Recently we spent a few days at the family beach house in Cape May, N.J. The town was spared by most of Sandy's wrath and we are fortunate to be two blocks from the beach - but close enough that at high tide and when the wind is right we can hear the roar of the surf - which is worth the price of admission. One evening while savoring a pre-prandial glass of Chardonnay on the front porch I was called to the kitchen and upon my return I found three fruit flies performing an aquacade in my drink that would make Billy Rose smile - one was doing the backstroke - but probably better than having them mating. If I were in a pub I could have sent it back but I didn't have that luxury so I snuffed them with a paper napkin and they died happily. Those of you who attended Catholic school may recall that the nuns always told us to "pray for a happy death." A friend suggested that I should opt for a dryer and less sweet vintage but that would only make me pucker up.
tjs
Next - A Friendly Game of Golf
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