Food Fight

I think I may have mentioned, like a couple seventy times, that I simply adore getting my hands on a menu and getting my wine dork swerve on. I absolutely dig the rush, the tingle really, of sorting through the onion skinned pages of my mental taste and textural vault…picking things up, taking a sniff, a virtual bite if you will, trying to click together the Lincoln Logs of a menu and wandering around the shop trying to find a wine that will best match, or better yet, frame that meal and give that, “Please help me” customer the best possible combination of weight, acidity, flavor and structure. This is a service that The Wine Country offers that no other stores in the area do, this not only makes me proud it pushes me even harder. My goal always being that anyone that comes in looking for food and wine pairing advice walks away feeling as if they were heard, their dish taken seriously and with bottles they can feel confident will not only be to their liking but will be harmonious with their meal. It’s what we do and it is one of my favorite parts of the job. That being said, there are times when this particular challenge, well it’s more like a mission impossible….

Now I know people are kind of in love with the idea of food and wine dinners, the romantic notion of a wine perfectly paired with each course. I get it, hell I have those notions myself but the fact of the matter is perfection in anything is rare and with food and wine, well magnify that rarity by like a thousand. There are only a handful of times that you will find that absolute perfect pairing and more often than not, it’s when there are the least amount of ingredients involved. Oysters and Muscadet or Sancerre, roast chicken and white Burgundy, goat cheese and Sauvignon Blanc, aioli and Provencal Rose, French fries and Blanc de Blanc all simple and stunningly beautiful together but add one thing; a little cocktail sauce on that oyster, a spice rub on that chicken or fruit chutney on that goat cheese, no matter how small the change might seem it does in fact change the wine options, often dramatically.

“I need a wine to go with chicken” or “I’m looking for something that will go with pasta” well those things tell us nothing really, I mean unless you are actually going to eat plain chicken or a plate of sauce free pasta, we need to have all the information to make the best possible suggestion and even then, well sometimes there just isn’t a wine up to the task. As versatile as wine is there are times, when no matter how badly you want it to be, there is no way wine and food pairing “perfection” can be attained, often…with the menus that I have come across as of late and the rather trying trend of piling on of “more” ala Emeril and Bobby Flay well wine is downright unwelcome. Trust me, kills this wine geek to admit that, to concede that no matter how much we tout wine and its place at the table that there are some tables….some dishes where wine just doesn’t have a place.

So what do we wine geek, pairing freaks do in such situations? Well much to the annoyance of some of our “Help me” customers we are brutally honest…okay not brutally, it’s not like we stand there saying, “Dude, are you high?! Why in the hell would you want to serve Moroccan spiced lamb with mango chili chutney with a side of blue cheese grits?! An actual course for a menu we were brought last week. Not only does that sound hideous to me, those two things on one plate but we could not think of one wine that was going to do anything good to that mess. When the customer was told, flat out, that there was no wine that was going to taste really good with that, that the flavors there were all pretty….um, aggressive and they might want to consider a “lighter beer” for a match to them, we were met with a shrug and a, “we want to do a wine pairing dinner not a beer pairing dinner. So whatever wine you think would be an okay match is fine” that kind of shit right there just baffles the hell out of me.

 So you want to do a wine and food dinner but you pick foods that are in no way wine friendly and then try and bend a wine to fit into this crazy mixed up bag of flavors…..well no wonder there are people out there that think pairings are a load of horseshit. Kind of like the couple that kept me tied up for a solid half an hour teaching them about French wines, which they admitted they knew nothing about and after explaining harmony at the table, balance and texture they told me, “Okay so we want a Bordeaux (they had heard Bordeaux was the best French wine…best for what I don’t know) that will go with a Chinese buffet of mostly fish and vegetables. Oh and it needs to be from an odd year”….head imploding.  Or the woman that was doing a big company dinner and needed a Cabernet Sauvignon for New York steaks and grilled sea bass, (they were serving both you see) and when told that there really wasn’t a Cabernet that would be great with grilled sea bass told me, “Okay. Well just pick whatever Cabernet you think would be best with the fish then”…..picture my scrunched face here. When these things happen I get all bunched up, twisted and irked. Stomp around after they leave pointing my finger and bemoaning the fact that they “don’t get it!” but it occurred to me a few months back…sometimes it’s me that doesn’t get it.

