>”I’ll have a cosmo,” said the woman I waited on last night. We only have a beer and wine list, and I told her so.
“If you were in the mood for a cosmo, I’d suggest one of our rosés. We have several by the glass, and some have this great red fruitiness that–”
“NO,” she waved her hands around. “I don’t want sweet.” Said the woman who asked for a cosmo.
Rosés aren’t sweet. She’s thinking of spending her teenage years parked outside a DQ with a 40-oz. styro of Boone’s Farm warming up on the dashboard.
I brought her a taste anyway, of Chateau d’Oupia, a wonderful Languedoc rosé with a coy strawberry smile and creamy little tongue. A whisper of granite on the finish gives it elegance and beauty, keeps it from being too slutty.
“Nah,” said the woman. “I think I’ll just have this Chablis.” A Chablis that’s like licking an oyster shell dipped in lime juice.
You know, I give up listening to people tell me what the fuck they want. They don’t even know.