Friday, March 30, 2012


Last night, my beau took me to MiLa for dinner. I had previously had their tasting menu with my mother when she visited earlier this month, and I was pretty excited about tasting the menu again. We ordered our 6 courses to be paired with wines; I really enjoyed everything. The final course came with Abita root beer sorbet, which I hope I can talk my friend Lindsay into recreating.

The third course was a seared scallop, and it was paired with a “French-style” chardonnay. Beau looked quizzically at the bottle, which was entirely en francais, and asked the waiter what “French-style” meant. I responded, “not buttery and oaky and gross.”

It reminded me of another date I had, several lifetimes ago.



"do you prefer red or white?"

he asked politely

genuinely inquisitive

"either, as long as its light"

was my honest response

the waiter brought

an unfamiliar bottle

to our table

and as I swallowed

the thick, buttery tones

with hints of grapefruit

I guessed he knew his wines

about as well as he would know

my bed.

5 June 2003

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