Loved The Palace But, There's No Place Like Home

“Hi! Where are you?” Amy’s voice chipper and bubbling with anticipation on the other end of my cell phone, “We are still a ways out and hitting a bit of traffic, but I’ll call you when we get to our room and you can all come up for a glass of Rose” I responded, “I will come where Rose is” she chirped before we ended our call. I was on my way to my best friend’s sister’s birthday bash in Vegas, my car carrying several surprises not the least of which, a special guest. The Friday before we left I met up with the third piece to our wacky little triangle, Merritt, we were getting caught up, (we don’t see each other even close to enough now that she is no longer working at The Wine Country) and I said, with slight trepidation, “Well we are going to Vegas on Sunday for Rachel’s birthday deal”. Her adorable big brown eyes grew even wider than normal as she realized, “I’m off Sunday through Tuesday too!” not ten minutes later our plan was set. Don’t breathe a word to Amy, (or her husband, he so would have spilled) load up the car with a bunch of the wines that Amy can’t get and is painfully missing while exiled in Dallas, get the first bottle of wine on ice before alerting our friends and have Merritt there in the room to pop that first cork. Family reunion indeed. As my little red car made its way across the flaming hot desert floor I found myself quietly looking out upon the heat ravaged scenery, the deep splits of cracked earth and the rugged bits of life that somehow managed to thrive in it…felt an odd sense of kinship, my own earth cracking apart a bit but the knowing that I would soon be wrapping my arms around my Amy….thriving. 

Had a pretty massive meltdown Saturday afternoon, the excitement and need to just be away for a bit, let my hair down with some of my favorite people in the world, feel that kind of trust that can only be earned through years of openness and honesty, that big old chunk of relief slamming right up against a blow out with someone I love with everything that I am…one that I fear will be the dissolution of our relationship, top that with some crazy fuck sending me upwards of fifteen, increasingly stalkerish emails a day….meltdown. Yeah, I was so fucking ready to cross that desert, get a big dose of “Home” and a long drink of relief.  

Sent my husband for ice as I feverishly unzipped my packed wine bag, plunged my sweaty hand in and found just the two bottles I was looking for, Bandol Tempier Rose and Camille Saves Carte Blanche Brut. Seeing as Amy would, “Come to where Rose is” the Tempier was the first in the bath of ice and water, my tummy doing flips in anticipation of Amy’s reaction to finding Merritt in our room, and to get my first taste of 2011 Tempier Rose. I had a feeling there might be screaming, my tiny Amy is prone to screaming in situations like this, was not prepared however for the tears. The hugs far longer and deeper, containing more meaning as we clung to one another, each of us navigating our own rugged terrain, finding a roomful of something to hold on to. The Tempier Rose a pretty little sip but sadly crushed by the weight of the moment. The 2011 a leaner vintage was just too tight to make any kind of impact on any of us. Even the specialness of drinking one of the world’s most sought after Roses was not big enough. The Saves however, thriving. Explosive, powerful, mouth coating but so very fresh. Fuck, even now my mouth is watering thinking about it. Everyone talks about this wine with this food but I can assure you, there are this wine with this moment pairings too and that Camille Saves, perfect pairing. 

Crossed the desert to find it but, there’s no place like home.

To everyone that emailed, sent messages and called, thank you for alerting me that this here blog had been hacked/taken off grid….didn’t know it was happening until Sunday morning, (blaming creepy email fucker) and by then, well I just needed to go off grid too. Appears things are back, least for now and I so adore you all for like giving a rat’s ass and like missing me and junk.