Trust Me

If you trust me on nothing else I say here trust me on this...buy it. Buy it by the case and do it ASAP. We had five cases on Thursday, four of Friday and blew through...and I am talking b-l-e-w through the rest of it on Saturday afternoon. We had people grabbing it out of the hands of the staff as they were trying to price the damn stuff. Francois Chidaine is simply a master and this Rose is right up there with the likes of Tempier as far as elegance and purity goes. It's brilliant wine and sadly it is made in tiny quantities. Sexy as hell on the nose, tons of floral and herby notes but with a plump burst of cherry and a hint of minerals. The palate is pure and utterly refreshing with a give-me-another-glass, no that's a lie....give-me-another-bottle crave-ability unlike any Rose I have had yet this season...no that too is a lie, in years!

Getting five more cases on Wednesday and one of them is already spoken for. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT wait or you will miss out on one of the most thrilling Roses we have tasted in years. Call, email me or order it from the online store but do not lolligag people, this wine will not be around long and you would be insane to miss it. Oh did I forget to mention it is $11.99?! Stupid, it is a stupid value and the kind of deal that comes around like once every gillion years.

Sir Charles Looks Like It's You & Me......

So I ask you love
Will you still visit me
Adore me
Feed me with your wisdom
Stoke me with your affection

Will you my beloved Charles Olken
Will you still love me when




They destroy your boys in green?

I make this promise to you now, and I am doing it now because I will be in full on smack talking mode come Thursday;

I will still adore you
Smile when I see one of your many names appear in my comments section
Think of you many times a day
Hope that I will someday be able to look at your sweet face over a glass of Champagne....
Love you
I will still love you when your team loses
Kisses
Sam

Mission Not Impossible?

Samantha Dugan:

Your mission, should you chose to accept it is to hunt down the people that once loved, have never really tried or mistakenly tried the wrong White Burgundy. Find them, seek them out, look under every wine bar and tasting room from here to Temecula if you must but finding them has never been more important than it is now. We feel that we should warn you that these people while in serious need of de-brainwashing may resist a bit.

A region’s wines once beloved and fiercely coveted, a region responsible for inspiring wine makers the world over is being held captive by the nefarious ABC, (Anything But Chardonnay) cult, a group determined to cut off the supply of Chardonnay coming from anywhere in the world. They have had their eye on Burgundy for decades; it would be the jewel in their hate campaign crown. They are using the public’s growing distaste for ultra ripe, lavishly oaked, buttery tasting Chardonnays to destroy a very noble grape and they must be stopped. We have engaged the Anti Cougar Juice Alliance but they are still in their infancy, too green to present any real threat to the “I hate Chardonnay” masses….we need you.




This is not a mission to be taken lightly. You will need all that your years of training have taught you; your palate, your memory and we are not above asking you to check out those new Victoria Secret bras that can increase your…assets by two sizes. We are fighting varietal terrorism here Ms. Dugan, we must all be willing to do what it takes to rescue these legendary and extraordinary wines from becoming extinct. We must protect them, honor them and solidify their place for the next generation of wine lover….so what’s a little cleavage and over-the-shoulder-boulder- holder pain when you are preserving history right?




Find them Ms. Dugan. Tie them down and spill your accumulated years of desire and passion for White Burgundy all over them, again check out the new bras and you can file it under weapons in your expense report. Open bottles, pour for them, purr for them but goddamn it inspire them to want more. You’ve tasted White Burgundy, you know how sensual, texturally dizzying and profoundly important those wines are. Do not, I repeat do not let them slip away. Those stressed vines, neutral barrels and limestone rich soils have volumes yet to tell. Find them Ms. Dugan and your reward will be legions of people feeling history, nobility and purity spilling across their palates’, a growing village of voices chanting, championing, and campaigning for more Meursault, Chablis, Pouilly-Fuisse. Your reward will be felt and tasted on your own palate for years to come. Do not let Chardonnay slip beneath the primordial goo, toss them a line, give them mouth to mouth and slip a bottle into every cart, (this is where that bra thing might help inspire) teach, teach them that Chardonnay is but a vessel, a surname not a style and there is a whole other language yet to explore. Salty, savory, doughy, rich, nutty, haunting…these are the wines that we know and that we are now requesting your help to defend. Help us and the payoff will be felt the wine loving and lusting world over.



This message will self destruct in….

Oh calm down, we will not be blowing your shit up, but this is a real problem and one that we must address. Find them Sam, teach them, re-learn them....inspire them and they will be back for more.

Hugs and Kisses
The Wine Country

Close But...

Got my......






