Late Harvest Havoc Read Free

aux épices douces .
    â€œAh, our delicately spiced suckling pig is a fine choice. It’s precisely the dish that I—”
    â€œExcellent.” The winemaker grinned at the waiter, pretending to be pleased that they had the same selection in mind. Virgile, meanwhile, was still trying to decide between beef tartar and the three-fish sauerkraut.
    â€œThat is the house specialty,” the maître d said.
    â€œLet’s honor Alsace. Right, boss?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Benjamin said with a nod. “Provided, of course, that the three fish were caught in the River Ill or, failing that, in the Rhine.”
    â€œAlas, sir, I cannot guarantee that. May I leave you in the hands of our sommelier, who will guide you in—”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary,” Benjamin interrupted. He ordered a Frédéric Mallo grand cru Rosacker vieilles vignes . “A two thousand five, if you please.”
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    â€œAnd water for you, Virgile? You must be very thirsty, even penitential, after your lengthy conversation in the confessional today.”
    â€œDon’t blame me, boss. If you remember, I answered the call. I wasn’t making it. Before I left Bordeaux, I met this German chick who was harvesting grapes in Beauséjour Bécot. I was just helping her out, and now she won’t stop calling.”
    â€œRight. You were just helping her out. Whatever you say.”
    â€œShe’s a real babe, but—”
    â€œHow you talk about women, boy. You met some chick who’s a babe? Come now, Virgile. You have a refined palate, and you love wines with great subtlety, and yet you talk like a stable boy who tumbles in the hay with anything in a skirt.”
    â€œBoss! You don’t give me enough credit.”
    â€œWell, then, prove me wrong.”
    As the winemaker and his assistant waited for their dishes to arrive, the pale yellow riesling with green reflections was awakening their senses. Benjamin changed the subject and started describing the wine’s aromas of flowers and spices. Virgile, for his part, commented on the peppery notes coming through in the finish.
    â€œHere we have the typical features of Rosacker,” the winemaker said, chewing his riesling with satisfaction. “This wine comes from heavy clay soil with limestone and dolomite pebbles.”
    â€œLots of minerality,” the sommelier pointed out.
    Benjamin sniffed the fragrances emanating from his glass, aware that the sommelier was watching him intently.
    â€œI’d say lime, boss. Maybe a hint of tangerine.”
    â€œYes, complex citrus aromas. It’s very elegant, practically ethereal. Did you know the name Rosacker comes from the wild roses that used to grow around the vineyards?”
    Finally, the sommelier ventured, “At the risk of being mistaken, aren’t you Benjamin Cooker?”
    The winemaker simply smiled, and with a nod, Virgile confirmed what the young man was thinking.
    â€œWe are very honored that you have chosen the Kammerzell House during your stay in Alsace, Mr. Cooker.”
    â€œI trust we will enjoy ourselves here,” Benjamin said, taking a sip.
    At that moment, a beam of light ran through his riesling, accentuating the golden color. Late autumn promised to be flamboyant in this land of Alsace, where the grape harvest sometimes extended all the way to Christmas. Too bad Strasbourg was only a stopover. His thoughts flashed back to the tour guide, Jeanne, so vibrant one minute and dead the next.
    â€œYou seem lost in thought,” Virgile said. “Are you thinking about that woman who died in the cathedral?”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact, I am. Doesn’t it strike you as strange, Virgile, to die in a place like that—a cathedral? And the woman was so well informed. It’s a shame she couldn’t live longer to share her knowledge with more people.”
    â€œEducated or