We do a large export trade (that is, the firm does), and there are
often samples lying about in the office. There was a bottle of Tarret's
Tonic Port, which had been there some time, and one of the partners
told the head clerk that he could have it if he liked. Later in the day
the head clerk said if a bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port was any use to
me I might take it home. He said he had just opened it and tasted it,
because he did not like to give anything away until he knew if it was
all right.
I thanked him. "Tastes," I said, "just like any ordinary port, I
suppose?"
"Well," he said, "it's more a tonic port than an ordinary port. But
that's only what you'd expect from the label."
"Quite so," I said--"quite so." I looked at the label, and saw that it
said that the port was peculiarly rich in phosphates. I put the bottle
in my bag that night and took it home.
* * * * *
"Eliza," I said, "I have brought you a little present. It is a bottle
of port." Eliza very rarely takes anything at all, but if she does it
is a glass of port. In this respect I admire her taste. Port, as I have
sometimes said to her, is the king of wines. We decided that we would
have a glass after supper. That is really the best time to take
anything of the kind; the wine soothes the nerves and prevents
insomnia.
Eliza picked the bottle up and looked at the label. "Why," she said,
"you told me it was port!"
"So it is."
"It says tonic port on the label."
"Well, tonic port practically _is_ port. That is to say, it is port
with the addition of--er--phosphates."
"What are phosphates?"
"Oh, there are so many of them, you know. There is quinine, of course,
and magnesium, and--and so on. Let me fill your glass."
She took one very little sip. "It isn't what I should call a pleasant
wine," she said. "It stings so."
"Ah!" I said, "that's the phosphates. It would be a little like that.
But that's not the way to judge a port. What you should do is to take a
large mouthful and roll it round the tongue,--then you get the aroma.
Look: this is the way."