A flood that rises a bottle at a time

It was so hot last weekend, I actually drank from the garden hose.

As impulsive acts go, it seemed as dangerous as half-price sushi at a C-rated restaurant.

The water didn’t taste that bad, though. But I had hesitated before I sipped, and not just from a fear of contaminants. In that moment I realized that, like so many others in this town of fake rivers and sprinkler-fed plants, I’ve developed a highly complicated relationship with seemingly simple water.

That’s the problem -- it’s not simple. Now it’s necessary to assemble a water collection that’s as nuanced as a wine cellar, as personal as a perfume collection and as blessedly pure as holy water.

Worse, you have to read the label -- on bottled water. Water!! Is it natural spring water? Is it bottled at the source? What is the mineral content? Does a portion of the price help disadvantaged people?

Once I started to look, evidence of my obsession was obvious. My guests are served the pricey and pretty blue bottles of ultra-bubbly Ty Nant from Wales, which I stash with the wine. My morning hot tea is freshly boiled, room-temperature water from a Brita-filtered pitcher. My cold drinking water must be filtered, kept at refrigerator temperature and stored in an antique glass pitcher. No ice -- it mars the taste and texture.

When I choose carbonation, I want only the mildest, so I have to shell out $5 for a small bottle of delicate French Badoit. I might buy the bubbly German Gerolsteiner, but only during times of budget crisis.

Then there’s the case of cheap Costco water I keep for earthquakes, and the case of local Arrowhead in the garage. It’s an emergency-only, traffic-jam quencher.

I even have a special bottle that goes to concerts when I want to freak out the cops who search my bag: Liquid Salvation. It comes in a plastic bottle shaped like a whiskey flask, and it fits in your back pocket if you want to get up and dance.

And you know what? There is a difference. I’m not crazy. Some waters have minerals that interfere with wine during dinner. I’ve chosen thirst over the dull metallic tang of Volvic, which Europeans seem to love. I won’t pay $9 for a restaurant’s bottled water if it serves the low-mineral Sole from Italy. If I must choose between flat or sparkling water, I pick the flat, because fizz is a joke if you’re trying to taste your entree or, especially, your water.

Chefs are now water connoisseurs too. Nobu Matsuhisa in New York and Josiah Citrin at Melisse and Lemon Moon cook with Fiji, my all-purpose favorite.

Perhaps someday restaurants will learn that, like wine, water is best served in thin, pure-crystal, stemmed glassware (though my grandfather swore that a heavy, lead crystal tumbler improved the taste).

But where does it stop? Along with claims of better taste and health (Sanfaustino is a new high-calcium water from Italy), the newest waters come with a message. I may have to serve my religious guests Trinity, which bubbles up from somewhere beneath God-fearing Idaho. I may have to stock Ethos for my neighborhood political action group, because the profits help bring clean water to impoverished children.

I can also foresee a future when the www.finewaters.com website becomes a regular resource for menu planning. And sooner or later, we water worshipers will host water “cocktail” parties with an assortment of temperatures, effervescence and glassware. We’ll be noting the water’s terroir, whether volcanic rock or batholiths of granite produce a finer mineral balance, and which brand of garden hose optimizes the distinctive tang of L.A. water.

Valli Herman can be contacted at valli.herman@latimes.com.