When R and I first met, he told me he liked wine, that it was a hobby. I figured that he had a tiny wine fridge where he kept his well-edited bottles and had made several trips into Napa and Sonoma. That to me said “hobby”. When out to dinner, I always let him order wine for me, and I almost always enjoyed his pick. Romantic dinners in with me cooking and him pouring were always a success. I enjoyed his commentary and knowledge.
It wasn’t until we decided to live together and move into a larger apartment that I fully realized his grape-madness. Left to my own devices with the movers as he was stuck in Columbus, OH at an emergency client strategy meeting, I met my match with his “hobby”. Fearful of letting it get too warm, I ran the AC a near-meat locker temperatures. Did I mention we were in the midst of a heat wave in June in Los Angeles? Right. Dozens of zins, primativos, riojas and cab savs were transported after dark when the sun wasn’t blistering away. My need for order and organization trumped his practicality of storing the extra wine that didn’t fit into his wine fridge in cardboard case boxes. Soon enough, one of my bookshelves was filled to the brim with bottles. It’s been fun to peek at them from time to time, and think of what to pair them with or what their future holds for them…what special occasion or group of friends will enjoy them with us. Really, it’s a hobby built on future moments.