Often referred to as the same grape as California’s Zinfandel,
the subject is up for debate.
-
I arrived early at Trentino the next morning. Although I worked at the restaurant, it was also where my blind tasting group met twice a week and tested each other on wines. The group consisted of Certified Sommeliers preparing for the Advanced Exam, the next step in the Master Sommelier progress and significantly harder than the Certified. Actually, I shouldn’t say that we were all preparing for the Advanced; Jackson was already an Advanced Sommelier but still attended our group. He said it was a way to practice for his upcoming Master’s exam, but I think he liked helping us and we appreciated his knowledge and experience.
Our group met as the restaurant opened for lunch, but the Monday crowd was always light, which made it easy for us to take over the private dining room. There was a second, though much larger, room if the restaurant ever needed us to move but in the two years we had been meeting, it hadn’t been a problem.
Bill was waiting at the table as I entered. He was my manager at the restaurant, the one who organized the tasting group, and always the first to arrive.
“Morning!” he said cheerfully.
“Morning,” I replied as I carried the bottle of wine I had brought, its identity hidden by a paper bag. Each member of the group would take a turn to audibly identify one of the blind wines, followed by each of us agreeing or debating the call.
I poured the wine into the second glass at each of the five places, the first glass already filled with Bill’s wine.
The door opened behind me and Jackson walked in, followed by Darius.
Although I compared everyone in my life to a wine, I didn’t for my tasting group. Since we met twice a week to identify wines, it would have muddied the waters too much to relate them to varietals as well. So they were all just friends. Except for Kurt, who had yet to arrive. He was a California Zinfandel, but that was because we briefly dated before I joined the tasting group. A red wine with a raspberry jammy quality and a hint of pepper. Sweet but had some spice. Then again, didn’t we all.
“Someone’s late,” said Bill with a smile. “We’ll give him five minutes before we start.”
Darius and Jackson started pouring.
“I vote we switch his glasses around.” Darius pointed to Kurt’s setting. “Serves him right for slacking.”
The door swung open and Kurt walked in. “Sorry I’m late.”
“I was beginning to think you’d left us,” said Jackson.
“Or died,” added Darius.
“Please no more deaths,” I muttered.
The group stared at me.
“Did someone die?” asked Bill.
“Yes,” I replied as a shiver went through me. “Last night. At the dinner I went to at Paul Rafferty’s house.”
“Who died?”
“Cooper. Paul’s assistant. He fell down the stairs. It was terrible. Though, now …” I paused, uncertain if I should reveal my suspicions about it not being an accident.
“He was a nice guy. I’ve met him a few times when he joined Paul,” said Bill.
“I’m sorry to hear about Cooper, but does death follow you everywhere?” quipped Kurt as he poured his glasses. “Should we be worried?”
I looked at Kurt. He wasn’t smiling. “No.”
“This is the second one in a few months. Could’ve fooled me.” He stared at me when he said it, the tone of his voice flat and even. This was out of character for him. I knew him well enough to sense that something was very wrong.
“You okay, Kurt?” asked Bill. So I wasn’t the only one who thought that he was acting differently.
“Perfect.” Kurt smiled but his grin was a knowing one. It was the same one he wore when he approached tables nightly as a waiter at Greco’s, an Italian restaurant a few miles from Trentino. It was also the same expression he wore when I broke it off with him, as he tried to hide the pain I had caused. While his game face could fool others, it was like an open book to me.
“Spill it, Kurt.” I waited for him to reply.
He shook his head as his smile faded. “They’ve cut my hours at Greco’s. Looks like I need to start looking for an additional gig.” His eyes flicked to Bill as dread washed through me. Although I adored Kurt as a friend, our romantic history would not be an ideal situation at work.
“You got anything here, Bill?”
Bill winked. “We might be able to find you some shifts. I can’t promise it’ll be a lot, but it’ll be something.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“Shall we get started?” I interjected. “There are five glasses of wine here that are begging to be identified.”
“Chomping at the bit, are we?” said Bill.
I smiled without emotion. “Just keeping us focused.”
“I agree, let’s start,” replied Jackson as he picked up a glass. “I’ll go.”
Jackson went through the grid, identifying the wine first by its color and structure, then by its scent, and finally its taste. We would have to do this for six wines at the Advanced Exam and all under a time limit. The most important part, at least for me, was to keep calm under the pressure.
I focused on the wine as I mentally explored the three possible varietals. Sancerre, Grüner Veltliner, and a dry Riesling.
“Final conclusion,” said Jackson. “This is a 2015 Sancerre from Sancerre, France.”
“Anyone want to disagree?”
“I do,” I replied.
The whole group turned to me.
“What do you call it?” asked Bill.
“A Grüner Veltliner from Kremstal,” I replied, noting a wine from Austria that was similar to the Sauvignon Blanc–based Sancerre. “I felt like there was white pepper. It’s Grüner Veltliner.”
