Mediterranean Blast

Like Groucho, I'm not sure I want to be part of any club that'll have me.

That said, when it's Club Saison a few blocks from home and the meeting is a wine dinner, I'm in. My date for "inspired wines bolstered by bites from Chef Adam Hall," was a favorite chef happy to have a walkable way to spend his evening off. Ditto the handsome bartender and his date, also taking advantage of Monday funday.

Saison had been laid out with one long communal table with flowers and pale blue napkins while overhead, Wild Nothing was playing on the sound system.

We were handed glasses of Casteil d'Age Anne Marie Brut Nature Reserva as a greeting (possibly the most gorgeous way to say hello) and introduced ourselves to the one couple who'd arrived before us. We were told this was a night to play with wine and just have fun.

Now there's a club philosophy I can get solidly behind.

Before long others were coming in the door, the only familiar face being the bartender. I overheard one woman describe the lovely bubbles we were drinking as "hot tub wine, you know, porch wine." Are they one and the same? Also overheard, "I'm going to set up a Tinder app to be the perfect Tinder experience..." Isn't that an oxymoron?

It mattered not that all but two faces were new to me because the invitation had plainly stated that part of tonight's purpose at Club Saison was to have an interactive/lively evening, which meant getting to know strangers.

To my left was a delightful couple who thanked me profusely for making them aware of Saison's parking lot, something they hadn't known existed. To my right was a woman described by her husband of 15 years as having "a degree in psychology, a master's in English literature and I'm from West Virginia!"

When I asked if that dichotomy made for problems in their relationship, he said no. "I came pre-trained and so did she." This is why middle-aged relationships have so much potential.

"I was feral," quipped my date. True that.

We started with an octopus terrine in heirloom tomato gel, a dish we should have been eating in some little coastal town while sipping the hot tub wine, which we learned was made by successive female generations of a family

I'm all about some girl power.

Next came goat and sheep's milk cheeses accompanied by two pairings, both Sicilian, one of which was Arianna Occhipinti's Tami Nero d'Avola. I'm an unabashed fan of Arianna's wines after being introduced to them by a fellow Gemini and then following up by having them on two occasions while I was in Italy.

That's actually one of my favorite Italy stories because I tried to order a bottle at a cliffside restaurant in Vico Equense and the very Italian waiter looked at me like I'd insulted his mother. "But, but that's Sicilian!" he'd sputtered. Sure is. And a woman to boot.

Next came scallops two ways, one seared and one salt-cured, with hen of the woods and two more pairings, this time from Corsica: Domaine Leccia Patrimonio Rose and Rouge. Our wine goddess shared that she'd been determined to include Corsican wines in this dinner one way or another.

Everyone swooned over lamb loin with beets, radish slices and blackberry jam paired with the funky unfiltered Celler Jordi Liorens' Blan 5-7 and the fabulous (if a tad pricey) Panevino's Su Chi No'Nao, a real treat to drink by the glass.

Meanwhile I quizzed those around me about their first concerts (Chicago Transit Authority for him and the Doobie Brothers for her), marveling at the host of '70s-era shows one woman had seen. We even had a textile talk, discussing the brilliance of colors achievable on polyester as evidenced by thrift store disco-era finds. Only problem? Hot as hell to dance in at the club.

It was while we were having our stone fruit dessert that a woman at the table looked at her husband and said, "I won't make a face if you buy any of these wines." I told her that her statement was a variation of something my friend Pru had told her Beau at a wine dinner once: "If you want to keep me liquored up all summer, you'll buy lots of this."

I make no such demands and yet far too much wine seems to flow my way. Maybe it's the dues I pay for being in the club.

That said, you won't catch me getting in a hot tub with my wine. I'm pre-trained better than that.