Many of these people just don’t care. It’s the doing of the dinner, the planning the menu, the having friends over, the mere idea of it all that pleases them. It’s fun and for some, makes them feel kinda fancy, the actual balance of flavors….well that’s not the point for these cats, (I mean c’mon, Moroccan spiced lamb, fruit and chilies AND a side of blue cheese grits?!) and no matter what we dorks say, how often we tell them that Opus One and oysters is a bad pairing, it doesn’t matter. It’s what they like and honestly, we have no business telling them anything different. For someone that preaches balance all the time it became very clear to me that I needed a little of my own. So what if our Stella Rosa, (a sweet sparkling red that tastes kinda like marshmallows) customers drink that wine with their steak or spaghetti and meatballs. It may give me the gag shivers but they dig it and putting a bottle of Barbera d’Alba or Cotes du Rhone in their hand, while a better match for the food…is not a match for those people and all that’s gonna do is turn them off wine, not the smartest move for a store that relies on return customers right?!

So while these pairing deals are a favorite part of my gig they can, at times, be little more than a head cracking dance of frustration and bewilderment. It’s a fine line between offering assistance and just being an ass and for all my talk about harmony and balance there is nothing more harmonious than watching a customer walk out the front door, bottles in hand, grin on their face because their local wine merchant actually listened to what they wanted. Oh I’ll still offer my suggestions, tell them why I think that Petite Sirah they have in mind might be a “Little much” for the Bacalhau dish they are making and suggest something more along the lines of Pinot Gris or Pinot Blanc….try my damndest to get them to take both and experiment for themselves, (which is how I snag em’ and end up with return “please help me” customers) watch them leave with my fingers crossed that the little switch will go off for them when they have an actual pairing moment.

Teaching not preaching…..rough but if it brings more people to the wine drinking table, I’m all in. Baby stepping our customers into the world of food and wine pairing, explaining the wine should be a component to the dishes on the table and not some afterthought or accessory. This too is a service that The Wine Country offers, that no one else in town does, and for the ten people that shrug off our recommendations there are fifty that willingly take our suggestions and have faith in our years of figuring this shit out. Good odds and the more we handle these “food fights” with grace and not dogma….well the more people will come to trust that we like know what we’re talking about and junk. 

Now if I could just get those chefs and “Food & Wine” writers to quit making my job so goddamn hard! Fuckers…..

To Family Indeed

I woke Sunday morning feeling like I had swallowed battery acid and a freight train had run smack dab through the center of my skull. We had spent the entire day before, starting at 9:30 AM mind you, in some form of celebratory buzzery; waking still hazy from the night before when the kids took us to their favorite local dive bar, (and should you ever find yourself in Louisville Kentucky, (yeah I didn’t think I would either) and want a cool place for cheap drinks and insane people watching you must check out The Back Door) having post graduation cocktails, (like a lot of them) with lunch and ending with a, “I Graduated Suckas” party at Jeremy’s….one celebrating two of the kids, (both named Jeremy oddly enough) that had gotten their degree that day…..ugh.

Now you know those parents that would “Pop on by” a raging house party their child was having, you know, make an appearance and then get the fuck out before the wheels came off the bus? Yeah, I’m not one of those. My in-laws were the smart ones, they came by right as the thing was getting started. When the kids were sipping their beers or mixing their first drink and still had clear eyes and coherent speech. They “popped by” met a couple people and then high tailed it back to their hotel but as it turns out, and I was told as much by several of the glossy eyed, speech slurring party goers, our family, (which includes my best friends Amy & Roger) have become something of a legend with this group of kids. Started two trips back but was magnified by the last trip when Amy and Roger joined us, the trip where we cooked for them and matched them shot for shot, drink for drink and knocked many of the young ones right on their ass. Party monsters, we were legendary party monsters round those parts, I’m so proud….

By my third gin & tonic, from a red plastic cup, (aka keg or beer pong cup) no less, I was feeling my age but knowing that Jeremy, our Jeremy happened to love the fact that his family was known for being able to hang with his homies, well I knew I was not leaving anytime soon. I spent the evening chatting with a few of the kids, a couple of them attached to my side and following me from room to room as they told me their life’s story. Sweet really, the way they opened up and seemed, in a way, to find comfort in my mom-ness….was like I had a couple little ducklings, drink mixing ducklings but ducklings none the less. As the night progressed my memory and sharpness took their leave; kept misplacing my drink….not to worry I had ducklings to make me another, I called my son’s ex-girlfriend by the name of his latest “hook-up” and had a minor MILFing moment….time to go. Sunday morning, “Oh Mother of Gawd! Who scotch taped my tongue to the roof of my fucking mouth?!” Ouch…..

