Honey, gin, lillet, calvados, and saline. Fermented honey, at that. Calvados bringing a note of apple. Gin, for all we joke, so evocative of certain elements of the New England demographic. There was literary potential for you…

All of this makes it sound like we’re already there, right? Well, no. We’re standing at the edge of the dark, bearing witness to something.

The story of the story of Madelen Penn and the courts of Vertet wrapped in a seductive mystery of murder and succession.

There is… a sense of wonder behind the drive an ambition that I hope you never lose.

…the energy I’ve been trying to adopt in between the writing, the wine, and the planning of trips. In between the heartache, imposter syndrome, and anxiety about money and time as well. The breaths between the moments of life that lift us and drive us down.

Telgora’s been there the while. Watchtower is just the next step.

So, of course, more now than the wine, we have the memories. That night, the company, the lingering memories of just what a bottle like that means.

A celebration of form, of technique, of pushing limits and personal achievement.

Culinary nostalgia is some of the most severe.

Maybe there’s something of a solution there, I don’t know. Or else maybe this really was complaining. If it’s the latter, to whoever is reading this, know that none of us are perfect all the time and we all need breaks and moments to pause and reflect.