Diane de Poitiers, a mistress of French King Henry II in the first half of the 16th century, subscribed to the idea that gold was imbued with magical youth-preserving powers by the Sun’s energy, so she drank it in elixirs made by the King’s apothecaries. John Barry, the man who composed scores and themes for a dozen films in the James Bond franchise, died this week at 77. One of his most recognizable themes has Shirley Bassey booming out the word “gold” eight times in the last nine lines of the song in her unmistakable foghorn of a voice. In the film, Goldfinger famously tells 007 “No, Mr. Bond – I expect you to die,” which is exactly what happened to Mdme. de Poitiers when the gold in her body reached Bond-villain levels. We’ll hope to avoid that fate this week as we toss back a little gold to honor Mr. Barry.

Super Bowl Sunday, that highest of February holidays (What? OW! Stop it.) introduces the yawning mouth of the Boring Beer Pitfall into our collective path.

Isn't it odd how our tastes change? I remember when I used to ride my bike five miles to buy Charleston Chew and Cry Babies at the old Vic's Variety in Stratford, and now I won't even lean forward in my seat to grab a piece of Halloween candy. Every dinner accompanied by broccoli used to be a contest of wills. Now I'll do actual work to pair my steak with asparagus, and I order collard greens with my BBQ at Smokey Joe's. So it is with wheat beer: I couldn't be bothered after an unimpressive first pint, but that may be changing. Broccoli remains a better projectile than comestible, though, in most cases. The dog seems to appreciate it. 

I decided years ago that wheats just weren't up my alley, and have largely ignored them since. Having a first-person column gives one Nursultan Nazarbayev-like power, but I'd like to be a more benign dictator, and really, this column is about you and I both learning - so on it was to round two.