My little band of broken soldiers did their best, we tried to eat….shudder, went to Indiana to hit the river casino, oh-my-gawd the flashing lights, dank mildew smell, thick air filled with decades of cigarette smoke and the screaming of the slot machines, but this was Jeremy’s weekend and we all sucked it up as best we could. I might just mention, Jeremy was looking a little green himself so I think he too was paying for this legendary status crap. I looked at my watch, shit 4:30 and we still had to put on a full dinner for Jeremy’s roommates and a few of his friends. Hanging on by a very fine thread to say the very least. Dropped Amy & Roger at their hotel for a nap while we made the trek to Whole Foods, (not down the street might I add) compiled a bunch of ingredients and headed to Jeremy’s where we would be met by the in-laws and begin cooking. 

“You know, you’ve had one hell of a year already” my husband had said to me as I shakily tried to apply my eyeliner that morning. “You were taken to Italy, you’re about to turn 40, you had a long lost Uncle contact you and teach you stuff about the dad you never knew, had a friend take her own life and now Jeremy is graduating” I think, no I know I made some kind of, “Dude no shit" face and said something along the lines of, “Duh” but it was those words that were in my head as I quickly grabbed one of the bottles of wine I had brought specifically for this dinner. I was needing a little hair of the dog and craving something civil, grabbed an icy bottle of Francois Chidaine 2010 Rose from the freezer, (because of course the kids fridge was broken) poured myself a deep glass and stood there, forearms resting along the still sticky with booze counter, avoiding taking my deep sniffs of the wine for fear of being queasy, eyes taking in the beautiful pale pink, my son’s voice coming from the living room, a few of his things strewn about the kitchen, “You’ve had one hell of a year already” floating around in my pounding head. I brought the glass to my lips, gave it a slight tilt and took a deep breath as the freezer chilled wine crawled up the side of the glass and made my dry lips feel icy cold. As the very familiar flavors of Chidaine spilled across my palate my shoulders went softer, my back seemed to settle into my hips and my eyelashes fell gently across the tops of my cheeks, “One hell of a year indeed”

Flitted around the kitchen, dodging my mother in-law as she whipped up a batch of her amazingly succulent chicken cutlets, weaved around the husband as he rolled out and stuffed his famous pork pies, stood in a corner chopping olives and roasted peppers before assembling the Muffaletta sandwiches that Jeremy requested that I make, juice glass of Chidaine Rose at my side the whole time, exhaling….

The kids coming in and out of the kitchen to see how close we were ringing the dinner bell, the food, thankfully, being done in shifts so we could fill trays and watch the offerings vanish before filling them with something else, I was coming back to life. The look on Jeremy’s face as he devoured the foods he grew up eating, the pride with which he nodded when his friends moaned and went back for more, the wine in my glass, the ringing of the doorbell and hearing Amy’s voice, my wrist once again twisting as I drove yet another corkscrew into the neck of a bottle of Dagueneau Silex. The faces, smells and flavors in that kitchen….the faces, flavors and smells in my glass, family.

We ended the evening by filling up those red plastic cups, big frothy patch of white as the bubbles rose in the “glass” a bottle of NV Pierre Peters drained and arms in the air, “To you kid. Congratulations and we are so very proud of you Jeremy” my son and I taking just an extra second to stare in each other’s eyes, exchanging our shared smirk, “Been one hell of a year kid” slipping from my lips, “To family” slipping from his….

Everything changes, life just works that way and when lucky each one of those changes becomes part of who we are. The growth, the pain, the accomplishments and the setbacks happen, you can rail against it or learn from them, incorporate all of that into the already complex strung together moments that got you to that particular moment, let the new things weave themselves into our structure making us that much stronger, ready to take on the next. I believe that with all that I am but sometimes….well sometimes I need that shared smirk, the smell of pork pies, a glass of Dagueneau or Chidaine to flash a mirror in my face, remind me where I was….where I came from, who I am now and push me to be the woman I want to become. 

“To family” indeed…..    

Home & Tired But.....

