Dude, where's my Cava?

[In this litigious American society, it is important right up front that I publicly acknowledge the wit and creativity of my friend Courtney who inspired the heading of today's post]

When Andrea and I arrived in Paris last February, Kate had bought tickets for us to attend a James Bond Ball for expats living and working in Paris.  I was so excited to see what that was all about, and I remember clearly that the snow started to fall as we got into taxis to go to the event - that was my first snowfall away from the ski fields, so it was a big night for me.  Amidst all that excitement, the wave of jetlag hit Andrea and me like a freight train, and while adopted Parisians danced around us, we were leaning against a pillar fighting the fatigue that threatened to engulf us.

So on reflection, I'm not sure why I thought Kate would be any different arriving in Chicago.  Nevertheless, I bought us tickets to a Spanish wine tasting - complete with tapas and paella.  I guess my thinking was that the festivities all started late in the evening, which would have given us time to get back from Toronto, steal a few hours nap if necessary, and party on all refreshed.

Good intentions, perhaps, but not very practical in the long run.  Kate was starting to feel more human again after her bout of food poisoning, but the pace of the last few days in Toronto was starting to catch up with both of us.  I had a quick shower before we headed out to the wine tasting, which admittedly helped a little bit, but I was stifling some yawns in the taxi ride over to Cafe Ba-Ba-Reeba.

Once I got there though, things improved.  Courts and Irene came along and got a chance to meet Kate, which was great.  We made the circuit around the tasting tables, sampling various sparklings, whites, and reds along the way.  

Citing an article I'd read in some two-bit magazine or other, I informed the girls that cava (Spanish sparkling) is SO last season dahlings, and in fact it is Italian prosecco that is the sparkling du jour.  But I was nevertheless on a mission to let own palate make that decision, so I sampled the cavas on offer almost to the exclusion of everything else.  I wouldn't declare cava dead just yet, but I am still enjoying my long-distance love affair with all things Italian, so give me a prosecco any time.