Page 134 of The Pairing

“And they’re right to.”

“But actually. ..” I chew and swallow another bite, considering the question. “I think I’d keep it simple. Bake it into a nice focaccia. Let it do its sexy little thing.”

“Hm. Focaccia has lots of olive oil, right?”

“Correct.”

“Okay, I’ll take the olive oil and emulsify that with an egg white,” Theo says. “Add lemon juice, basil simple syrup, Gin Mare, bit of soda. Mediterranean gin fizz.”

I imagine a bistro table somewhere close to the sea, set with both. A pillow of focaccia with sweet-and-sour onion on a chipped saucer, a juice glass with fizz and a single, fresh basil leaf shipped in from a farm in Cinque Terre. I find that I don’t want to come up with the next dish; I want to sit here with this complementary pair.

“Do you ever think,” I ask Theo, “about how amazing it is that a drink or a plate of food can be so good separately, but if you pair them together the right way, it becomes an experience?”

“Well, yes,” Theo says with a swig of wine. “That is a sommelier’s job.”

“Huh. It is, isn’t it? You’re an experience maker.”

“Yeah, I am,” Theo says, preening slightly. I love to see it. “I think that’s what I like most about everything I do, the bus or the somm stuff or anything. I like creating an experience. I like tasting and smelling and feeling things, and listening to what’s meaningful to someone, and then trying to distill all of that into a glass.”

“What did you think of the wine pairings at that first dinner in Paris?”

“Oh, fuck. Those were inspired. The Châteauneuf-du-Pape they paired with the gigot d’agneau?” They groan at the memory. “Honestly, that might have been my favorite meal of the whole trip.”

“Really? We’ve had so many incredible ones since.”

“I know. Maybe I just have a soft spot for French food.”

“Oh, you do?” I say, smiling. “Any particular reason?”

I’m flirting, setting them up for an easy, dirty joke about how the French go down easier, but Theo says plainly, “Probably because I’m in love with you.”

We said it so many times last night, but my heart still clenches.

“What about you?” Theo asks. “What was your favorite meal of the tour?”

I think about it. “Maybe dinner at Fabrizio’s family’s restaurant in Naples. That ragù,God.”

“Ooh, that was a good one,” Theo agrees. “My favorite drink, though—that might have been the Pomerol we had at the chateau in Bordeaux.”

I smile fondly. “Oh, Florian.”

“Oh,Florian,” Theo echoes.

“Be honest—did he take it better than me?”

“Not better,” Theo says fairly. “But like a champ.”

“Maybe I’ll go back to Bordeaux one day.”

“Send me a video if you do.”

“I’ll ask him,” I say, more intrigued by the thought of Theo wanting videos from me than the idea of topping God’s perfect farmhand. “My favorite drink was the vin santo we had in Chianti, with the cantucci.”

“You would pick the only drink that came with a cookie,” Theo teases. “Favorite sight?”

“The Duomo in Florence,” I say. “Definitely. You?”

“Roman Forum is up there. But I have to give it to the Sagrada Familia.” They finish their sandwich and wrap the remains back up in the paper. “Can I tell you a secret?”

---