                                (Call-o, Jeremy and me with my Ever So Happy to be having a picture taken face)

                                            (Roger, Jeremy & Amy)

                                                         (Jeremy being a dork)


He's done. My son completed his degree and I was able to be there to celebrate with him.....cannot express how truly proud I am, that might be from keeping up with graduating seniors all weekend...pretty sure my liver is bleeding and I'm still trying to figure out how I ended up taking a "Salad Tossing" poll with twenty-two year olds and with my lips on the shaved head of a sixty-five year old....complete with a tattooed face on the back, the back of his head. Oh and there was just enough hair on....the back of his head, to form a handlebar mustache on the face of said tattoo, in a bar, in Louisville Kentucky....um, ouch. Oh and believe me, there's more.


Home and tired but so very proud of my son and in some strange way, the way we tend to make our own frames for moments like these. No stuffed cap and gown bears, no balloons or giant cards, we have laughter, head shaking and memories that unlike an album full of photos never fade. I'm now off to wash the Vegas airport, (don't ask) off me and try and find me a liver bandage.

The Beatles Were Right

Love is all you need.

Sitting here in the bar at John Wayne, (Um, really? This is the level of greatness that gets an airport named after you? Well okay then, someday I hope to be sitting in the bar at the Rachel Ray International Airport) airport, got my double gin & tonic at my side...too little sleep but not so much giving a rat's ass because at the end of this hazy day there is...

My Baby. Hugs, the aromas and heart swelling feeling that comes from being near My Baby. There are no words better than the ones being sweetly groaned in my ear right now...

Before the day I met you, life was so unkind
But you're the key to my peace of mind...

When my soul was in the Lost & Found
You came along to claim it...

If I make you happy I don't need to do more
You make me feel
you make me feel
You make me feel like a natural woman....

Aretha said it best
I'm on my way Jeremy
Cannot wait
Mom 

Lost & Found

“Sam”

“Sam”

“Sam!!”

I woke with my heart pounding as the panicky, almost terrified voice tried to stir me from my deep slumber. I spun on my hip, eyes thick with sleep as I sat up in bed with the thumping in my chest the only sound in the room. 5:07 AM the alarm clock showed me as it rested silently, still in its own state of slumber, hours from when it would be droning out its “Time to get your ass up woman” god awful buzzing. The husband still folded into the comforter….that he stole from me thank you very much, wrapped up tight, the steady sound of deep breathing combined with a slight nasal whistle assuring me that he was, like the alarm clock, still hours from being awake. With my body vibrating from the shock of being awoken, by the sound of someone yelling my name in an increasingly sharp and fearful sounding tone, I knew I was never going to be able to drift back to sleep. I silently slipped from the bed, the one I had just fallen into only four hours before and came here. My hands still shaky, my eyes still thick and chest still pulling as I try and catch my breath….my mind racing, who was calling me? Lost……

Never being a big sleeper I’ve learned to love the sound of a city coming to life. The way it seems almost as if a giant switch as been flipped that sets in motion a soundtrack and series of events that all build to the sun coming up. That little chunk of time when the air smells cold, damp, settled, almost heavy….the way it shifts and becomes lighter with each little sign; birds chattering, nocturnals settling in, the hum of delivery trucks hitting the highways. Each tiny thing bringing a warmth and richness to that cold, damp smelling air, the gentle early morning stirrings, the shades from black to gray to steely blue, the spinning of shower knobs, flipping of light switches, the apartments around mine one by one emitting signs of life that I can now see through the glow behind their once dark windows. This, this is my favorite time of day, this watching, smelling and listening as the world comes to life time. So hopeful, I always feel so grateful and hopeful here. Maybe it was me that was calling….me. Maybe I needed to feel this, see the world outside my tiny apartment go from black to blue, hear the birds calling to the sun, smell the air go from cold and heavy to fresh and vibrant. A new day. My hands no longer shaking, my eyes bright and clear, my heart still thumping away but now with hope and energy as this new day is still coming to life. Had to have been me, my inner alarm clock yelling my own name, shaking me from a foggy slumber to get up, see and feel this. Best fucking alarm clock, like ever. Found….

