by Al Drinkle
Dear Tom,
I'm writing to emphatically thank you for allowing me to make use of your cabin for a few days. I'm sure that you can relate to the magic of how a modest abode, a mere 50 minutes from the city, can prove to be so effective at banishing one's urban sorrows. Free from the quotidian oppression that can seem inescapable in Calgary, I can be as creative and prolific here during a “retreat” of a couple days as I might be over an entire month in the city.
That this sojourn has become somewhat of a biannual event makes me all the more appreciative. However, in full recognition of the fact that this might not be the appropriate forum to raise it, I must voice a concern. As somebody who genuinely cares about you, Tom, I confess that I'm worried about your drinking. Or should I say, the lack thereof?
In full acknowledgement that I'm incapable of matching your generosity, I was previously under the impression that the tokens of appreciation that I routinely leave behind—motifs, by this point—have utility to you. Thus, you've come to expect that after I've departed, weaving my way back down the mountain towards the whorl of dust that is society, you will return here to find a spotlessly clean cabin, and, saliently, a magnum of excellent wine. If you would have appreciated chocolate instead, you should have told me several years ago.
On this particular occasion, the communication herein precedes your discovery of said bottle, but I'm happy to divulge to you that it's a thirst-slaking, revitalizing magnum of Saar Riesling from the 2020 vintage. But as I attempted to place it in your wine fridge, I found that there was no room on the racks fashioned for oversized bottles. This section was already crammed with similarly corpulent vessels, including a magnum of the very same Saar Riesling from 2017! I clearly recall leaving it here for you over three years ago.
You need not remind me that such a wine in such a format can elude the vagaries of time when left alone in the right conditions, but in taking inventory of the countless magnums in your wine fridge, I get the feeling that they are neglected relics of my past visits, and not promises of your future enjoyment. Yet being here in this resplendent alpine setting does wonders for my optimism, and I was willing to accept that you were strategically allowing the nectars to mellow into their prime while anticipating forthcoming occasions of conviviality. That is, I was willing to subscribe to this idea until—while earnestly seeking an oven tray—I discovered a neglected magnum of Saumur-Champigny hosting a network of cobwebs behind dusty mason jars in what might be considered the most forlorn cavern of your kitchen's labyrinthine cabinetry.
Now, Tom; I've heard of dipsomaniacs hiding empty bottles from their loved ones and caregivers in an attempt to clandestinely proceed with their compulsive, joyless imbibing. But to exile a sealed magnum of wine to the back of an unused cupboard is patently absurd. It's not as if my visits here are so frequent that the magnums left behind should outstrip your capacity to consume them! And if you and your dining companions can't finish a litre and a half of wine in one sitting, I needn't remind you that by reinserting the cork, the leftovers will be even more delicious over the following days.
What I find the most harrowing, and the crux of why I’m taking the situation so seriously, is the concern that these neglected magnums might signify a deeper predicament. Has the deranged but forgivable pursuit of “dry January” begun to bleed into the other months of your year? Are you engaged in binge sobriety? Have you pointlessly learned how to struggle through your meals without the stimulating and digestive aid of a good wine? Tom, as a friend, you have my unconditional support regardless of the depth of your struggles. And again, please forgive me for broaching the subject so forthrightly, but your indisposition towards oversized—some might say “proper” sized—bottles is highly disconcerting.
Please consider me at your eminent disposal should you care to discuss these matters, or any others. After all, that's what friends are for. Indefatigably yours,
-Al
