Sancerre

In the northern hemisphere, June 21 has the most daylight hours. Pack a picnic—a chilled bottle of Sancerre, cheese, olives, and a nice baguette—and hit the grassy knoll.

Lunch has been ruined, the Sancerre runs dry, but somehow, somehow, they’ll find a way to carry on.

When I finally careered into the right place, 30 minutes late, he was sitting alone, looking sharp in a Timothy Everest navy wool suit, eating an appetizer, which he called “a chickpea thing” and drinking a glass of Sancerre.