My rebellious nature, that I now know I got from my father, has seen fit to knock me off track more than once in my life. I have lost my way before, lost sight of the things that truly matter, lost friends and lovers, lost family and time…lost my drive and passion from time to time but as luck would have it, something always comes along, finds me, twists my little head on straight and acts as fingers against my back. Hoisting me right back on track where I will hobble for a bit but start chugging along once again, this time with yet another thing behind me….pushing me, making me feel stronger, holding me up when I feel like I might fall again. Lost is easier in a way, easier to get spun up in, fall back on, wallow in but found…well that takes some work and adjustments but it feels so much fucking better. Now before you all, (or should I say y’all seeing as I will be in Louisville….Louisville Kentucky, who would have thunk, tomorrow) go thinking I’m turning into a Jesus freak or granola munching, sunrise watching hippie, think again. I am writing this while downing much needed coffee, still in my jammies and smoking, hell my front door is still locked and I won’t be heading outside for another three hours. As for Jesus, well while I’m sure he is a nice fellow we have yet to meet. 

My found has always come to me in the form of things more textured or maybe tangible is a better word. Moments, voices, kisses, tastes, smells, long passion soaked evenings of light headed, laughter, teeth brushing against my flesh….the possibility of more. There are few things in my life that I can point to, that make many of those “found” moments possible than wine. I’m sitting here my coffee cup to my left and just beyond that is a wine glass, the one that I finally abandoned just a few hours ago, a tiny pool of golden hued, nutty and aromatic pleasure still there, my desire to consume it heaped on my hopeful heart as I write this. Last night being handed the remnants of a sample bottle of 2008 Chandon de Briailles Pernand-Vergelesses Ile des Vergelesses, a premier cru white Burgundy that is not only a tongue twister, twists some of my other bits too. A profoundly powerful bottle of Chardonnay that crosses that line for me, that line between mere beverage and heart stopping true love, the kind that makes my whole body shake, the kind the begs me to spend hours letting its almost vicious, oily body roll around in my warm mouth before releasing it and letting it trickle down my throat. The kind of wine that whispers to me even now from behind that coffee cup, “I’m still here, still waiting for you, still ready to splash around inside your mouth, cover your tongue….taste me, take me, let me” the possibility for more, fuck….so much for Jesus freak right?!

That want inducing wine, from one of the most beautiful places in the world making love to me last night, reminding me just how good I can feel along with this morning’s watching the world come to life, the starting of a new day full of hope, light, smells and sounds, the possibility for more. Wine has once again spun my little head on straight and is standing behind me, pushing me, making me feel stronger, flipping my want switch, making me crave….inspiring me. Woke me from my foggy slumber just to be near it again. Little pool of lover still in my glass, sun now bright in the sky, neighbors leaving for work and school, the hum from the freeway louder and racing with commuters….awake, my city, me, my desire, my drive.

Found.     

Why?!

Gonna stack this right next to the Hello Kitty Sparkling wine in the We Don't Carry It department. Pairing suggestions for your blue bubbly? Well seeing as this is already stoopid lets go all Gary Vanderwhatshisface....

Have fun with that. I'll be drinking my clear bubbly with some fries....
Veto

A Look Back

“Unreal”

I’m sitting here, just a few nights before I wake up way too bloody early, load the car, dump off my case of smuggled wine at the check-in counter, stop for the traditional double gin and tonic before boarding and buckling my “Jesus I have to lose weight” ass into my Economy Plus, (thank you miles) seat for the a flight to Chicago O’Hare and then, then on to Louisville Kentucky where on another way too early morning I will be sitting in another uncomfortable seat but this time….this time I will be on a lush lawn, beautiful brick buildings around me, the husband, his family and my closest friends beside me, my smile bright and eyes full of tears as I watch my baby walk in cap and gown and be handed his college diploma from the University of Louisville.

“Unreal”

It’s just shy of a year ago that we flew out along with my beloved friends Amy and Roger, (formally called Sexy Bitch on this blog, as per his request. My best friends that are currently serving time in Texas, as per his company’s request) to celebrate Jeremy’s 21^st birthday Kentucky style, which is to say stinking drunk on Bourbon. We had an amazing time, laughed and drank way too much, visited distilleries and Amy and I cooked a massive meal for Jeremy, his housemates and friends. A grand Aioli complete with roasted chicken, lamb, potatoes and beets for to slather the garlic goo upon. It was a wonderful time and for me, a very growth full and affirming one. 

