My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [99]
The class begins and I’m so busy shooting daggers in Fletch’s direction that I completely miss the instructor’s name. The literature we’ve been handed calls her “the Wine Goddess,” so I decide to go with that.
Wine Goddess instructs us to raise our glass of champagne so we can toast to good wine and to not being lactose intolerant but I already drank my champagne because no one said not to.
Seriously, I paid sixty bucks a head for this; I will suck down whatever’s placed in front of me.
Wine Goddess’s assistant refills my glass, and after strict instructions on how to swirl and sniff, we proceed to toast and I drain my cup. Nice. Very dry. Or not very dry. I’m not entirely sure I know the difference. Perhaps I should listen instead of mentally skewering Fletch with the kabob sticks that are now twenty percent off?
Wine Goddess makes some kind of soften-up-the-room joke about how her job is about making pairings accessible to the proletariat, which causes Fletch to grab my sheet and scratch, “The proletariat don’t take wine-and-cheese classes.”
We’re instructed to hold up our glasses and swirl again. I follow suit and drink all I have. This is tasty. I can’t tell you why it’s tasty, but it is.
Then again, I never met a glass of wine I didn’t like.
We’re sampling something called Gruet Brut Blanc de Noirs. I’m unsure of the literal translation, but I will verify that it’s vaguely less burp-inducing than other champagne.190
Before we nibble on the first offering of cheese, we’re instructed to have another sip. I have to motion to Wine Goddess’s assistant for yet another refill, and she shoots me a murderous glance. Hey, you in the apron, listen up—when I am sixty dollars’ worth of drunk, then you’re allowed to get snarky. Till then, shut up and pour.
Wine Goddess instructs us on the proper way to hold a wineglass, which is by the stem only. The reason for this is you don’t want the heat from your fingers to alter the wine temperature. Frankly, I’ve always held my glass by the stem because I don’t like smudgy fingerprints, so I’m pleased to have been inadvertently right about something. Apparently the true wine snobs grasp nothing but the flat base of the glass, yet when I try this hold, I almost dump the rest of my champagne in my lap.
(Sidebar: The next time you watch any lowbrow reality show, pay attention to how all the girls hold their glasses. I guarantee each of them clasps it by the bowl. It’s crazy-making.)
We huff and swirl, huff and swirl. Wine Goddess quizzes us on what we smell, but all I can come up with is that my champagne smells like champagne with a few undertones of rage emanating from Apron Girl. Other people at the table suggest they taste sour apples and yeast. How the hell do they taste that?
We take our first bite of cheese, and ding, ding, ding, score! I was right! This is Gruyère, also known as Comté.191 We’re told these pair nicely because both are delicate and mellow. The champagne is acidic and acid is BFF with all the salt in the cheese. The cheese has a bit of a crunch to it, which is a relief because the last time I served Gruyère, I thought I might have sliced it on a dirty cutting board.192
We learn that the crunchy bits aren’t salt (or crumbs from a sandwich two lunchtimes ago) but sugar crystals known as lactase. “Sometimes there’s sugar in cheese?” I ask and Wine Goddess confirms this.
I poke Fletch. “See? The Swavery Grilled Cheese totally was a good idea.”193
“Keep working the stove in the middle of the night and I will make you sleep with a bell around your neck,” he replies.
Next up we sample the pairing of sauvignon blanc with goat cheese, but I already know how well they complement each other. However, Wine Goddess almost ruins this pairing for me as she makes us swish and hold the wine under our tongues to see what our sweet-tart receptors do. (Hint—saliva’s involved.) I fear I won’t be able to help myself from teaching everyone