So, there I was, sitting at a table under a multi-colored umbrella on the deck of a semi-high-class eatery. The weather was very warm, but pleasantly dry, and I had a hankering for a wine that — given the climate and my menu selection — probably qualified as a counterintuitive choice. I wanted a glass of red wine to accompany the grilled octopus I had ordered.
“Are you sure about that, sir?” my officious waitperson asked in a snickering and patronizing voice. “I have a lovely pinot grigio which would pair much better with our polpo alla griglia,” he added with a bit of a flourish, obviously flaunting his Italian linguistic skills.