Now I'm gonna go barf....

Not Funny Joke

So I was not going to say anything about the Wine Blog Awards. I was just going to slink away in defeat, lick my wounds and try to forget the whole thing but, well I think it is kind of a weenie move to just ignore it. I’m just going to get this out there so no one thinks I am bitter because I didn’t make the finals; I did not want nor did I think I would make the finals. This blog full of my silly rants, sexually driven pictures, lustful descriptors, stories about my life and history with wine…this blog was never really a wine blog, just a blog about a wine chick…nothing more. I do not want to be pigeonholed into writing just about wine, upcoming wine events, Robert Parker or the 100 point system. Those things bore the shit out of me and if being a wine blogger means I am stuck droning out the same tired conversation then I happily shout from the top of my little steaming pile, “I am not a wine blogger!” therefore I could not and should not win any award for being one.

I woke Monday morning and did as I always do; coffee, MSNBC and nuzzling up to my beloved laptop to get caught up on my blog reading. I skimmed Heimoff, seems like I am always skimming Heimoff….don’t get me wrong I think Steve is a very good writer but, well it just seems like half the time I am reading it feels like déjà vu, “this again?” I do love his comments though and find that I spend more time there than reading the actual posts. I’m in the business so much of what he writes about, writes very well about are things I have already gone over and discussed at work. Not really looking for homework so I skim and read the comments. I clicked through my little blog roll and landed on, On the Wine Trail in Italy (I really have to learn how to put those linky things in) and was thrilled to find Alfonso had a new post up. I began reading his post, Rendezvous with Roma and found myself lost and walking the streets with him. Each word felt like a paintbrush on my skin and I found myself getting sad when I could tell it was going to end soon, “No no no, I want more” beautiful, it was a beautifully written piece and I felt lucky to have started my morning with it.




Figured I would check the Wine Blog Awards website, see if the Chinese hacker was still there or if they had in fact posted the finalists, they had. I excitedly scrolled down to the “Best Writing” nominees the whole time my mind still heavy with Alfonso’s words and beginning to wonder how I was going to choose between he and Ron Washam over at The HoseMaster of Wine, two titans of talent whose gift with the English language just get me off. I scrolled up and down twice before it sunk in, they weren’t there….neither of them were there WTF?! I literally sat there for over ten minutes, just looking at the list, my heart sinking….how could this be? Utterly deflated I just closed the window like covering a dead body with a sheet, didn’t even bother to vote for anything.

It has been since pointed out that I was naïve to believe that the awards were about anything other than stoking the social media machine, about more than vanilla and I will own up to the fact that I did believe that talent…actual talent was going to be rewarded and appreciated. Now let me say that I cannot even really remember the full list of finalists but two of them are in fact very good writers and I wish them good luck. There was one however that just left me wondering who the hell the judges were and if they ever even bothered to read the nominated blogs. Dreadful, a dreadful blog with pretty terrible writing, this piece of shit is nominated for Best Writing on a Wine Blog and two of the most talented writers I’ve had the pleasure to read were not. Joke. I went from being deflated to thinking that the whole thing was a joke, too bad it wasn’t a good one.



So there you have it, my take on the whole blog awards thing. If I sound bitter then you get the point. I’m no longer angry and I know both of the dudes that were left off the list don’t care, shit one of them probably would have been pissed had he made it. But I will be taking a pass on playing this year, not voting, taking my toys and going home.

There I said it now we can get back to talking sex and wine.

Your Faithful Non Wine Blogger
Sam

How Do You Do That?

Landed at LAX last night feeling just a bit of pressure, we had made plans to meet our neighbors for our standing Monday night dinner at Mario’s. Before I left I took my beloved Flo, (the name of the car from the movie Cars, that Tyler got me for Valentine’s Day) across the way to my adorable four year old boyfriend and asked if he wouldn’t mind watching her while I was gone. We both take our Flo’s to Mario’s every Monday, and every Monday he yells across the parking lot of the restaurant, “Did you bring your Flo?” in that deep from the pit of his tiny little belly way. Each Monday I pull Flo from my purse and I get the big grin of approval which rings in the beginning of an evening of me being wooed and melted by the cutest kid…like ever. Well seeing as our flight was to land at around 5:00 pm and when you have dinner plans with a one and four year old it has to be pretty early, around 6:00 pm…I knew it would be cutting it too close to fly home from the airport, dump off my bags, grab Flo and run across the street in time for dinner. I figured having Tyler watch my toy and bring it to dinner would do two things; one let him know that I was coming back and two save me time or the sad face I would get for arriving without my Flo. I talked with him about it the afternoon before we left and being the serious kid, (he is ultra serious in some ways and a total goofball in others) that he is I knew my toy would be there at dinner.

