Pairing a Deception

by Nadine Nettmann

  Hudson looked at me. “Katie, what do you say? A blind tasting in anticipation for Tuesday?”

  I glanced at my glass of wine. “Although it would be great, I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m in the right mindset, and I have this Pinot Gris here that I’ve barely touched.” Being at the festival with Dean, I had taken it very easy on the drinking. I wanted to make sure everything went well and although I had a high tolerance, it wasn’t worth risking it.

  “The Pinot Gris can wait,” said Hudson. “A Master Sommelier offers you a chance to blind taste with him and you’re going to turn him down? You’re a different one, Katie Stillwell.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair. “I like being different.” I put the glass on the table. “And I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I just said I wasn’t in the right mindset. But let’s do this.”

  six

  pairing suggestion: gewürztraminer —monterey, california

  A popular wine for blind tasting due to its intense aromas such as lychee.

  Hudson waved over the waiter and pulled him close, whispering his wine orders.

  “I get to see your blind tasting skills in action. This will be a treat,” said Dean. He knew about my blind tasting group, but I had never gone through the process with him. “Nervous?”

  “No,” I lied, but even I could hear the tremor in my voice. I had never blind tasted in a one-on-one session with a Master Sommelier before. It would be unnerving to say the least, but the test was only days away and it would be good practice. “Okay, maybe a little.”

  “You’ll do great,” whispered Dean. “I know it.”

  Jocelyn returned to the table. “What did I miss?”

  “Hudson’s ordered wine and Katie’s going to tell him what it is.”

  “Wait, how?”

  I was about to respond, but I could tell Dean wanted to so I waited.

  “She’s going to taste and tell him the location.” He looked at me as if he was making sure he was right. “The type of wine, I mean the grape, and the year.”

  I nodded. Dean had paid attention when I told him about the blind tasting process.

  Jocelyn stared at me with admiration. “You go, girl. I want to see this.”

  I smiled, but I could already feel my lungs begin to tighten. I hoped the Masters wouldn’t be sitting this close on Tuesday.

  The waiter arrived with two glasses, one red and one white, and placed them on the table in front of me. I moved my Pinot Gris in front of Dean and stared at the two glasses.

  “Are you ready?” said Hudson. “Don’t freak out, but I’m already judging you.”

  “Seriously?”

  Hudson laughed. “Doesn’t matter. Ready?”

  I nodded. “Bring it.”

  He clicked the timer on his phone and I picked up the first glass, tuning out everything around me.

  “This is a clear white wine with a pale gold color and high concentration. There are no flaws on this wine.”

  I held the glass to my nose and took a deep breath, taking in all the aromas. “On the nose, apricot, peach, tangerine, honeysuckle, potpourri, and”—I paused as I discerned the spice—“gingerbread.”

  “On the palate.” I took a long sip and swished the wine around, the flavors intensifying as I did so. “On the palate, confirm the apricot, peach, tangerine, honeysuckle, potpourri, and gingerbread. Minimal acidity, full body, high alcohol, complexity medium plus.” I was already pretty sure it was a Viognier from California, but I needed to complete the process. Viognier was also grown in Condrieu in France, but it had a stone and granite quality. This one didn’t and had higher alcohol, which was characteristic of California wine.

  “Initial conclusion, this is a new world wine, one to three years.” I stared at the glass in my hand and swirled it, the golden liquid climbing the sides. “Possible varietals include a Chardonnay from California, a Viognier from California, and a Pinot Gris from Oregon.” Although I had options on where I could go with this, I felt confident it was a Viognier.

  “Final conclusion, this a 2016 Viognier from California, the Carneros area, quality level good.” I put the glass of white wine down and picked up the second glass. “This is a red wine with …” I continued through the process, my entire focus on the contents of the glass and not the audience around me.

  “Final conclusion, this is a 2015 Beaujolais from Morgon, France, quality level good.” I put the glass on the table and looked up at Hudson, my heart pounding. I noticed Dean and Jocelyn looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I kept my focus on Hudson.

