Berkshire.Small, dried grains had been used as a pillow to hold a canapé which then found themselves stuck to the amuse-bouche and then in my mouth.
Politely, I spat them out.If it had been my late, great heroic luncher of a father, they’d have been swallowed. Entering the hall of a flat I lived in in London, ever peckish, he spotted a bowl of pot pourri and shoved a handful into his mouth. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I asked. ‘Oh,’ he spluttered, ‘I thought they were a bowl of those trendy new vegetable crisps.’ I think he swallowed them anyway.Back in the present and I ordered a bottle of Austrian Grüner Veltliner from the wonderful Domaine Ott, Fass 4 2017, to steady my nerves.
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