- Musings
- October 30, 2017
The Golden Pussy
Somewhere in the South, sometime in the 1980s
There is no room at the inn when I arrive in one of America’s great cities. A congress of oceanographers has taken over and all that is left is a motel. I check in and am introduced to Buddy, a hefty fellow with a large shotgun who escorts me to my room “because we had a murder here last week and we want our customers to be safe.” Once in my room, I note that there is only a small chain lock on the door.
I rearrange the objects on the night table, inadvertently move the telephone. Underneath the phone lives the largest cockroach I have ever seen. It does a sideways scuttle, the table is too small to even attempt killing the creature, and I am not going to call Buddy. The best I can do is move the table and hope that the insect will not decide to come into bed
I dress for the evening’s event.
A magnificent tasting dinner in one of America’s most prestigious country clubs. Black tie, long dresses, and a tour of France’s great vineyards, including Champagne, Alsace, the Loire, and Burgundy. The Burgundy is a Volnay from Domaine de la Pousse d’Or, a grand vintage, served from magnums. The club’s chef had been impeccable, faxes back and forth, me explaining the wines, chef explaining the dishes he thought would best compliment the grapes.
A splendid evening. The wines and the food both sing in harmony. The chef comes out and bows to well-deserved applause. The president of the club says that all the wines are delicious, but the best, the brightest, the most glorious, was the Pussy d’Or. It could have slipped by, but half the audience speaks French, it is the end of the evening, and glasses are raised to the Golden Pussy.
What am I to respond? Only that the owner of the domaine would be so happy to hear that his best Volnay has given so much pleasure to such a distinguished group.
