I've talked to some wine professionals in US restaurants lately about what's
tough in their work. A popular complaint is the occasional wine consumers,
with big collections and so on, who like to show off at sommeliers' expense.
In past decades they'd send back bottles as a matter of show, a couple of
sommeliers mentioned. That fad has passed, but not the sentiment behind it.
I imagine that no one here behaves like that, but it is a real syndrome.

Not all sommeliers know Poe's classic story, "The Cask of Amontillado," but
it struck me that they would be an apt audience for it. In the story, the
blustery wine connoisseurship of Fortunato (who is both powerful and
abusive) is used to trap him into a nasty doom, by someone he has repeatedly
wronged (Montresor). Below is an archival link, in case you know any
hardworking sommeliers who might appreciate knowing about it.

http://www.literature.org/authors/po...ontillado.html

"Max Hauser" > schrieb :


> I've talked to some wine professionals in US restaurants lately about
> what's tough in their work. A popular complaint is the occasional wine
> consumers, with big collections and so on, who like to show off at
> sommeliers' expense. In past decades they'd send back bottles as a matter
> of show, a couple of sommeliers mentioned. That fad has passed, but not
> the sentiment behind it. I imagine that no one here behaves like that, but
> it is a real syndrome.
>
> Not all sommeliers know Poe's classic story, "The Cask of Amontillado,"
> but it struck me that they would be an apt audience for it. In the
> story, the blustery wine connoisseurship of Fortunato (who is both
> powerful and abusive) is used to trap him into a nasty doom, by someone he
> has repeatedly wronged (Montresor). Below is an archival link, in case
> you know any hardworking sommeliers who might appreciate knowing about it.
>
> http://www.literature.org/authors/po...ontillado.html
>

no hostility intended, but your point is?

On Mon, 22 Aug 2005 15:32:16 -0700, "Max Hauser"
> wrote:

>http://www.literature.org/authors/po...ontillado.html

What I really like about that page is the Google ads thrown up.

I wonder how many punters would be in the mood for buying wine, or
corporate wine tasting, after that story?
--
Steve Slatcher
http://pobox.com/~steve.slatcher

In article >, says...
>
>
>"Max Hauser" > schrieb :

[SNIP]
>
>no hostility intended, but your point is?

The point that I got was, that if I ****-off the sommelier, do NOT follow him
down to the sub-cellar to taste ANY Sherry! :-)

Now, off to find my Amontillado...

Hunt

"Jens Jensen" in ...
>
> no hostility intended, but your point is?
>

Sorry, from the question I may have expressed it poorly. I hope that this
will do better!

I was talking to a particular sommelier about an established phenomenon, in
the United States, of brash or heavy-handed wine connoisseurs who (though
perhaps truly knowledgeable) like to deliberately put down sommeliers, clash
egos with them, etc. I have witnessed this myself. One technique of doing
so in the past was for the customer to spuriously declare bottles "bad" and
demand that the house replace them. My questions to restaurant wine people
about their work have brought up these points repeatedly. This particular
sommelier had grown up with wine and was knowledgeable and self-possessed
about it, and described his own tactful approaches to that situation, which
he said definitely arises with some small minority of customers. I suddenly
thought of the arrogant wine collector in Poe's story, and asked the
sommelier if he knew it. He did not, so I dug up that link to forward. And
copied this newsgroup also, in case of interest.

If you can envision a competent retail wine professional whose job requires
dealing with little indignities from the occasional arrogant customer, you
might see why that sommelier resonated with Poe's story.

-- Max

You might know the sommelier in my last posting, Hunt, as he's local to you.

If interested, please email me at the inferable address in the header. (The
first address for you that I tried after some research has bounced.)

