice. She opened a cupboard and placed a few glasses on the table, after which she grabbed three different bottles of pinot gris from a fridge and proceeded to, one-by-one, open them and pour them out in one of the glasses.
Then she turned to Patrick. 'Can I take your coat?'
Patrick flushed. He had been too engrossed in watching Catherine he had not thought of taking off his coat.
'Thank you,' he said as he took off his coat and handed it to her.
Catherine took his coat and hung it on the rack. Then she put the bottles back into the fridge, picked up the first glass and handed it to Patrick. 'This is our lightest, freshest pinot gris. No maturation in a cask, which the others do have. All are organic, of course.'
Patrick closed his eyes to concentrate, and brought the glass to his nose. He inhaled the fruity scent of the wine, and then proceeded to take a sip. The wine was indeed fresh, but had a lot of texture. The finish was full of energy. Not a bad start, he thought as he opened his eyes.
Catherine was standing right next to him, and as Patrick put his glass down, she handed him the second glass. 'This pinot gris comes from the terroir you saw this morning. It was matured in cask for four months.'
Again Patrick closed his eyes and concentrated to smell the wine, and then took a sip. This wine was more rich than the previous one, and the limestone of the terroir was present but not overwhelming. This was a very good wine, perhaps better than any pinot gris he had tasted over the last week. But at this moment it was not what he was looking for; it would blend in too much with the course we wanted to serve it with. Instead, he wanted something that would stand out.
He opened his eyes, finding Catherine standing even closer to him than before. As he put his glass down, he found himself looking down her cleavage.
Catherine did not notice Patrick's distraction, or perhaps more likely, pretended not to notice. Her elbow briefly brushed his side as she handed him the third glass.
'This is the richest of the three. Matured for nine months, and comes from the hill South of here.'
Patrick lifted the glass to his nose and inhaled, glancing once more at Catherine's magnificent chest before closing his eyes. He had to inhale a second time to regain his focus, and sipped. This wine was indeed richer still, powerful yet balanced. It even had a smoky note. However, it was a little sweeter than the previous two.
As he opened his eyes, Catherine was watching him intently. 'And?' she asked.
'Too sweet, I'm afraid.'
Catherine looked like she knew that already. 'What can I get next?' she asked as she stepped toward the fridge.
'Gewürztraminer, the one from the vines that we saw this morning,' Patrick replied. 'That is the driest you have, right?'
'Indeed.' Catherine took a bottle from the fridge, opened it, and poured a little in the last remaining empty glass. She bent over while doing so, squeezing her chest a little between her arms.
Patrick found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the wine he was tasting. He inhaled and sipped. Then inhaled and sipped once more, this time actually paying attention.
'Now we have covered everything on your list, right?' Catherine asked as he opened his eyes, not even awaiting his verdict.
'Yes, we have,' Patrick confirmed, realizing the gewürztraminer was indeed not what he was looking for. He felt sorry that this meant the tasting session had come to an end.
'May I suggest one more wine?'
'Of course,' Patrick said surprised.
Catherine retrieved another bottle from the fridge and brought it to the table, taking a few more glasses as well.
'This is a muscat, planted not far from here on a slope facing due East. I expect it is dryer than any other muscat you have tasted near here,' she said as she opened it, and poured not one but two glasses.
She picked one up and took a sip, making sure the wine was in good shape. Then she handed the other glass to Patrick. He closed his eyes once more, and smelled. The bouquet was assertive, as with many muscats. The taste, however, was nothing like he had expected. It was indeed, as Catherine had predicted, far dryer than any muscat he had recently tried. And the citrus-y finish lasted long.
'You're right!' he said, as he opened his eyes. 'This might be it.'
