Recipe for a Happy Life: A Novel by Brenda Janowitz Read Free Book Online

grandmother’s and mine.
    “Shall I pour?” the sommelier asks.
    “Yes, please,” my grandmother says with a smile. She’s very good at brushing things off. I wish I could be like that. If something annoys me, I’m likely to sulk about it for days.
    The sommelier motions to the back, and the chef brings out dates stuffed with goat cheese and almonds. I take one and let it melt in my mouth.
    “Great pairing with this wine, isn’t it?” the sommelier asks.
    “Great,” I say, even though I haven’t yet touched my glass.
    We sip wine and eat our dates (my grandmother, one; me, four), and talk about how wonderful the pairing is. Once the dates are gone, I move back to the baked brie and seven-grain crackers. I keep my eyes down, lest anyone see me pairing a Muscat with the wrong cheese.
    “That’s very good, Hannah,” the sommelier says. “I think brie is a wonderful complement to this wine.”
    My grandmother beams. See, I knew we could teach my classless granddaughter something if we stuffed her full of enough wine!
    “Yes,” I say, and nod soberly. “Very good complement.”
    “You know,” the sommelier says, “when I was in culinary school, I used to think my beverage classes were a real joke. I used to get drunk in wine class and not even pay attention!”
    He looks at me. Clearly, that was the punch line.
    “That’s so funny,” I say, without actually laughing. My grandmother smiles broadly. She will later remind me of the importance of laughing at a man’s jokes, even if they aren’t funny.
    “But then I went to France to study pastry and I just fell in love with wine. I’m not sure when it happened exactly, but it changed my whole life’s course.”
    “Hannah knows a little something about that,” my grandmother chimes in.
    “Oh?” he asks. “Did something change your life’s course recently?”
    “Hannah got arrested,” my grandmother says.
    I feel my face getting very red. I’m not sure if it’s the wine or my grandmother’s declaration, but I take a sip of water, just to be safe.
    The sommelier is riveted. He’s practically sitting at the edge of his chair. I would have thought that someone who works with fine wines, who has dedicated his life to the finer things in life, would find this story somewhat distasteful, but my grandmother has piqued his interest.
    “She’s wanted by the State of New York for attempted murder,” my grandmother says.
    “No, I’m not,” I say, but the sommelier still has his mouth on the ground. He’s practically panting. He’s like one of those dogs you see in a cartoon whose mouth drops to the ground and tongue unrolls while his eyes pop out of his head. “I was questioned by the New York City police. I was not arrested.”
    “For attempted murder,” my grandmother says.
    “For attempted murder?” the sommelier asks.
    “For attempted murder,” I say.
    “Who did you try to kill?” he asks.
    “I didn’t try to kill anyone,” I explain. “It was an accident and his mother completely overreacted and tried to press charges.”
    “Whose mother?” he asks.
    “Her ex-boyfriend,” my grandmother says, in a hushed tone. “So, you’d better watch your step. Don’t get too close to this one.”
    I’m about to explain that this all wasn’t really such a big deal—my ex is completely fine, and I only came out here to try to get a little rest and relaxation before rebooting my life in the city—but we’re interrupted by the winemaker who has a case of wine on each shoulder.
    “I’ve got a case of the pinot noir, good choice,” he says. “And I also brought out the Muscat, just in case you wanted that, too.”
    “Sure,” my grandmother says, “why not?”
    The winemaker retreats to the car.
    “We should be going,” my grandmother says. “It was so nice to meet you.”
    “It was my pleasure,” the sommelier says, taking her hand and kissing it.
    “Thank you for everything,” I say. I think about trying to explain, telling