Peanuts and Port

What could be better than salty, crunchy peanuts washed down with a glass of purple Port? Pierre and I have acquired the habit of indulging in a nightly aperitif before dinner (which gets pushed later and later as we snack, snack, and snack some more; our now-bulging bellies do protesteth, but the pre-dinner wine soothes after long days of work).

A word about the aperitif in all its Frenchness: this could be my favorite custom really. The ritualized ceremony of it. When dining with friends or family, I can predict the exact sequence of the aperitif, to a tee. Little cups of snacks, chips, cheese straws, and plates of sliced saucisson and charcuterie are placed next to tiny little glasses. Bottles of liquor, wine, and-- if in the campagne-- homemade flavored liqueurs are placed on the same table and/or bar. After the host pours for his guests the drinks of choice, glasses are clinked together and eyes must lock (of course it's bad form, and rotten bad luck, to toast without making eye contact).

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