Dear Feastlings,
When I had more gumption than I now have, I’d ride my bike daily, regardless of the heat. I rode alone a lot, but on the weekends I’d ride with my two friends with regular-people jobs, more nine-to-fivey than mine. We were all right at that overlap of strong and foolish, and we’d ride even when it was hot and miserable out, and the one who was unaccountably able to look on the bright side of nearly everything would start talking in early August about how fall was nearly here. The light has changed, she’d say, and the other two of us would mock her relentlessly.
Now, years later, I’m not sure whether I’m no longer strong enough or no longer foolish enough to ride when it’s 95 degrees and humid before 9:00 am rolls around, but whichever it is, I won’t be out there until the mercury dips a bit further. That said, I’ll be darned if she wasn’t right. The sun has moved further south, the light is a little bit more slanty and a little bit less intense, and it feels like the metaphorical Governor may call to stay our summer execution by weather.
All that said, we know it’s still hot out, which is why this Saturday’s wine tasting features two whites and two reds, all light and clean and refreshing and perfect to enjoy while we wait for the sun to shift a little further, and the afternoons to soften a bit. These are poolside wines, but they’re also wines to enjoy indoors whilst considering how tired of the outdoors we are by this point in the season. They’re all from California, and it’s nice to imagine being there in a cool Pacific breeze, raising a glass to our good fortune that we’re not in Arizona, at least not in this brief fantasy.
I also remind you that Ferragosto falls on Friday this week, and while we’re filling up, if you’re the sort who doesn’t want to eat when everyone else is eating, there’s still room for you to join us. The menu looks like this:
So we hope to see you at one or the other, or both, or just whenever it suits you. In the meantime, look at the slant of the light tomorrow morning. It’s practically fall.
Your buddy,
Doug