Darius picked up his glass. It was the first indication that I was wrong. Darius had brought this wine and knew what it was. If I had been right, he would have just sat there. But picking up the glass and smelling it meant he was looking for the white pepper that wasn’t necessarily there.
“Anyone else?” asked Bill.
“I’m going to go with Sancerre,” said Kurt.
“Same,” said Bill.
“Never mind.” I sniffed the wine again, noting the lime. “I’m going to go with Sancerre, too.”
“Okay, the reveal.”
Darius held up the bottle covered with a paper bag, which he pulled off to reveal a Grüner Veltliner from Kremstal, Austria.
“Gotta trust yourself. You were right the first time.”
I gritted my teeth, annoyed that I had changed my call.
“You’re the Palate,” said Darius, a nickname the group gave me a year ago due to my blind tasting skills. “It’s not like you to falter like that.”
“I know. I’m just rattled.”
“About Cooper?”
“Yes.” And Kurt, I wanted to interject, but I left it. This wasn’t a scenario where I needed all of my points on the table.
“When you’re in that test, there are going to be a hundred different things that will rattle you. You can’t let them get to you,” said Jackson.
“I know,” I replied as I picked up the glass and took a sip of the Grüner Veltliner. There was the white pepper, lime, grapefruit, and strong acidity. I should have been confident in my call.
“You still have several months. You’ll be able to master your nerves,” continued Jackson. “You guys are signed up for the next exam, right?” He motioned to me, Kurt, and Darius.
We all nodded.
“You’re continuing to study theory, right? It’s a lot different from the Certified. The bar is set pretty high. Whatever theory you had before, dive deeper into it now. You know the main rivers, now learn the tributaries. You’ve studied the regions, m
ake sure you know the classic producers in each one.”
Kurt held up his phone. “I’m doing my flash cards all the time.” He swiped to the next screen to display another electronic flash card.
Darius. “Me, too.”
Jackson looked at me.
I decided to reply honestly. “Kind of. I’m compiling more and more flash cards, I think I have two thousand now, but I’m not fully studying yet.”
“Katie.”
“I know, I know. I looked at them briefly last night, but I’m going to focus on studying soon. Like this weekend. In fact, I’ll take my binder with me to the park. I like it there, the facts seem to stick.”
“Binder?” asked Kurt.
“Yeah, that’s where I keep my flash cards.”
“That’s archaic. Why don’t you switch to electronic ones like the rest of us?”
I looked at Kurt. “What’s wrong with the paper ones? Not everyone uses the flash card programs.
“You’re making more work for yourself.”
“Don’t critique my learning methods. We each have our own ways.”
“Okay,” said Bill. “Let’s keep this tasting going. Katie, you want to go next?”
“Sure.” I picked up the next glass and took a deep breath in an effort to focus myself before I began. Calm, cool, and collected. They were not descriptors that portrayed the real me behind my game face, but I was going to have to become them. But most importantly, I needed to trust myself.
eight
pairing suggestion: muscadet—loire valley, france
A dry white wine made from Melon de Bourgogne grapes
and left sur lie (on the lees), which creates a rich and creamy feel.
-
When the tasting group ended, I opened the door of the private dining room. Lunch was not a busy time at Trentino, with most people selecting dinner as their meal of choice at the restaurant, but I noticed Paul Rafferty in a corner booth.
“Paul’s here today?” I whispered to Bill as we stood near the door. “Does he usually come for lunch?”
“No. Not that I can recall. He doesn’t look well. His health has been declining the last year or so, and maybe with Cooper’s death … I don’t know.”
Paul’s shoulders were down and he stared at the table as he twirled a fork on the tablecloth. Not surprising for him to look crestfallen since his assistant had just died. I would offer my condolences again. That’s the least I could do.
I approached the table. The vigor that Paul always exuded was gone, replaced not by a lack of energy, but a dark one. He sat staring, barely blinking. There was an uneaten steak on his plate. I don’t think he had even taken a single bite of it, but I could tell from the way the juices had congealed on the plate that it had been there a while.
“Paul,” I managed to stumble out. He looked up, his eyes missing the usual spark of excitement. I had approached his table many times over the years, but I had never seen him like this. “I mean, Mr. Rafferty.”
“Katie.” He stared blankly at me. “Don’t,” he said.
“Oh, sorry.” I took a step back.
“No, I mean don’t call me that. To you, I am Paul. There’s no need for pretense. Especially now.” His attention fell to the unopened wine menu on the table. “I’m sorry, it’s too early for me to drink, but thank you.”
“I’m not even …” I was about to say working, but it didn’t matter. I would get him a drink if he needed one. “Paul, I know I said it last night, but I want to say it again. I’m so sorry about Cooper.”
Paul’s gaze left the table and he stared across the restaurant, looking nowhere in particular. “Cooper worked for me the past ten years. I don’t know what to do without him. I thought coming here would make me feel better.” He motioned around the restaurant. “But even Trentino seems dreary today.”
“Mondays are pretty light overall, but if you come back for dinner, it’ll be much busier.”
