It all began in High School. That’s when I hooked up with a gorgeous cheerleader and Student Body President. Yes, brains and beauty go together. Or at least they do with D’Aun. High School has various social stratums, and I was way over my head. She was voted Best Personality. I was not. She was high energy, always had a smile on her face, kind to everybody she met, and admired by all. Again, I was not. So it shocked everybody when we started dating. Especially me.

Fast forward six years, and we’re married. We planned to have kids in 5-years or so. But wait … that timing didn’t work out so well. Or maybe it worked out perfectly. Before our first wedding anniversary, Rachel was on the way. By our fourth wedding anniversary, Rachel was two-years old and out of diapers.

Now it’s time to travel. Gram could watch the little girl as we explored Europe. And hey, since we’re going to Europe, why not look up our old high school buddy Bruno? He was the foreign exchange student from France. A bit goofy, a great soccer player, a truly friendly guy. Might be fun to connect. We send a letter or make a call; he says “meet me in Paris and then we’ll head to Bordeaux for the weekend.” It’s a plan.

Paris.  We connect with Bruno and renew our friendship. Our memory of the goofy exchange student is quickly updated. This guy is something else. He and his brother own 200 jewelry stores across France. They have a Chateau in Bordeaux. They make national news by protesting against a tax hike. We go to dinner with his attorney and drink more alcohol in one night than we’ve had our entire lives up to that point. Thank God for rude Parisian cabbies that can find our out-of-the way hotel.

Bordeaux. A nice enough city, but a beautiful countryside. Bruno takes us to his abode, Chateau Bremontier. It’s built on a cliff overlooking the Garonne River. Vineyards surround the home, the basement is filled with stacked bottles dating back to the 1920’s, and we’re ushered into the guest house. This is living. And remember, Bruno (like us) is 26-years old.

The next day we go shopping. Which means several stops. The bakery. The butcher (to get a local delicacy, a type of river eel). The cheese shop, where D’Aun develops a whole new addiction. And finally, the wine shop. An education for both of us. I ask the shop owner what is the “best” wine in his shop. He points at the 1982 Chateau Mouton Rothschild. Bruno says it is wildly overpriced at $29 a bottle, but somebody named Robert Parker gave it the unheard of perfect score of 100 points. I buy several bottles. Bruno scoffs and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Given that today it sells for $1000 a bottle, I think maybe not.

Back to Chateau Bremontier with our shopping bags. Other than my wine, it is all handed over to Bruno’s gracious sister-in-law (who later does our laundry, for crying out loud). She heads to the kitchen and we don’t see her again until dinner time.

A formal dinner in the dining room. Bruno, his brother and sister-in-law, two of their friends, D’Aun, and me. It’s not so much about dinner as it is about a show. Bruno’s brother shows D’Aun how to open a bottle of champagne with a meat cleaver. We are escorted into the cellar to choose wines from our birth year (we were advised against 1958 and drank 1959 instead). The food … well, it was more than food, it was something brought down from heaven to be enjoyed. We drank, ate, laughed, told tall stories, confided secrets, shared worries, argued politics. I don’t remember what the wines tasted like. It doesn’t matter. They were good, but made better by the setting, the food, the people.

Headaches. That’s all I remember about the next morning. But well earned and worthwhile headaches. They were the first headaches of many yet to come.

Fast forward a few weeks. We are home. I have several great bottles of wine, but no where to store them. Wait, what about the basement in our vintage 1913 house? Off to Orchard Supply, where I buy a jig saw and lengths of 1×4. A few hours of measuring and cutting, a bit of nailing, and I have a wine cellar for 40-50 bottles.

I’m a wine collector. Who would’ve thunk it?