-- Max

Slightly modernized:

THE thousand injuries of Lipton I had borne as I best could, but when
he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the
nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to
a threat. AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively
settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved
precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with
impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its
redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make
himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Lipton
cause to doubt my good will. I continued as was my wont, to smile in
his face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was at the thought
of his immolation.
He had a weak point -- this Lipton -- although in other regards he was
a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his
connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit.
For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and
opportunity to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian
MILLIONAIRES. In painting and chemistry, Lipton, like his countrymen ,
was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this
respect I did not differ from him materially; I was skilful in the
Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.
It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the
carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with
excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley.
He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress and his head was
surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him,
that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.
I said to him -- "My dear Lipton, you are luckily met. How remarkably
well you are looking to-day! But I have received a case of what passes
for Pepiere Muscadet, and I have my doubts."
"How?" said he, "Pepiere Muscadet? A case? Impossible ? And in the
middle of the carnival?"
"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full
Pepiere price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be
found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."
"Pepiere Muscadet!"
"I have my doubts."
"Pepiere Muscadet!"
"And I must satisfy them."
"Pepiere Muscadet!"
"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Tomassi. If any one has a
critical turn, it is he. He will tell me" --
"Tomassi cannot tell Pepiere Muscadet from B & G Vouvray."
"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your
own."
"Come let us go."
"Whither?"
"To your vaults."
"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you
have an engagement Tomassi" --
"I have no engagement; come."
"My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with
which I perceive you are afflicted . The vaults are insufferably damp.
They are encrusted with nitre."
"Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Pepiere Muscadet!
You have been imposed upon; and as for Tomassi, he cannot distinguish
Vouvray from Muscadet."
Thus speaking, Lipton possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask of
black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered
him to hurry me to my palazzo.
There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in
honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the
morning and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house.
These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate
disappearance , one and all, as soon as my back was turned.
I took from their sconces two flashlights, and giving one to Lipton
bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into
the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him
to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the
descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the
Williamss.
The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled
as he strode.
"The pipe," said he.
"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white webwork which gleams
from these cavern walls."
He turned towards me and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that
distilled the rheum of intoxication .
"Nitre?" he asked, at length
"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough!"
"Ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh!
-- ugh! ugh! ugh!
My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.
"It is nothing," he said, at last.
"Come," I said, with decision, we will go back; your health is
precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy as
once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will
go back; you will be ill and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is
Tomassi" --
"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I
shall not die of a cough."
"True -- true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming
you unnecessarily -- but you should use all proper caution. A draught
of this Medoc will defend us from the damps."
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of
its fellows that lay upon the mould.
"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me
familiarly, while his bells jingled.
"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us."
"And I to your long life."
He again took my arm and we proceeded.
"These vaults," he said, are extensive."
"The Williamses," I replied, "were a great numerous family."
"I forget your arms."
"A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent
rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel."
"And the motto?"
"Finding Nemo"
"Good!" he said.
The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew
warm with the Medoc. We had passed through walls of piled bones, with
casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the
catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Lipton by
an arm above the elbow.
"The nitre!" I said: see it increases. It hangs like moss upon the
vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle
among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough"
--
"It is nothing" he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of
the Medoc."
I broke and reached him a flagon of Lynch-Bages. He emptied it at a
breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the
bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.
I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement -- a grotesque
one.
"You do not comprehend?" he said.
"Not I," I replied.
"Then you are not of the brotherhood."
"How?"
"You are not of the masons."
"Yes, yes," I said "yes! yes."
"You? Impossible! A mason?"
"A mason," I replied.
"A sign," he said.
"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of
my roquelaire.
"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to
the Pepiere Muscadet."
"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak, and again
offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route
in search of the Muscadet. We passed through a range of low arches,
descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in
which the foulness of the air caused our flashlights rather to glow
than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less
spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains piled to the
vault overhead , in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three
sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From
the fourth the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon
the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall
thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still
interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height
six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use in
itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal
supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their
circumscribing walls of solid granite.
It was in vain that Lipton, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to
pry into the depths of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did
not enable us to see.
"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Pepiere Muscadet. As for Tomassi" --
"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily
forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he
had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress
arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered . A moment more and I
had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples,
distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these
depended a short chain. from the other a padlock. Throwing the links
about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He
was too much astounded to resist . Withdrawing the key I stepped back
from the recess.
"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the
nitre. Indeed it is VERY damp. Once more let me IMPLORE you to return.
No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all
the little attentions in my power."
"The Pepiere Muscadet!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from
his astonishment.
"True," I replied; "the Pepiere Muscadet."
As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which
I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity
of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of
my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.
I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry when I discovered that
the intoxication of Lipton had in a great measure worn off. The
earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth
of the recess. It was NOT the cry of a drunken man. There was then a
long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and
the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The
noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to
it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon
the bones. When at last the clanking subsided , I resumed the trowel,
and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh
tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again
paused, and holding the flashlights over the mason-work, threw a few
feeble rays upon the figure within.
A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the
throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a
brief moment I hesitated -- I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began
to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant
reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs ,
and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of
him who clamoured. I reechoed -- I aided -- I surpassed them in volume
and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.
It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had
completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a
portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone
to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it
partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the
niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded
by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the
noble Lipton. The voice said --
"Ha! ha! ha! -- he! he! -- a very good joke indeed -- an excellent
jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo -- he! he!
he! -- over our wine -- he! he! he!"
"The Pepiere Muscadet!" I said.
"He! he! he! -- he! he! he! -- yes, the Pepiere Muscadet . But is it
not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady
Lipton and the rest? Let us be gone."
"Yes," I said "let us be gone."
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILLIAMS!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I
called aloud --
"Lipton!"
No answer. I called again --
"Lipton!"
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and
let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the
bells. My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of the
catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last
stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I
reerected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal
has disturbed them.
In pace requiescat!

