He had me carry a large, steaming pot, kind of like a soup tureen, to the table. It was a stew, full of chunks of beef, big pieces of carrot, pearl onions, peas, pieces of potato, and a mysteriously fragrant sauce.
Drew set a board with a bread knife and a baguette on the table beside a tub of butter. "I have salad, but let’s do that after the stew, before dessert."
The last thing he brought to the table was a carafe of red wine. "I poured this earlier so it could breathe. It’s a Pauillac that I think goes especially well with this stew." He said that as if of course I would know what that meant. I had no idea.
Once I had taken a sip from the tall, light-as-a-feather wine glass, I knew it was a wine I hoped I would have again, and again, and again. I glanced over to where the bottle sto
