For Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d share the story of the worst date I ever went on. I was reminded of it this week, not only because the tragedy + time formula of comedy has further seasoned it with laughs, but because I am grateful not to have to do this anymore.

This date took place in 2004 when online dating was still fairly new, and the leadup to a meeting could involve weeks of email exchanges and/or phone calls (no texting yet!) before the first date. At the time, I was just starting out in my wine studies, not yet working in the industry. I was living in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, where there was an excellent little wine bar on Lafayette Avenue, Stonehome, which had a fun revolving list including good fortified wines from all over, delicious, affordable food, and friendly, knowledgeable staff. I miss it.

When I agreed to meet up with, let’s call him Devon, we’d had a couple of weeks of exchanges about our passion for wine and interest in good local Brooklyn fare. A red flag should have been that as much as he waxed seemingly poetic about the viniferal arts, he didn’t seem to know too many spots at which to support them.