Two months before The Tinder Swindler was released on Netflix, I had my own run-in with a “diamond-exporting,” truth-bending, wine-stealing date.
Leandro was Italian-Brazilian with short salt-n-pepper hair, dark eyes and an attentive personality. Initially attracted to his persistence, his knowledge of Puglia and the prospect of trips to Rio, I matched with him and we chatted for two days before he claimed to be an heir to a diamond mine… excuse me! This is new. Living in the Bay Area, my world sometimes intersected with the wealth of tech and new money, but rarely did I meet someone with an occupation worthy of a Bond villain. I couldn’t resist his invitation to Zuni, a local institution in San Francisco.
I was running early—well, I was on time, so, early for a Tinder date—and got seated alone upstairs near the window overlooking Rose Street. I ordered a glass of Les Beaux Fougets for $20. Delicately sipping, I anxiously waited for Leandro. More than a few “almost there” texts later, he finally called to say he wasn’t allowed in—he forgot his proof of vaccination.
No amount of pleading or begging could get him a seat inside or out, so I abandoned my barely touched cup of Burgundy to find a restaurant that would serve us (in San Francisco in those days it was nearly impossible to find a wine bar that did not demand vaccination cards). Walking down Gough and up to Hayes, I thought to myself, “This is weird;
This Article was originally published on Wine Enthusiast
