|Me in 20 years. I might have more hair and a fluffier chest (I know: might). Note the toothpick; we've just finished our meal and moved into the living room.|
One night he had me, sister Joan and her taller half Gary over for supper. The Jackson Triggs shiraz he poured into my glass tasted like heaven. I raved about it. I'd be sure to ask them to get it in at the liquor store in Wadena. And the surprising thing was that it's a cheaper wine; I think Dad said he paid $10 for the bottle. When I got home I pulled out the half-empty bottle I'd opened before leaving, and what do you think it was? The exact same wine. Hoo, Nellie. I should worry about my lack of observational skills or maybe my memory. But I don't think I will. It's only details.
Gary gave me a demonstration to show that wine poured through a small aerator tastes far better than wine that is straight poured. I couldn't tell the difference even after a second taste-test. Dad can't either (and doesn't remember how he poured the wine, but possibly the aerator is why I noticed the bright flavour at his place and not mine).
Dad had discovered that Costco sells a delicious chicken pot pie so he served up two of them along with a variety of fresh cut-up vegetables, followed by apple pie and maple walnut ice cream. I didn't cook one thing while I was "on the road," but ate like a queen.