  He stopped the timer and stared at me. “You really are a different one, Katie Stillwell.”

  “I’m going to continue to take that as a compliment. How did I do?”

  “How do you think you did?”

  I glanced at the glasses. I felt confident during the tasting, but it could have been a false confidence, brought on by the decision to tackle the wines without doubting myself. The first wine came across as a California Viognier and the Beaujolais had granite and cherries. I needed to trust my call. “I think I did well, but there’s always room for improvement.”

  Hudson motioned to the two wines. “You passed with flying colors. One is a 2016 Viognier from California and the other is a Beaujolais from Morgon.” He nodded at me. “I look forward to seeing you at the exam. Though, if you knock it out of the park with the six glasses like you just did with these two here, it will be a cake walk for you.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled as my confidence about Tuesday increased. I moved the two glasses to the side and returned to my Pinot Gris. My hand was shaking. At least it was steady when I went through the blind tasting routine. Maybe that’s how the test would be. By focusing and pushing away my anxiety, I was able to concentrate on the task at hand, but the anxiety was still waiting, so it came in once I was done. I could be okay with that.

  “The Palate,” Dean whispered in my ear, noting my nickname given to me by my blind tasting group.

  “That was neat,” said Jocelyn. “I never could do something like that.”

  “You could,” I replied, my heart still racing, though I could feel it slowing. “It’s training yourself to do it. You learn the different characteristics of each wine, and then the scents of fruits, flowers, and such, and then you look for them in the glass.”

  “Exactly,” said Hudson. “In fact, we have a blind tasting seminar on Saturday. You should attend,” he said to Jocelyn.

  She sat up straighter. “Are you hosting it?”

  Hudson’s attention was across the lobby. “Speaking of the festival, here comes Mr. Tinsley.”

  The man I saw earlier on stage with Hudson approached the table. “Mr. Wiley.”

  “Mr. Tinsley,” Hudson responded. “Won’t you join us?”

  “Thank you for the offer,” he said as he adjusted his round horn-rimmed glasses. “But I don’t have time.” He enunciated every word as he spoke, as if he had a slight British accent or had taken polishing lessons. “My full attention is needed at every turn this weekend.”

  “Surely you can join us for a drink. The seminars are done for the day and even all of the wine dinners must have finished by now.”

  Mr. Tinsley looked around, adjusted his glasses again, and took a seat. “I’ll stay for a few moments and then I must go.”

  “I’m glad,” said Hudson. “Let me introduce you around. This is Dean and Katie Stillwell.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” said Mr. Tinsley as he shook our hands. “You’re pouring for us on Sunday, correct? And Dean Stillwell, I believe you’re volunteering?”

  I suppressed a laugh at the mention of Dean having my name. “Correct on both counts,” I replied.

  “And this is …” Hudson hesitated as he motioned to Jocelyn.

  “Jocelyn Rivers,” she said.

  “It’s lovel
y to meet all of you. I trust you’re enjoying yourselves at the festival?”

  “Having a great time,” said Dean.

  “Me, too,” added Jocelyn, and she looked like she meant it. The earlier spill was in the past and I was glad. I took a sip of my Pinot Gris and relaxed into my chair, the blind tasting now successfully behind me.

  “What can I get you to drink, Mr. Tinsley?”

  “Nothing, I’m not staying.”

  “Come on, Tinsley, the more you drink, the better the festival gets.” Hudson glanced at him. “Not that the festival isn’t great already.”

  “Uh-huh, sure, Mr. Wiley. Watch it, buddy,” said Mr. Tinsley with a slight smirk. The look on Hudson’s face showed that Mr. Tinsley didn’t normally talk like that. “I’ll pass on the drink, thank you,” he added.

  Hudson nodded to me. “Katie’s a fellow sommelier.”

  “Really? Here in Santa Barbara?” Mr. Tinsley shifted in his seat to face me.

  “No, I’m up in the Bay Area. I work at a restaurant called Trentino.”

