Chris Stamp wants to show me something, but he wants to keep it a secret, and he knows I’m a writer. I’m here to chat, to taste his 2010 wines, to understand how a guy like him can carry so much energy, all the time. But he wants to show Evan Dawson, private citizen, not Evan Dawson, writer.

I am not conditioned to go off the record easily. I favor transparency and openness and sunlight. But Stamp won’t budge — not yet, anyway, as he explains it. So I relent.

“Okay, we’re off the record,” I tell him.


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