The morning we were leaving Jeremy walked us all to the car, big beautiful smile of his assuring us that he was gonna be just fine. Hugs and kisses all around before he came to me, longer gaze than the norm for our farewells and a pair of strong arms holding me just a bit tighter. Everyone loaded in the car, I hung back for a moment and watched the once tiny but now man sized frame as it slowly walked back towards the three story Victorian where he lives, his body shrinking the further he got from me. I was feeling the momma sized lump forming in my throat, that almost beyond your control ache to stretch your body out in a bubble around them, protect and absorb any struggles or pain they might endure. The inner battle of that compulsion mixed with the overwhelming pride that comes with watching your grown child walk away from your embrace and back into the life they have begun for themselves. I grabbed the handle on the car door and slung one leg in before taking a deep breath and looking back over my shoulder, one last prideful gaze on my not so little man. Any hope I had of mot losing my shit was lost when my craned neck and one-last-look eyes fell upon his face, his sweet, beautiful face…head turned taking one-last-look back at me and this time, for the first time in the three years worth of visits, it was his eyes that were filled with tears. He may have been walking back to the place he lives but home was leaving and he was feeling it.

I often wonder if my mother ever knew, knew just how much I loved and appreciated all that she did, gave, surrendered and sacrificed for me and on that long tear filled ride to the airport I splayed a lifetime of mental snapshots before me. The dragging of the kitchen chair across the strangely sticky linoleum floor, my stool as I helped her whip up yet another pancake dinner, Jeremy’s tiny fingers and the way they used to wrap around mine, my mother and I dancing to Stevie Wonder’s Sir Duke, feeling my baby’s soft skin brushed across my lips as I kissed his brow, watching Jeremy in his little footie jammies, (Jesus is there anything cuter than those?) lifting his wee body upon the couch to snuggle in next to his grandma while she read one of her beloved mystery novels. By the time we reached the airport I knew that she had to know, any words or gazes that I had not been able to give her had been given when that tiny man stretched his little body out like a bubble to absorb, love and protect us. 

Home is about to board a plane my sweet son. We are coming to celebrate you, cover you in hugs and kisses and we are all going to be there to see you take this next gigantic step in your life. I’ve seen you teeter, watched you fall, been here through the award winning and very painful loss of your first true love and I feel compelled to tell you Jeremy, she would be so proud of you. She would have sold body parts to be there if she could. Your grandmother loved you in a way that was so peaceful and powerful for her and you my adorable son, changed her life and brought her joy on a level that none of us could. Without your even knowing it, your kisses, running to her, rubbing the flubbery skin under her chin, you made her feel like the single most important woman alive. No demands, no needs she was unable to meet, looking at your sweet face and seeing the way it lit up when she was near you…you gave both of us something that we spent a lifetime trying to show. There are a million things I need to thank you for but this one, this is one that I will spend the rest of my life trying to repay you for. My father, me, you and our face, I know with all that I am that she felt love each and every time she looked at us. Don’t let that make you anything but proud.

Home is coming Jeremy and we are bringing not only our love and admiration, we are bringing food and celebratory exclamation points, historic libations that paint Our Story. A bottle of Pierre Peters Blanc de Blancs, the first sinful bit of liquid to ever pass your lips. New Years Eve when you were like eight years old, I gave you that one glass to clink and sip with us and you….with your new favorite toy, the night goggles, running around proclaiming yourself, “Falcon Man”.  A bottle of German Auslese. (Randy will be picking you one) a salute to the first wine that made you raise an eyebrow and keep reaching for that glass. A bottle of Provencal Rose, a nod to your years of Wine Country Aioli parties and finally tasting Tempier Bandol Rose, with garlic goo and “getting it”. A bottle of Chateau d’Yquem, Christmas and a nod to your love of history….did you know that Thomas Jefferson had oodles of that stuff in his cellar? A bottle of Dagueneau, made by Didier, a man you wanted to meet but never got the chance. 

A box of wine shipped as luggage, a woman with a full heart and arms ready to scoop you up, lips ready to once again brush along your brow….a soul ready to thank you in the only way I know how, through food and wine that I hope will induce your own lap full of family snapshots. Pride is far too tiny a word my son….this is

“Unreal”

A Bit of Girl Love

Yeah, thought that might get your attention, shameful on my part but a girl has got to do as a girl has got to do right? So this is where I come out a little, confess to my wine dudes that I have been playing for both teams. Where I stand before you shouting, “I kissed a girl and I liked it!”….shit, should have saved that for later, dammit.