  Mr. Tinsley smiled. “Sounds delightful. Always a pleasure to meet another member of the wine community. Do you work in wine as well?” he asked of Dean and Jocelyn.

  “I’ve just embarked on a new opportunity,” said Jocelyn. “It’s a little complicated so I’m still waiting to see how it works out, but hopefully it does.” It was like she didn’t want to answer the question, but there was also something charming about her response.

  “What about you, Mr. Stillwell? Is wine part of your life?”

  Dean gave a nod. “Katie’s a part of my life and wine is her world. So yes, it’s part of my life, too.”

  Mr. Tinsley returned his attention to me. “Let’s talk about vino, since I have a quick moment and I enjoy meeting sommeliers. Tell me, what’s your favorite element about wine?”

  I loved questions like these, though this one was unique and not the usual one asking what bottle sparked my fascination with wine. “My favorite element,” I repeated. “That would be hard to narrow down to just one, but I love how it brings people together. I love the history of it and how it dates back centuries. I love how there’s a story in each and every bottle.”

  “She’s going to do well in life,” said Mr. Tinsley to Hudson. “She has the passion.”

  “Yes, I do,” I replied in an effort to stop the passive aside. I wasn’t a fan of when people talked about me as if I wasn’t right in front of them.

  “Yes,” said Hudson. “And she’s taking the test this week.”

  “Is that so?” said Mr. Tinsley as he turned his attention back to me. “Would this be the Master Sommelier Exam?”

  “Not yet. I’m taking the Advanced Exam on Tuesday.”

  “I’m proctoring the test,” added Hudson.

  Mr. Tinsley motioned to Hudson. “Perhaps buy him a drink. Get on his good side this weekend.” It was nice that Hudson was now the subject of the asides.

  “You know I’m a standup guy, especially when it comes to the exams. I never bend the rules on anything in life.”

  “I know, Mr. Wiley. It’s why I hired you.” Mr. Tinsley looked at me. “But getting on someone’s good side never hurts. Buy him some wine. Perhaps a nice Syrah.”

  “I can hear you,” said Hudson.

  Mr. Tinsley grinned. “I should get going, but it was lovely meeting you, Ms. Stillwell, Mr. Stillwell, Ms. Rivers. I’ll leave you to your drinks.” He stood up. “If we don’t happen to cross paths again this weekend, I do hope you enjoy the rest of the festival.”

  “I’m certain we will,” I replied. “It’s clearly very well planned and organized.”

  “Did you hear that, Mr. Wiley? It’s well planned.”

  “I never said it wasn’t, Tinsley,” replied Hudson.

  Mr. Tinsley smiled and walked away.

  “We go back a long time,” said Hudson. “He plans a great festival.”

  Jocelyn leaned toward him. “The blind tasting session you mentioned. Are you hosting it?”

  “I am,” replied Hudson. “You should attend. There’s a lot you can learn.”

  She smiled. “If I order a glass of wine for you right now, will you be able to tell me what it is?”

  Hudson leaned closer. “I might.”

  I looked at Dean. He seemed uncomfortable by the whole interaction, and he wasn’t alone in the feeling. I glanced at my watch. It was late and wine seminars started at ten o’clock in the morning. “This was a lot of fun, but unfortunately we have to go,” I said as I stood up.

  Dean placed two twenties on the table in front of Hudson. “This should cover it with tip. Thank you for the wine.”

  “What about these?” asked Jocelyn, as she pointed to the two glasses from the blind tasting. I had only taken small sips so they were nearly full.

  “You’re welcome to them.”

  “Perfect.” Jocelyn moved the glasses in front of her.

  “Night,” said Hudson. “Catch you in the a.m.” He returned to his conversation with Jocelyn.

  “They seem to be getting along now,” said Dean.

  “True,” I replied as we walked through the lobby, past the bellhop. “She was so desperate to talk to him and he wanted nothing to do with her, yet now he’s chatting like they’re good buddies.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind,” said Dean.

