I love a place where everything feels good.  The air smells good in my nose.  The wine tastes good in my mouth and feels soft on my tongue.  The bar top has some texture to play on my hand and some sculptured light to play on my eyes.  The walls of brick and the ceiling of tin bring a measured and crafted din to my ears.  A blur of voices and movement, punctuated by the fork on some china, the ice in a glass and the laughter in a throat.

I like a palette over which my eyes can linger, noticing more the longer I sit, charm increasing the more wine I drink.  I like a palate over which my tongue can work, sweet to salty to sour.  Savory.  Spicy.  Bubbly.  Smooth.  I like a glass over which I can perch my nose and spend some intimate time.  I don’t have to tell anyone else what I smell.  I don’t have to tell them why I like it or what fruits and nuts and herbs and tree bark hit my nose.  I just get to savor it.

“Love enters through the nose.”  And I often fall in love with a scent.  A scent is everything.  It reveals so much in so short a time.  And it cuts straight through the fog of memory and time.

Robin Behl, La Cuentista

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