Okay so I’m not a huge wine blog reader. You can check my blogroll and see that there are just a handful of blogs that I read and some of you may have noticed, and I know this may be hard for everyone….well aside from Charlie and John, to believe but a good clip of them are not wine blogs at all. They are “girl blogs” as one of my husbands calls them, (see Charlie and John Kelly know this one as they are closet girl blog readers). Blogs written by women about things outside the world of wine, and not only do I read them, I absolutely adore them. And as it turns out, one of them adores me back and gave me one of these…

Take that Catavino and Chronic Negress! You may have better writing skills but I gots me some style and I have an award to prove it! This is where I ask that you try and picture my, “I’m a badass” happy dance. It’s a modified Snoopy dance, little more swing of the hips and less head to the heavens. My beloved Sara at Sara In Le Petit Village has bestowed upon me two gifts; one a Stylish Blogger Award and the other, something to friggin write about that isn’t all drama and bummer saturated. Hooray and can I just say that I am sure she is pretty damn thankful that she is on the other side of the world right now, that kissing business would have been all over her had she been closer….

So the way this goes is I am to share seven secrets about myself and then pass on the award, seeing as I am kind of an open book it’s going to be difficult to come up with seven things you all don’t know already….I’m going to try and secretly hope that your years of wine consumption have pickled your brain cells enough that you may not recall some of these….dammit that’s two I gave away before even getting to my damn list! Better get started….

1)    1)   I have a secret love, and no it’s not The HoseMaster of Wine…that’s no secret. No, my secret love if for that freakishly colored and textured cheese food that you find on nachos at like the movies and your more disgusting dive bars. The kind that stays all runny no matter how cold it gets and really doesn’t taste of cheese at all. Yeah, that stuff. Not something I like to share seeing that I am the cheese specialist at The Wine Country. Here I am selling Epoisses and Saint Agur all the while feeding my inner stoner with nacho fries from Del Taco.

2)   2)    When I go to my favorite Chinese place, without my wine crew….I drink multiple glasses of Plum Wine. Don’t ask me why because I can’t explain it myself, I rarely drink things like Riesling, even the Kabinets because I don’t care for the slightest bit of sweetness but sit me down at Yen Ching and I am gluggin’ away at sickly sweet and truly artificially flavored “wine”. 

3   3)   I once watched a Jersey Shore marathon. Kind of like heroin for me that, just tried it the one time, made me want to vomit and I’ve never gone back.

4)     4)  Birds scare the living shit out of me. Totally irrational I know but they freak me out and I am convinced that the way I am going to die will involve a bird….shiver.

5)     5)  I recently got not one but two STD’s. Got the viruses from U Porn….why oh why did I click on threesome?! My laptop has been virus free for weeks now but the shame is still with me.

6)    6)   I have absolutely no radar or vibe-o-meter when it comes to others being attracted to me, none. The very idea that someone would be baffles the hell out of me so I usually find out by way of drunken confession, always accompanied by my “Oh shut up you’re drunk” face or by finding someone’s mouth on me…always accompanied by the “What the hell?!” face. Got the skills of an eight year old boy when it comes to picking up on stuff like that, total idiot.

7)    7)   I have a weak stomach AND a fierce gag reflex, fantastic combination I assure you. Snot rockets, poo and vomit, I need only think of them, (like now…oh holy hell) and I start gagging. I almost always have to brush my teeth in stages; go until I gag, compose myself and finish and I taught Jeremy when he was very small that if he needed to barf he had better make it, otherwise he would have company. See, just typing that is giving me the tight throat feeling that assures me today will be a two stage brushing day. Total freak.

So there you have it, this Stylish Blogger is a cheesy-goo eating, plum wine drinkin’, bird phobic that gags a lot and has the flirtation skills of a third grader. I had hoped that I was cooler but as it turns out, not so much….dag-nab-it.

As the final part of this award deal I am to now bestow the award onto three other bloggers that I think have style. Okay so here’s the thing, I know my wine blogger people aren’t going to play along and my girlie blog friends have already gotten a few of these, (yeah, I’m the Susan Lucci) so I’m going to cheat and direct you to my blogroll. If you see a blog listed there it’s because I truly enjoy reading them and think they have style. Say what you will about bloggers, and much of what is said is true but the people on my right over there, they are a bunch of talented people and I find them truly interesting to read.

Thank you for my award Sara, I shall try and figure out how to get it up there with my Squirrel Award. Stylish and Sensual, damn….I love me the Internets!