The mystery of the vanishing Vermouth

Vermouth, I always thought, was rather a banal mixer, used with gin, and predominantly by people in spy movies saying pretentious things like ‘shaken not stirred’. Or, as a spoof film we recently saw had it, ‘pour a stiff gin and show it to a bottle of Martini but so it can’t see the label, and without even taking the top off’.

In fact, I didn’t make much of a distinction between Vermouth in general and Martini in particular. And since I associated it with large quantities of gin, far from my favourite tipple, I really didn’t think that much of it.

It turns out that in our new home city, Valencia, Vermouth is a matter of local pride. Not the kind produced by Martini, though. Here, many bars and restaurants pride themselves on producing their own home-made variety. It’s made of reinforced wines in which various spices and herbs have been allowed to steep. It’s sweet, too, so if, unlike me with my every-so-slightly excessive weight, you have no sweet tooth, then you may not like Valencian Vermouth as much as I do. But I reckon it’s still worth trying.

Huevos Alto Turia, our local organic shop
It has an enticing feel to it

Around the corner from us is an organic food shop which does great local produce. You know – all sorts of nuts and seeds and special breads and free-range eggs. They – I don’t know why I say ‘they’ since it’s very much a one-woman show – she will also order bottles of a local Vermouth from a friendly supplier. Tell her in the morning and she’ll have them by the evening at the latest.

I told her yesterday, because her Vermouth is one I particularly enjoy. But I left it overnight before I went to collect the three bottles I’d asked her for.

“They were here just an hour and a half after you asked for them,” she told me with a note of unmistakeable pride in her voice.

I thanked her and paid for the bottles, then loaded them into the rucksack I’d brought for the purpose. Back home, I dumped the rucksack on a chair by the dining table and took two bottle out to transfer to the storage room where we keep such things. Then I went back to the dining table and noticed, to my horror, that the rucksack was empty.

The rucksack. And just two bottles

What could have happened?

Danielle was recently robbed in Madrid. She was wearing one of those rucksack-style handbags and two young women had come up close behind her, whipped the rucksack open and grabbed her purse. We noticed them in time to stop them taking anything else, but the purse was gone, never to be heard of again.

Had the same thing happened to me?

Valencia always strikes me as a relatively safe place, with little crime. But that’s not the same as no crime. Perhaps I hadn’t been careful enough about zipping up the rucksack and someone, sneaking up behind me, had seen the single bottle in its compartment and got it out without my noticing.

Then again, I might have left it in the shop.

I shot back there and asked whether I’d left a bottle behind.

“No,” she said, “you took all three with you. I saw you pack them.”

She looked at me, concerned.

“Perhaps you took the other bottle out without really paying attention and you just don’t remember doing so?”

That must have been it, I thought. It was certainly true to character. I thanked her again – I didn’t want her to think I was accusing her of anything – and headed back home. But, no, I’d put away just two bottles, not three.

I went back to the dining table. There was a rucksack on it, completely empty. No third bottle.

And then I remembered that I’d put the rucksack I’d had with me on a chair by the dining table, not on the table itself. I took a look at that chair. And there, indeed, was a different rucksack. And, yes, it wasn’t empty.

I’ll leave you to complete the story from that point. All I’m going to add is that I was quite glad to discover that I was out of eggs, so I could go back to the shop and explain that really, truly, sincerely I had nothing to accuse her of. I did indeed have all three bottles. It was my absent-mindedness that had ever let me doubt it, nothing to do with her.

She seemed quite relieved.

As was I.