Of Bread And Wine

When Steve, my former neighbor, he of the big gut and foul mouth, announced that he would stop by my house to check on his Harley Davidson motorbike that I have stored in my garage, I thought
well
I shall bake a Rosemary Focaccia bread ( an Italian flat bread ) which will go nicely with my planned dinner of Chili con Carne de Pavo and it will impress Steve, a food lover, besides going well with a glass of wine.
So there it was, the bread, when Steve arrived late and bleary eyed from lack of sleep and other visits before this one, still warm and fragrant with rosemary and garlic and chunks of rock salt and I carried it to the table with cold butter and his bottle of Chilean red wine , which will never be my favorite.
This, I said, is an Italian bread I just baked. Taste it.
Which he did and said that it, eh, was, eh, very nice and, eh.......and then launched into a tirade about all the wrongs done to him, all the money owed him and all the problems with his wife.
He never took another bite.
There was my lovely, fragrant flat bread, barely touched.
There really, really is a vast difference between a gourmand and a gourmet.

And indeed it went well with my chili.