How I learned (and am still learning) to drink*

*Retroposted from a year-old diary

Like many emergent vinophiles, I was raised to the flavor of Bordeaux. My father's wine cellar was stocked with strictly French labels - from mid-range Chardonnays to once-a-decade Chablis. And like most children, I saw my father's passion for the splendorous fruit of the vine as little more than an embarrassment.

After my first and second trip Italy I returned loaded down with tales of wanton escapades and a few bottles of cheap Chianti. The full-bodied and spicy wine sent heat waves down my legs. Delicious in its capacity to recall the thick Tuscan dusk, and my first tinglings of womanhood.

I urged my dad to explore the vineyards I'd romped through those summers away, but my enthusiasm went unmatched.

Now, years later, and minus my dad, I'm an avid wine drinker, and blossoming connoisseur. Was it there all along, coiled into my DNA along with my wide hips and curly hair, or did he somehow manage to instill in me an appreciation for the complexity of a good bottle before he took off for paradise (where fountains spout Veuve Clicquot) ? Have five years in Europe (where wine-drinking is neither limited by law nor exempt from a proper meal) got into my blood? Dad could, after all, successfully pair a Gewürztraminer with a plate of kung pao chicken. For whatever reason, I'm grateful for the wake-up call, and sorry we can no longer share thoughts over a glass of anything.

I'm now felicitously enrolled in the Italian Sommelier Association's intensive course, and sipping regularly on Thursday evenings.

Towering, blond Daniela Scrobogna takes the microphone. After a thorough visual examination, she urges us to inhale deeply, and be transported to some other place or time. With the measured devotion of Dante's Vita Nova she leads us through a voyage of taste.

We sip. We chew. We let in a slow rush of air and send it sweeping around our entire mouths. We swallow. We chew again. Inhale. Exhale.

The first glass we tried was a Franciacorta Bellavista Cuvée Brut, a precious spumante from the so-called Champagne region of Italy. I tasted a lingering adieu of pineapple. It was divine. I hope they're serving that in heaven too.