You know, I freely admit to not being able to tell sherry from
Amontillado!

LOL, Bravo!! But I think even Tomassi can tell Vouvray from Muscadet!

There used to be a Hemingway contest in the IHT with similarly hilarious
results.

The continuity dept has a brief question:

On 23 Aug 2005 11:03:23 -0700, "DaleW" > said:
[]
] Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of
] its fellows that lay upon the mould.

Had you a sabre handy? Would this not have alarmed the astute
Lipton?

Did no one slice up lips on this jagged cup?

[]
] I broke and reached him a flagon of Lynch-Bages. He emptied it at a

You certainly found his weak spot with that. Lucky cellar placement
or inhuman cunning?

[]
] In pace requiescat!
]

Careful: well pickled Lipton may be sufficiently proofed against
spoilage to interest the next generation of Egyptologists!

-E

--
Emery Davis
You can reply to
by removing the well known companies

Outstanding, Dale. My nominee for the 2005 Piet Beertema Prize (if any).
(Beertema was the Netherlands Internet pioneer who posted the forged
newsgroup message from the Kremlin,1 April 1984, the so-called kremvax
episode. He later was knighted, though not I think for that.)

"Emery Davis"in :
> ...
> The continuity dept has a brief question:
>
> On 23 Aug 2005 11:03:23 -0700, "DaleW" > said:
> ]
> ] Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew
> ] from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
>
> Had you a sabre handy? ...
>
> Did no one slice up lips on this jagged cup?

Yes yes yes. Moderns always raise that point about the original story. Poe
was a bit of a hustler and did not hesitate to make up details that sounded
cool. People may have commonly opened bottles the quick way without even a
sword, but Poe would not necessarily have known that. Also, you can pour
wine into yourself from a bottle held on high without risking cuts -- it
would be a flourish worthy of the story, too.

