Signora Rinaldi looked at us like we were crazy. For having come all the way to Barolo to taste Grignolino, which I gathered she regarded as sort of a domestic servanty sort of wine, helpful to have around the house, but never introduced to guests.
"It's better when it's chilled," I said to J, who like me was nodding and sweating in the hot tasting room. Our passage through Barolo coincided with the hottest week of the year, and I had the impression that all three of us present were somewhat anxious not to spend too much time in that room. This perhaps accounts for what happened next, which was - nothing.
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