Michael Davidow's Blog: The Henry Bell Project - Posts Tagged "montepulciano"
In Vino Veritas
“Right. Was it Chianti wine?”
“What?”
“Chianti wine.”
“Beats me, buddy.”
“Some prefer Montepulciano,” the grand jury man advised.
Did you ever make a mistake, then have to correct yourself? Only a few days ago, I advised the entire planet that Bell drank scotch. Someone saw that, and accused me (hmm) of trying too hard to prove that my hero is (well…) grittier than (ahem) Don Draper (whoever he is). So for the record: yes, Bell does drink scotch. But he also drinks wine.
He is actually hung over from too much wine, when he meets Chan Peterson on Sixth Avenue. He and Paula drink something “cheap” and “Italian” when he returns from California. Peterson finishes a bottle for him, at the old Brasserie (I shouldn’t call it that, because it still exists) (but it isn’t like they save me a table, these days). And he is certainly interested when Bertie Kahn tells him about the “dago restaurant in Rutland” where Pooch probably gets his stock while staying in Vermont.
As for what Bell prefers: though he does not seem particular, our best indication is “claret.”
So, for those of you kind enough to care about these things, please show your support for Henry (and grit in general) by buying (and drinking) a red, with tall shoulders.
And your author promises to get serious again in another posting, soon.
“What?”
“Chianti wine.”
“Beats me, buddy.”
“Some prefer Montepulciano,” the grand jury man advised.
Did you ever make a mistake, then have to correct yourself? Only a few days ago, I advised the entire planet that Bell drank scotch. Someone saw that, and accused me (hmm) of trying too hard to prove that my hero is (well…) grittier than (ahem) Don Draper (whoever he is). So for the record: yes, Bell does drink scotch. But he also drinks wine.
He is actually hung over from too much wine, when he meets Chan Peterson on Sixth Avenue. He and Paula drink something “cheap” and “Italian” when he returns from California. Peterson finishes a bottle for him, at the old Brasserie (I shouldn’t call it that, because it still exists) (but it isn’t like they save me a table, these days). And he is certainly interested when Bertie Kahn tells him about the “dago restaurant in Rutland” where Pooch probably gets his stock while staying in Vermont.
As for what Bell prefers: though he does not seem particular, our best indication is “claret.”
So, for those of you kind enough to care about these things, please show your support for Henry (and grit in general) by buying (and drinking) a red, with tall shoulders.
And your author promises to get serious again in another posting, soon.