We pulled into Mario’s parking lot at exactly the same time as the neighbors; I was dragging…just exhausted from the “relaxing” weekend full of booze and the flight from the other side of the country and still sporting my resort wear….a step up from the Resist Prohibition t-shirt that I usually toss on before our little Monday date. I felt a little pop of energy as I opened the car door; four days….I was only gone for four days and dammit if I didn’t miss that kid. I quickly made my way to their car as Mom was pulling my wee boyfriend from his car seat. I watched his tiny frame spin around, that big head full of blonde hair turn and those big, most expressive blue eyes I’ve ever seen just light up when he saw me. I stood there in my bright greenish yellow, longer in the front, open but draped sweater with my new lacy at the top, crinkled textured white tank top feeling like a fairy princess.



He quickly plunged his pudgy digits into the pocket of his jeans while yelling, (much louder than he needed to by the way) “Sam I have something for you!!” and extended his little arm…my Flo. I guess the plan was for him to pretend he forgot it but he was just so damned excited when he saw me that that little prank went right out the window, melted. We had a blast Tyler and I, a much more reserved dinner than usual; no face painting with Ranch dressing or ketchup and no blowing messy bubbles in our drinks, so I was a grown up for once and Tyler took my lead. Not sure if it was the time away or the outfit but he was so freaking shyly cuddly last night. Still playful and full of Tyler expression….which really is larger than life, I swear I will post video one day and you will all see what I am up against here. One friend upon joining us for one of our dinners said, “That kid could bring you the head of a dead kitten and yell “special delivery” and he would still be the most charming kid alive”.....big voice, big eyes, lots of gesturing, freaking adorable but he seemed much more interested in finding little ways to snuggle with me than playing cars. A very lovely homecoming I really must say but as I sat there in the middle of my bestest date ever, sipping my second margarita I couldn’t help but find myself still “missing” a bit.

“I think Tyler missed me a little” I said to his father when he came over later for a visit, “Yeah he hid it well” he responded. “Could he have found any more ways to lay his head on you and touch your shirt?” his father said wearing slightly pink cheeks and the tiniest, ‘That’s my boy” smirk. We laughed about it as I assured him that it was fine and in fact….it made me feel as special, and frankly beautiful as I had in days. I poured myself a second glass of Rose. The bright fruit, the freshness and vibrancy in that wine was just the little bump of life that I needed to get me through to bedtime but also gave me a taste of what it was that I was still missing….wine.





As those of you that read my Momma series might have gathered, May is kind of tough on me…this year a bit more than others as it is the ten year mark. I think that combination of Mother’s Day, her birthday, the last night I saw her and the anniversary of her death coming within two weeks of each other, well it can be a lot, consuming and not in a great way. I let that distraction and bit of reflection keep me from spending time with and really letting wine touch me. The Rose was a good reminder but it did not, could not have the power to reignite my fizzled out wine wick.

I opened a 2005 Chateau de Segries Cotes du Rhone this afternoon, a perfectly tasty wine that filled my palate and pleased me enough; nice dark fruit, deep violets and just a kiss of brown sugar with soft integrated tannin and a supple finish. Nice, quite nice really but like the Rose not quite enough to spin me, light me up, fill that little “missing” space that I have been unable to shake. I sat here awhile just trying to will it to be enough and wondering if I was stuck in the middle of some freaky wine slump. Not good, not good at all. That was when I made another pass by the old wine fridge, I tried to pretend that I was just looking things over…..just wondering what I had left but I knew why I was there. I needed to be made love to, seduced, have my protective layers peeled back and have something I love, something decadent, something that was going to shake me, plunged inside me.




I needed something that was going to flip all my switches; my palate, my body, my mind. I needed Burgundy. The second I committed to slipping the bottle out of its resting spot I knew we would spend the night together; no second guessing, no maybe I should waits….fuck if I could have opened a vein to feel this wine I might have. Ready…I was so ready to fall in love again, to feel in love again….to look at a bottle of wine the way that adorable four year old looked at me in Mario’s parking lot, excited, with wonder and thrilled that I still had the night ahead of me.

I peeled the foil from my last bottle of 2001 Comtes Lafon Volnay Santenots-du-Milieu and felt my pulse quicken, already feeling something. The cool neck of the bottle resting in my palm submissive as I pierced its cork and slowly pulled it from the bottle, each little detail noticed…cool bottle, tightening of my forearms, the sweet sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle and that glugging, sloshing sound of wine falling along the sides of a glass and landing upon itself. It was starting, I was beginning to feel that little missing spot fill. I spent five hours with this wine, five hours being pulled in, pushed back and completely lost in love.