  “Or maybe the wine changed it for him.” I glanced back at the bar. Hudson and Jocelyn were still talking, closer than before. “Either way, it will be interesting to see how they are tomorrow.”

  seven

  pairing suggestion: barbera d’alba—piedmont, italy

  This red wine has low tannins with notes of cherry and strawberry and is best consumed young.

  It was close to nine o’clock in the morning as Dean stood near the door, already dressed in a white polo shirt and jeans.

  “You look like you’re ready for work.”

  Dean looked down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with jeans and a polo?”

  “Nothing. But it does remind me a little of your uniform. Are you ready to solve some crimes?”

  “I hope not,” replied Dean. “I’m on vacation. The only thing on my mind is breakfast.”

  “Nearly ready. Give me two seconds.” Even though I would probably come back up to the room after breakfast, I wanted to make sure I looked ready to face the day. The dining area would most likely be filled with guests going to the festival, and Hudson or Mr. Tinsley could be around. It was smart to look my best. I was already in my gray slacks and top, but I finished putting on eyeliner and ran a brush through my hair one more time. “Ready,” I said as I stepped into the room.

  “You look nice,” said Dean. “As always.”

  “You’re sweet. As always.”

  We walked into the hallway, the floral print wallpaper a nod to the classic charm of the hotel.

  “You could redecorate your apartment with this paper,” said Dean.

  “Shut it.”

  “Fine, I’ll put it in my apartment.”

  “Seriously?”

  Dean smiled. “Why not? I’ve been thinking of redecorating.”

  I looped my arm in his as we walked toward the L shape of the hallway where it turned toward the elevator.

  “Is it too much to hope that there’s something bland for breakfast?” I remarked.

  “Bland?” said Dean. “Don’t you mean something delicious and filled with flavor?”

  “Okay, not exactly bland, but just not greasy. I really hope they have oatmeal. That’s what I want.”

  “You’re weird,” said Dean as he nudged me.

  “Weird is awesome,” I replied.

  “Okay, I agree,” he said. “But come on. You mean you wouldn’t eat eggs and bacon if they have it downstairs? What if it’s the best eggs and bacon y
ou’ve ever tasted in your life? You’d be willing to miss that opportunity?”

  “But if I don’t taste them, I won’t know they’re the best eggs and bacon ever.” I put my hand up. “All I’m saying is if they have oatmeal, that’s what I’m going to eat.”

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  “What do you mean? Oatmeal is great and healthy for you.” I winked at Dean. “Also, a greasy breakfast, such as bacon, will affect your taste buds for the wine. I want to be ready to taste at the ten a.m. seminar. It’s all about white wines from Austria, like Grüner Veltliner, and I love those.” I glanced at him. “You might like Grüner. It’s kind of similar to Sauvignon Blanc.”

  “I like any wine that you’re introducing me to.”

  “Are you trying to win the best festival partner award? Because I think you’re going to get it easily.”

  We turned the corner and at the far end of the hallway near the carpeted stairs down to the lobby, a woman sat next to one of the doors in a deep sleep, her legs stretched out, her arms by her side, and her head propped back against the wall.

  “Looks like someone didn’t make it home last night,” said Dean.

  “Maybe she was too drunk to get to her room and decided to crash here instead,” I said.

  We passed the elevator and approached her, but as we got closer, I recognized her dark hair, her black cocktail dress, and the gold edges of her festival pass. It was Jocelyn. I quickened my pace, thinking I could help her get into her room, but as we approached, something didn’t look right. Perhaps it was the way she was slumped against the doorframe with a bottle of wine in her hand. Or maybe it was the fact that her face was pale, and not just in the way of someone feeling sick.

  “Dean.” I put my hand on his arm and stopped walking, only a few feet away.

  “I know,” he said as he moved forward, reaching her and crouching down.

  I ran the last few steps and joined him. “Jocelyn? Are you okay?” I touched her shoulder but recoiled as I already knew the answer.

  Dean held her wrist. “There’s no pulse.”