Master Som­me­lier Blind-tastes a Glass of Wa­ter

For Shara Mccal­lum

New England Review - - Explorations -

This glass: did you rinse it? I ask be­cause there's sed­i­ment swirling like a time-lapse of a gal­axy if stars were de­bris with­out their shin­ing.

So you rinsed it. With gut­ter wa­ter I pre­sume, then dried it with a me­chanic's rag. Then it's tap.

Now on to the nose:

the chlo­rine is over­whelm­ing, wow, who shoved me into a swimming pool? It's pos­i­tively tap. I'm also pick­ing up some witch­grass

and mon­ey­wort, it's not easy with all this sodium chlo­ride as­sault­ing my si­nuses. Penny, I'm de­tect­ing old penny, a hint of nat­u­ral gas. I have to say

I am

hes­i­tant to taste this.

Here it goes:

O, damn my as­tute taste buds! There is def­i­nitely chlo­rine in this ghastly thing I refuse to call wa­ter. It's just bleach, weeds, petrol, brass, but mostly bleach. No min­eral notes what­so­ever.

David Her­nan­dez

I'm go­ing tap from a brass faucet, from a re­gion ru­ined by frack­ing. This is New World, pos­si­bly United States or Brazil. I'm call­ing United States, Penn­syl­va­nia,

Lau­rel High­lands, 2013 vintage.

I have to say: This faucet you found? The small town where you found it? Their mayor does not

love them enough.

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