In the spirit of this resurrection of former times (Hello, Eric!) I recall that Dana Gioia slapped my wrist once in a little bistro in Cornwall. He was telling me about the wines of the Napa Valley and I had reached for my glass too soon, before the contents had had time to breathe, stretch and begin to sing.
It was the gentlest of remonstrances, accompanied by a Californian smile that simultaneously kissed it better, but I have never forgotten that first rule of red.
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