Paul shook his head back and forth. “I just don’t understand it.”
“I know, it’s not fair.”
“No, I mean I don’t know why he went down into the cellar to look at the other bottle. I didn’t tell him to get more wine. I don’t understand.”
I took a sharp breath and glanced around the restaurant. All the tables around us were unoccupied. “Paul, there’s something I need to tell you. I didn’t want to share it last night in front of everyone, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I ever would.”
“What? What wouldn’t you tell me?”
It felt strange, standing there at the table at Trentino but instead of delivering wine, I was about to deliver unwelcome news. It was as though I was betraying my job, and I didn’t like it. I glanced over my shoulder one more time and then motioned to the seat across from him. “May I?”
“Please.”
I sank into the booth.
Paul’s forehead creased with deep lines as he waited for me to speak. “What is it?”
“I know why Cooper went into the cellar to look at the other bottle.”
Paul shook his head. “Why?”
“Because of what I told him earlier that evening.” This was it. I was about to ruin his dreams and ruin his special dinner, though with Cooper’s death, it was already in shambles. I could keep the information about the wine being counterfeit to myself, but I wanted to tell him. I needed to tell him. Because I had started to wonder if Cooper’s death wasn’t just an accident.
“Mr. Rafferty. I mean, Paul. The bottle we opened at dinner last night. The 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu.”
“Yes?”
“Cooper went into the cellar because I told him the wine was counterfeit.”
Paul’s face changed from grief into confusion. “Why would you tell him that?”
“Because—” I took a deep breath. “Because it’s true.”
Paul blinked slowly as the words sunk in.
“I knew the moment I picked up the glass. The wine was too new to be from 1975 and to be honest, I don’t think it was from Burgundy at all.” I explained how the indicators didn’t match an older wine.
Paul stared at me, not moving. “This whole thing keeps getting worse.” He shook his head and breathed out. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“With Cooper’s death—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Before then. When you poured the bottle. At dinner. Why didn’t you tell me then?”
My gaze fell to the table. “That bottle meant so much to you. You were so happy to finally open a 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu. I didn’t want to take that experience away. To rob you of that joy.”
“Instead I’d already been robbed, or at least my wallet had been.” He stared at the uneaten steak in front of him. “Nineteen thousand dollars for a bottle of nothing. To add further insult to injury, Cooper is dead.”
“I’m so sorry. Both about Cooper and about the wine. I’d like to say you could contact the seller and get your money back, but with the wine gone, unfortunately so is the evidence. I don’t think you could pursue anything.”
Paul nodded.
“I should let you eat.” I stood up from the booth.
Paul looked up at me. “No, I don’t like that idea.”
“What?”
“That I can’t pursue anything.” He shook his head. “Would you be able to tell if another bottle was counterfeit?”
“Maybe. As long as the indicators are there. Or should I say, not there. I mean, yes. Possibly.”
“Good. Sit down.”
I glanced around the restaurant and then slid back into the booth.
Paul pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward. “I don’t like that I was tricked. Not just out of my money, but also my pride. I was cheated.” He motioned to me. “You know wine. You knew that bottle was counterfeit and you can help m
e get to the bottom of this. What do you think? I’ll make it worth your time.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“How about my cellar?”
“Mr. Rafferty … Paul. I can take a look at the bottles you have, but unless they were opened, I don’t know if I could tell if they are counterfeit. The people who do this are very good at duplicating labels or even refilling older bottles, which is what I think might have happened with the Chateau Clair Bleu.” I put up my hand. “And before you say anything, I’m not going to open up the bottles in your cellar. I would assume that most, if not all, of them are legit.”
Paul nodded.
I took a breath. “Even the one Cooper wanted to take a look at. The second bottle from the auction. I wouldn’t want to open it in case it was real. I don’t want to take that risk.”
“I understand,” said Paul. “But what if you look into the bottle that I already bought and opened. The 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu. Find out who is to blame.”
“And then what? I can’t stand there and accuse them. That won’t go over well. And I …” My voice fell away. I couldn’t tell him that I had my wine reputation to worry about. I didn’t know how that would sound.
“No, you wouldn’t have to accuse them at all. Find out who’s behind it and then I’ll go after them with legal action.” Paul’s expression was full of hope and no matter what I thought about the offer, I was already involved in some way.
I took a breath. But I had no idea how to get to the bottom of wine fraud and I needed to spend all of my free time picking up extra shifts. I had to make sure I was able to pay my bills. “Although I would love to, I have my job here and I’m studying to take the Advanced Sommelier Exam later this year. I don’t know how much time I would have to look into the wine.”
“I’ll pay you a month of Cooper’s salary,” Paul interjected. “It’ll take me at least that long to find a new assistant.”
I didn’t know how much Cooper earned, but I was certain it would be enough to help with a bill or two. And if it only took me a few days to figure it out, it wouldn’t affect my work or studying. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it. I need to manage it around the time I’m here at Trentino, but I’ll help you.”
Uncorking a Lie Page 5
