The Faces of Rose

F. Scott Fitzgerald said it all: "The rich are different."

Unless they were poor to begin with and got rich suddenly. Then they tend to buy needless things--like the New York State Lottery winner who won $23 million and quit his job as a cabbie, bought a Lear Jet, and ended up shirtless on Cops.
Early hip-hop artist MC Hammer once made $30 million a year and employed 250 people. Today he appears on shows like (IT) The Surreal Life and declared bankruptcy in 1996. Brando was rumored to be broke when he died, but this enigmatic figure pulled off a posthumous coup when his estate was valued at $21.5 million. Even Fitzgerald died nearly broke, a washed up Jazz Age refuge, reduced to working on Hollywood scripts.
In the book The Millionaire Next Door, Thomas J. Stanley and William D. Danko point out that most millionaires live lifestyles indistinguishable from their neighbors. They drive older cars and tend to save rather than spend opulently. Now I'm not preaching some Puritan moral lesson that takes the fun and frivolity out of being rich, just setting the stage for you to meet Rose, a high school classmate.
Rose wasn't voted best looking or most popular. She was overweight, unsightly, and teased unmercifully. But she had Beth. Beth was one of those rare, self-assured teenagers who mixed in with all the social groups. She played field hockey (captain) and was yearbook editor. Beth drove a Saab and many nights we'd go off to some venue that would serve as Beth's salon for the night. What remains after 30 years is the memory of those conversations. We'd talk about everything from Watergate to Dadaism. Rose was a frequent and welcome contributor.
And through those interactions, Rose, a socially isolated outcast, had a few more people who'd say hello to her on Monday. One night Beth organized the legendary Bailey's Irish Cream and Jamieson's Whiskey Smoothie Limbo Contest, which resulted in the team of Jeff--the handsome football quarterback--and Rose winning the $15 pot. After that, no jock ever harassed Rose again--Jeff made sure of that. (It's amazing what a few well placed "Knock it offs" from an alpha figure can do.)
I hadn't seen Rose in 30 years, but Beth kept me updated on her life. Rose married well. Very well. She met a pre-med student in college and fell in love. He became a doctor, and shortly after their ninth anniversary, his 95-year-old grandmother died and left him $35 million! They bought a waterfront home in Little Compton, Rhode Island. When she invited Beth for the weekend, Beth asked if she could bring me along.
We arrived just after lunch. Rose-- well the new Rose--was working in the garden. Fifty pounds lighter, elegant, and surprisingly pretty. Okay, she still had her moustache, but she was stunning.
Rose prepared a wonderful dinner and sent me out to pick up some wine. In her honor, I went with an all pink selection that was salad-friendly. We ate dinner with Rose, her husband, her 20-year-old NYU Film School student son and his high maintenance girlfriend. She served Mediterranean seafood salad, an arugula salad with blood oranges, Medjool dates, and Parmesan cheese lightly tossed with hazelnut flavored oil. The main course was hangar steak and baked potatoes in a salt and peppercorn crust. The doctor grilled everything tableside on an aircraft carrier sized grill. For dessert we had strawberry shortcake.
We all agreed. The Chateau Calissanne from Provence was the winner of our rose taste-off. This $8.99 bottle was refreshing, with no tannins and a fizzy little bite, like Fresca. The wine was an interesting blend of 50 percent Grenache, 35 percent Syrah, and 15 percent Cabernet Sauvignon. It was the Cabernet that gave it such a dry, unsweetened finish.
Bodegas Muga 2001 Rosado from Spain, $7.99, is a blend of 60 percent Grenache, 30 percent Viura, and 10 percent Tempranillo. It's sweeter with a bite of astringent tannins and seemed to have more depth, but also had a soft side like a strawberry spritzer.
Chateau Routas Rouviere Rose from Provence costs $10.99. This 40 percent Grenache, 30 percent Syrah, and 30 percent Cinsault is a traditional rose blend, but compared to the Calissanne it seemed heavy and acidic. I liked the sweeter finish, but it didn't have the finesse of the more modern blends. It comes from the Coteaux Varois between Toulon and Nice.
As the sun set, Rose rolled out a portable bar filled with spirits, liqueurs, and blenders. We tried mango frozen daiquiris: mango juice, dark rum, and vanilla ice cream swirled in a blender; strawberry margaritas; and our favorite, the frozen grasshopper.

Frozen Grasshopper
A splash of white rum or brandy- just a splash 1 oz. Creme de Menthe A scoop of vanilla ice cream A quick whirl in the blender and then garnish with whipped cream and a sprig of fresh mint.
We talked into the night, trading gossip and updates on people from high school. It was a veritable VH-1 of "What Ever Happened Too...?" Surprisingly, Rose had stayed in touch with Jeff, the heartthrob quarterback. "I wrote to him in prison," she said. "He's out and doing fine, living in Arizona." Apparently he had a little trouble with some wire fraud charges in the early 1990s. And Rose was surprisingly candid about the hell she went through in high school. "I looked in the mirror and saw a homely young woman, but we were studying the Cubists and Surrealists and it dawned on me, Gertrude Stein never won any beauty contests. And I've lived by that ever since."