So I was stuck at JFK with 4 hours to kill, a sleeping 4-year-old and a $7 pilsner as companions. Oh, and my wife (sorry, honey!) who was being slowly overtaken by the plague. It was the perfect time for the Sunday Times, that impenetrable brick of prose conveniently available for purchase at the New York Times Bookstore attached to our departure lounge. This is a periodical that I typically avoid: it is a black hole that sucks time from my Sunday with dangerous efficiency. But headed back from a long stay in Chianti, productivity was not on the top of my agenda.

And 3 hours later... there I am in the way back of the magazine's food issue. Proof of existence. Listen to what I say from now on. I am a New York Times-certified wine expert.

And I do like the Merlot that I recommended, and we do have it in stock.