Petit Merle

She took the protective pocket off the Velcro strip and placed a "Laura's Pick" card inside, then refastened it under the cubby holding the St. Emilion Merlot the employees had just tasted from their weekly shipment. The long finish still lingered in the back of her throat. It was not a surprise to any of her colleagues at the wine shop that she had chosen a merlot to promote.

Jeff was standing an aisle over, watching her with curiosity. She was now holding the bottle, her thumb fitted neatly in the bottom as though she was about to pour a glass for a guest at a high end restaurant. He wanted to get closer without seeming creepy to see what wine had captured her so completely in thought.

As he moved to stand behind her, just over her left shoulder, she replaced the bottle and turned, almost bumping into him.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there. Can I answer any questions or do you need a hand finding anything?"

"I saw you put one of the staff pick cards under this wine, I rely heavily on these, I'm pretty new into learning about wine." He glanced past her at the bottle on the shelf. "Merlot eh? Trying to see if you can resurect this one?"

Laura was exasperated by the comment. Merlots were gorgeous wines with so much character. They had been overproduced by enthusiastic wine makers in the new world because the grape could grow in so many regions and climates. The result was some really awful bottles, followed by harsh critiques of the grape, not the growers. And then "that movie" put the final nail in the coffin. People jumped aboard the pinot noir train and headed for Oregon.

She tried to keep the edge out of her voice. This was an opportunity to educate, perhaps turn someones opinion around. But not a day went by that some crack wasn't made by the casual wine drinker as they bypassed the section devoted to her favourite wine.

"Merlot is a special grape, it's a classic, and old staple, like a little black dress. You can be pulled away by the glamour of a more fashionable choice, but when it comes down to reliability, it's not going to let you down."

Jeff was a little surprised by her answer. He hadn't expected such a strong defence of the wine world's favourite punching bag. He pressed on, citing articles he had read in one of the three magazines he subscribed to. "You don't often see a merlot hitting the must buy lists, or wines to watch..."

"I can't argue with that" she said, "As I mentioned, it's out of fashion."

He sensed that he had annoyed her even though she smiled brightly. He wanted to change the subject, he was trying to think of something clever to say in rebuttal. But the fact was, he didn't really know enough about any wine, especially one he had never had, to hold his own with a sommelier. And feared he would just make himself look silly if he tried. He didn't want to look silly in front of this serious woman. He picked up a bottle and started to examine the label as though it would give him a speaking prompt. As he looked back up at Laura, who held her place, seemingly also wanting the conversation to continue, he noticed a small tattoo on her wrist. It was a blackbird. In script below was written "petit merle". She didn't look the tattoo type.

He was relieved when she began talking again. "Good merlot is velvety and rich with ripe fruit. It's a bit lighter than its cousin Cabernet Sauvignon, lighter tannins, light acidity. It compliments so many different foods. My favourite to pair it with is a grilled pork chop. It's kind of a nice way to step into spring, still too chilly to sit and eat outside, but you can manage to get the food cooked without resorting to mittens. Nice glass of merlot beside you to sip on while you grill. Slightly chilled and held to temperature because the outside air is so perfect for it."

"So you cook as well as know your way around wine?"

"They're partners, wine and food. Seemed wrong to neglect one." She smiled genuinely this time, and there was a distinct difference.

Suddenly Laura clapped her hands together. She startled both Jeff and the other customers standing in the nearby pinot noir section.

"There's some merlot left in the bottle that we were just sampling, let me go grab you a taste." She disappeared into the back room, when she returned she was holding two glasses with a couple of ounces in each. She handed one to Jeff, their fingers touching for just a second. It caused them both to apologize at the same time. She wondered why this was so awkward all of a sudden, she did this every day.

She took a deep breath to collect herself and her thoughts and auto pilot kicked in. "You'll notice if you tilt the glass a little, holding it over the white floor tiles, that it has the slightest hint of an orange tint at the rim. The body itself is a nice deep ruby. That's a little cheater way to tell you have a merlot in the glass."

He watched her face as she spoke, the passion she had for this wine shone in her blue eyes, showed in her smile as she described what he should smell and taste. He was grateful it wasn't a test because he would never be able to repeat what she had just told him. He was too busy studying her.

"And now the fun part, have a drink!" She tilted the glass up and he did the same. He swirled it around in his mouth, feeling very self conscious. Would she be able to tell he was such a novice. She looked at him anxiously awaiting his verdict.

Jeff did what he always did in situations where he didn't know what to say, but wanted to seem enthusiastic. "Wow!" Vigorously nodding his head in agreement. He wasn't yet apt at picking out flavours and characteristics of wines and he couldn't remember a word she had said. He needed a way out.

"What's the meaning of the tattoo, if you don't mind me asking?" He said casually. He was pretty sure they were flirting, but he had misjudged before and didn't want to break the atmosphere.

Laura looked down at her arm, she had gotten the tattoo in February of 2005. A year after travelling to the Bordeaux region had cemented her decision to become a sommelier. A month after the movie came out.

"It's a little blackbird, Merle is the French word for blackbird. The merlot grape is said to be named after it."

"Damn, you're all in, a walking billboard."

She blushed a little, and nervously tucked her copper hair behind her ear. Getting the tattoo was a rash response to something that had angered her. She'd spent nearly four months travelling around French wine regions, picking grapes with a travelling band of unmoored humans for the last month of the trip. The winery that was her last stop produced a merlot that literally changed the course of her life. She had been so excited to get back home and tell everyone, and then it became a laughing stock. She had chosen her tattoo as a form of artful, silent protest.

Jeff knew more about this woman whom he had begun talking to 15 minutes ago then he had found out in coffee date after coffee date lately. He was working up the courage to ask her out, for wine of course, when she again broke the silence hanging between them.

"All this talk of pork chops and merlot is making me hungry. Can I interest you in a little impromptu April BBQ?" She nodded toward the bottle he held in his hand. "Wines on you, pork chops are on me."

"How could I possibly resist that?"