"Well, Al," I responded, "Actually, I majored in Political Science.

"There you go, practically the same thing, right? All that liberal hogwash, leading our country down the drain. And look where it's got you-a glorified bar tender. "

I'm not sure what made me madder---his criticism of my job or his attack on Berkeley. But one thing was for sure: one of the rules stamped into the mind of every tasting room host is not to talk politics. That goes double when talking to one of the owners and triple when the owner is a narrow-minded snob. So I bit my tongue and said, "Al, have you tasted our new Cab? It was just released last week. "

"Well, it's a little early but don't mind if I do. I've got this meeting with your boss and I bet he and Jennifer are in there conspiring right now. I could use some fortification before I forge into the lion's den. "

I wouldn't bet on the lions, I thought, as I poured him a generous taste of the '05 Cab and searched for a neutral topic to steer him away from my educational and political inadequacies. I remember from his last visit that there are two things Borioso is passionate about-besides making money. He loves to eat and he loves Opera. He collects famous restaurants like some people collect stamps and he loves talking about them. Most of the ones he mentions I have never heard of. Last time he was out he had reservations at the 'French Laundry. ' He wanted to know what he should order. Since it as just down the road, he assumed it must be one of my favorite hangouts. I had to inform him that the only French laundry I frequented was during my trip to France after graduation. He didn't think that was very funny.

Don't get me wrong, I like to eat but my tastes are rather simple. My father was strictly a meat and potatoes man and my mother thought Bird's Eye had invented vegetables. Not surprisingly, I found the French food rather pretentious. A 'Croque Monsieur' turned out to be grilled cheese sandwich. Well, why couldn't they just say so? Who knew that 'Steak Tartar' was hamburger nobody cooked. I still remember the waiter glaring at me as I asked him in my best high school French to cook the meat, s'il vous plait. Good French fries, though, even if they call them 'fried apples'. . . weird.