Meaty and mushroomy with fine but grippy tannin at first. Red cherries, truffles and coco following that. Rose pedals, a sexy, soft body and that mouth watering want for more to finish. My head is still spinning; my palate fatigued but in that way that making love for hours can make you fatigued….spent, exhausted, mind reeling and that lust for more already making you think about the next time.

Burgundy…
Damn
How do you do that?

Yeah Okay So I Lied......

So Thursday morning when I posted my little “See ya later” dealie I fully intended on posting from Key Biscayne. Thought for sure that the free time I had would find me hunched over my laptop once again, sharing all the happenings and whatever food and wine moments I had….well yeah okay so I lied. It was not that I didn’t have the time, no not at all, matter of fact I spent most of the day yesterday just sitting in my chilly, not too moist hotel room watching stupid television or lounging on my little terrace watching the people go by. Time was not the issue and it was not as if I didn’t miss you cats because I did but it really wasn’t a wine weekend so I was unsure if anyone would give a rat’s ass that I was spending my time sipping away of gin and tonics and Pastis. For those of you that do care, this is how it went……

Woke up Thursday morning fully clothed on the couch in front of my laptop. I had been up far too late chatting with a friend on facebook so I got about two hours sleep, this really pleased the hubby I assure you. Our flight was out of LAX at the ass crack of dawn so we needed to leave the house by 5:00 am. I fired off my little post, again the hubby loving that one, and we made it to our gate with time to spare. As I felt the adrenalin of having to be up and rushing wear off that was when it hit me, “Damn…I’m tired” I knew better than to say a word. Landed in Miami where there was a little lady holding a sign with the hubby’s company name a logo, gathered our bags, (Oh and what the hell with the baggage claim being like twenty miles from the gate there at the Miami airport?! Dude, people movers…look into it) and were deposited at the Ritz Carlton. Dropped off the bags and made our way to the welcome reception where we ate lobster, I danced with the hubby’s bosses and I made only one tiny move of jack assery. Sitting there at the dinner table with the big mucky mucks of my husband’s company when the announcer guy said, “Those of you planning on going into South Beach this weekend should know that there is a porn convention going on” now I’m not sure if it was my volume or if it was my arms raised over my head as I yelled “Woo hoo!!!” that was more frowned upon….either way I stood out to say the least.



Friday I lounged while the hubby golfed and then we caught a cab into Coconut Grove for dinner, not all that thrilling. Saturday was another lounge day, this time by the pool. I’m pretty fair and not so much a sun worshiper so I found a comfy little pillow drenched couch under a palm tree, face melting from the humidity sipping away on cocktails. Quick shower and off to South Beach for the night…what a scene that place is! Amazing people watching, hostesses acting like those little guys in Vegas that try and hand you those Pick A Chick flyers….smacking their hands and waving stuff in your face, unreal. Had a rather delicious dinner and ended up at a club called The Clevelander where we drank too much and danced even more. I was spellbound by this guy on the dance floor; seriously buffed, long braids, in spandex and on Ecstasy…that dude, that dude was magic.

Yesterday was as I said, spent in the room or on the terrace where I simply marveled in how people kind of really check out when they go on vacation. I saw a woman wearing only the bottom half of her bikini…oh wait, nope dude in a speedo with some serious man breastage, ewe. Saw two terrace violations; old dude with a body shape that reminded me of a tomato on toothpicks, standing on his terrace in his tighty whiteys…dude, it’s not a private patio, we CAN see you…ewe. The other was while the hubby and I were on our terrace taking in the view, I had seen the guy four or five terraces over also taking in the view but had directed my attention back to the ocean. That was until the hubby says, “Oh My God, look over there” and I turned my head to see that the guy was no longer alone, his wife or whatever had joined him and was trying to get her seduction on….naked, she was naked and sixty if she was a day…ewe. Really people?! In this giant building full of windows and balconies you really believe no one can see you? I mean sure behind the reflective glass….oh did I mention that the hubby did not mention the windows were not reflective until day two…second bit of jackassery for me and now I am wondering which of my hotel neighbors is telling the story of the idiot that kept changing in front of the non reflective windows.




Late dinner last night
Fitful nights sleep
Sweaty morning
Had a great time and all but
Ready to go home….

Had a blast but am ready to get back to my life, my work, this silly blog and back to my beloved wines. I love me some cocktails but four days without more than a glass or two of wine has me itching……