In article >, says...
>
>"Jens Jensen" in ...
>>
>> no hostility intended, but your point is?
>>
>
>Sorry, from the question I may have expressed it poorly. I hope that this
>will do better!
>
>I was talking to a particular sommelier about an established phenomenon, in
>the United States, of brash or heavy-handed wine connoisseurs who (though
>perhaps truly knowledgeable) like to deliberately put down sommeliers, clash
>egos with them, etc. I have witnessed this myself. One technique of doing
>so in the past was for the customer to spuriously declare bottles "bad" and
>demand that the house replace them. My questions to restaurant wine people
>about their work have brought up these points repeatedly. This particular
>sommelier had grown up with wine and was knowledgeable and self-possessed
>about it, and described his own tactful approaches to that situation, which
>he said definitely arises with some small minority of customers. I suddenly
>thought of the arrogant wine collector in Poe's story, and asked the
>sommelier if he knew it. He did not, so I dug up that link to forward. And
>copied this newsgroup also, in case of interest.
>
>If you can envision a competent retail wine professional whose job requires
>dealing with little indignities from the occasional arrogant customer, you
>might see why that sommelier resonated with Poe's story.
>
>-- Max

Max,

I think that your post was clear, at least to me. It also caused me to pause
and reflect on how I may have treated the cellar-masters, sommeliers, wine-
stewards in the past. As I always try to learn from them and utilize their
expertise, especially if I am not familiar with the chef's preperations. We
usually have great fun together, with possibly only one local exception.

Hunt

In article .com>,
says...
>
>Slightly modernized:
>
>THE thousand injuries of Lipton I had borne as I best could, but when
>he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.

[SNIP]

Now I know why he missed his dinner with me in PHX! Just Another Brick in the
Wall.

Hunt

In article >, says...
>
>Outstanding, Dale. My nominee for the 2005 Piet Beertema Prize (if any).
>(Beertema was the Netherlands Internet pioneer who posted the forged
>newsgroup message from the Kremlin,1 April 1984, the so-called kremvax
>episode. He later was knighted, though not I think for that.)
>
>"Emery Davis"in :
>> ...
>> The continuity dept has a brief question:
>>
>> On 23 Aug 2005 11:03:23 -0700, "DaleW" > said:
>> ]
>> ] Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew
>> ] from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
>>
>> Had you a sabre handy? ...
>>
>> Did no one slice up lips on this jagged cup?
>
>Yes yes yes. Moderns always raise that point about the original story. Poe
>was a bit of a hustler and did not hesitate to make up details that sounded
>cool. People may have commonly opened bottles the quick way without even a
>sword, but Poe would not necessarily have known that. Also, you can pour
>wine into yourself from a bottle held on high without risking cuts -- it
>would be a flourish worthy of the story, too.

You know, this last method might well be worse than those little plastic "
tasting cups," that some wine tastings offer - pouring into the mouth from on
high. Where's the Riedel?!?!?!?

Hunt

DaleW wrote:
> Slightly modernized:
>
> THE thousand injuries of Lipton I had borne as I best could, but when
> he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.

Dale, I recant all the jibes I issued regarding the pairing of Chenin
with spiy Asian cuisine -- indeed, and those regarding anything else,
too. Little did I realize how those minor grievances would fester...


> He had a weak point -- this Lipton -- although in other regards he was
> a man to be respected and even feared.

Only *one* weak point? Dale, I thought you knew me better than that...

In painting and chemistry, Lipton, like his countrymen ,
> was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere.

Truer words have rarely been spoken.

> I said to him -- "My dear Lipton, you are luckily met. How remarkably
> well you are looking to-day! But I have received a case of what passes
> for Pepiere Muscadet, and I have my doubts."

Salt in the wound, Dale, salt in the wound...

> "Tomassi cannot tell Pepiere Muscadet from B & G Vouvray."

Now wait a goddamn minute here! You're putting my annual invite to the
Slow Food Provence Fête de Bouillabaise into serious jeopardy. That
will not do, Dale.

> "The Williamses," I replied, "were a great numerous family."
> "I forget your arms."
> "A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent
> rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel."
> "And the motto?"
> "Finding Nemo"
> "Good!" he said

Ouch!!! Modernized, indeed!

> I broke and reached him a flagon of Lynch-Bages. He emptied it at a
> breath.

It was the '59, I do hope ;-)

> "Ha! ha! ha! -- he! he! -- a very good joke indeed -- an excellent
> jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo -- he! he!
> he! -- over our wine -- he! he! he!"
> "The Pepiere Muscadet!" I said.

