This is slightly embarrassing; I fell in love last evening. I met this glass of wine that made me realize exactly what I wanted from my next lover. He should be clear, complicated, fill me with mirth and soul-searching, leave me as satisfied as one glass of wine (though I did have two), and no headache the next day. Surprising to those of you who know my love for wine, Vernaccia is a white, not a red. It comes from San Gimignano, where I bought it the other day and have since been too under the weather to try. But last night opened the bottle and was caught up in the moment. Some find perfect love stories in mythology, Shakespeare, country songs, or in daily life. I think the person that developed that less than noble grape knew perfect love and poured it into a bottle. Maybe I’ve been left defenseless after David, maybe it’s this country or the language, I really don’t know, but that wine was a magic aphrodisiac that should not be wasted on mere lust.