An evening of wine tasting (pictured)

I came across an article about red wine that I really liked, and it perfectly captured my feelings towards red wine. Since then, I've been constantly thinking about it, just like the feeling after drinking that first bottle of MONTONCADET. Its fragrance lingers from the mouth to the heart, slowly releasing its aroma, making one eagerly anticipate the next encounter.

It was a winter night. Jumping out of the car, it was so cold, I could see my breath forming a puff of white smoke. Pushing the door open, the bar was quiet, with people sitting in groups of three or two, chatting softly, occasionally hearing intermittent laughter. That day, I remember wearing a low-necked sweater, with soft fringes, adorned with two strings of crystal-clear beads, purple, matching the same color scarf around my neck, highlighting my fair skin. It seemed as if I was prepared for this appointment with red wine. By chance, we ordered that bottle of MONTONCADET, a 2002 vintage from Bordeaux. Upon opening the bottle, there was a faint fruity aroma, very fresh, filling me with anticipation.

Taking a sip, it was slightly sour but not at all astringent as I had imagined. Gently swirling the glass, the red liquid rotated slowly, sparkling under the dim light, deeply red and elegantly bright. Conversations with friends floated gently in the air along with the wine's fragrance. I felt somewhat tipsy, unsure whether it was due to the atmosphere or the gradually spreading effects of the alcohol.

My friend suggested trying the tobacco he brought back from Thailand. It was indeed excellent tobacco. Although I am not an expert, I enjoyed its rich aroma, subtle yet pure. Such tobacco needs to be rolled tightly in white paper. My friend was fully focused on rolling it, and I found myself captivated by his concentration. After finishing, he handed it to me, and I imitated him, licking the edge of the paper, closing it, pinching off the excess tobacco, creating a small and delicate cigarette. Habitually, I placed it under my nose and took a deep breath – truly fragrant. I love the smell of tobacco leaves.

Unbeknownst to me, snowflakes started falling outside the window, gracefully drifting down, transforming the cold winter night into a mesmerizing and tender scene. The red liquid swirling and shimmering in the glass, the white flakes dancing outside the window, and the smoke curling from my fingers left my thoughts lingering in that moment.

The next morning, I woke up refreshed, without the headache usually associated with hangovers. I didn't feel thirsty either, my mouth sweet with a lingering light fruity fragrance. Throughout the day, I couldn't stop thinking about that bottle of wine from last night, my heart itching as if tiny ants were crawling over it. Finally unable to resist, I drove around looking for it. In a long wine aisle at a supermarket, I was delighted to find it, like reuniting with a long-lost lover, holding it tightly in my arms.

When I drank it again, the aroma was still pure, and the color was still vividly red, but I couldn't find the same intoxicating feeling from that night. Originally, the charm of red wine doesn't lie in the wine itself, but in the mood during drinking, the surrounding atmosphere, and the tacit understanding and intimacy of the friends beside you.

Red wine is like a woman. It depends on how you savor it, how you taste it.