Indeed, Dale. Very well done, and we will have to laugh at it over a
Pepiere Muscadet some time

> In pace requiescat!

Nemo me impune lacessit

Mark Lipton

You know, in the old days a parody required putting a little time into
it. But with replace functions in a word processing program I confess
this took 3 minutes. Glad you have good humor!

Pretty funny stuff.

How about vice versa & talk about serving staff who are airheads about wines
but pretend they know something.

They usually inhabit places like Applebees or the Macaroni Grill and their
main goal is to turn the table over and push alcohol. By now most US chains
serve some form of Gallo, Fetzer, Sutter Home. For places like Carrabas,
Olive Garden Macaroni Grill they get some big producer in Italy to create
their own brand which leads us to this conversation: "What vintage is the
Fattoria Puttenesca Chianti" "The latest sir." Is it from the Classico
zone?" "We have a special wine list sir, dfo you want to see it?" Out comes
an assistant manager who asks "Is there a problem here?" "No, I just want to
match the wine up to my main course." "All our wines are specially selected
to go with our food. I see you ordered our shrimp scampi of course you know
that goes with our Pinot Grigio" He then thrusts a special occasion wine
list at me & leaves. On this list are some Ruffino Riserva Ducale and
Frescobaldi products with out vintages. The waiter comes back "Have we
decided yet?" Rather than go through the whole routine again I order a beer.

The Applebees, Chi Chis etc all serve wine by the glass that was opened &
gassed 20 times since Easter. Send it back and they'll bring something else
out just as puerile, ask for vintage dates or return the second glass gets
the assistant manager. Mean while while all this is going on the bus boy has
taken your salad unfinished off the table. The waitress coming back looks
at her watch and asks if you still want some wine. You look at the list
again and your uneaten entree leaves the table..........
"DaleW" > wrote in message
oups.com...
> You know, in the old days a parody required putting a little time into
> it. But with replace functions in a word processing program I confess
> this took 3 minutes. Glad you have good humor!
>

Well Max, that is one interperatation of "The Cask of the Amontillado".

As with many of Poe's works, you never know if the problem was real or just
in protaganists mind.

Fortunato thinks that he is with a friend and has no idea what is going
on...there might have never been a slight except in the mind of his
tormentor.

The slight might just be the fantasies of a disturbed mind.

Steve
"Max Hauser" > wrote in message
...
> I've talked to some wine professionals in US restaurants lately about
> what's tough in their work. A popular complaint is the occasional wine
> consumers, with big collections and so on, who like to show off at
> sommeliers' expense. In past decades they'd send back bottles as a matter
> of show, a couple of sommeliers mentioned. That fad has passed, but not
> the sentiment behind it. I imagine that no one here behaves like that, but
> it is a real syndrome.
>
> Not all sommeliers know Poe's classic story, "The Cask of Amontillado,"
> but it struck me that they would be an apt audience for it. In the
> story, the blustery wine connoisseurship of Fortunato (who is both
> powerful and abusive) is used to trap him into a nasty doom, by someone he
> has repeatedly wronged (Montresor). Below is an archival link, in case
> you know any hardworking sommeliers who might appreciate knowing about it.
>
> http://www.literature.org/authors/po...ontillado.html
>

"Steve" > in :
| ...
| As with many of Poe's works, you never know if the problem
| was real or just in protaganists mind. Fortunato thinks that he
| is with a friend and has no idea what is going on...there might
| have never been a slight except in the mind of his tormentor.
|
| The slight might just be the fantasies of a disturbed mind.


Very good point, thanks. Some of Poe's characters are pretty explicitly
disturbed.

Just in case it remains even slightly unclear to anyone, the contemporary
sommeliers I've referred to in this thread are very good people whom most
knowledgeable wine enthusiasts would respect and value. The complaint
related here concerns not differences of opinion or information or taste,
let alone fantasy; but rather the occasional customers who are rude and
disrespectful, browbeating sommeliers by choice, or habit, rather from any
real cause. Of course, the situation of bad sommeliers does come up -- as
mentioned later here, and in recent private mail to me. A different topic.