Over a soft-ripened wheel of bark-wrapped Jasper Hill Harbison, my mother and I engaged in a heated discussion about existence, reality, and “God”….

I treated her to some thoughts about Maslow’s Heirarchy, and, in turn, she delighted me in anecdotes about scripture from Matthew, Mark, Luke, and some other plainly-named fellow.

In between us was the ruins from dinner: a half-eaten round of soft cheese, laced with sweetness from the lazy spoon that transferred cranberry jam and cheesy delight to crunchy baguette goodness. The creamy, silky smooth and nutty flavor of the Harbison, accompanied by bubbly effervescence of Prosecco D.O.C, left us able to converse on such subject matter without getting angry and storming off from the table.

My argument? The meal we just had was/is/will continue to be my form of communion. Pure joy: glutinous indulgence that forgives any wrong-doings from the previous day with each bite.

Her argument? Picture: “Jezus Christ, Suuuper-star!” Traditional, right-leaning, constitution praising, “Great-Again” values baked into prophecy of Godliness.

I love her, and what I love just as much about this evening….

Harbison.