Someone Else's Sugar Is Sweeter

Long and work filled day off for me today; emails, orders, calls, class promotion and me sitting here at my stupid laptop trying desperately to think of something to write that might inspire, draw in, seduce, cast upon me another pair of eyes that might actually see the me that sits here, not as confident as I project, seeking the same kind of admiration or understanding that all the others do, and finding myself a bit irritated about that. Reading things like “Separating the wheat from the chaff” with regards to wine blogs and wine writing, feeling that stiffening of my back as my “Oh fuck you” battles with the part of me that wonders where I fall in that equation, moreover, wondering if or why I should care. Waiting all day for the one and only thing that pulls me out of my lonely and wondering funk just to have it once again pulled out from under me. My wobbling legs steadying enough for me to stand up, dust myself off and snarl, “I think I’ve waited long enough”….

Ipod blaring anything that might rid the loop of thoughts that plague me, body flying to the music as a river of sweat flows down the center of my back and collects in that concaved valley that rests atop my ass. Hair sticking to my neck, teeth piercing my bottom lip, your whisper folding in between Dave’s growl and Tristan’s “Just when I thought I was free, knock knock the door is locked but you still got a key” my steps on the treadmill landing harder and with more purpose….running from you even though everything inside me is piling upon my shoulders, weighing me down and begging me to take you in. That twitch in my stomach, the one that makes my skin pull tight and tingle like someone’s mouth is tracing my ribcage, reminding me how easy it is for me to fall, become a serpent, fixated and obsessed with the tune you’re playing and willing to follow wherever you lead me. No one to blame if this happens again, except me…

My heart thumping in my chest I grab my keys and head out the door hearing the screen latch behind me, bare feet slapping against the wet concrete, sprinklers hissing and spraying my ankles, almost a warning to go back…but I can’t. Slipping my key in the lock, still in my ripped up white t-shirt and workout sweats, you so deeply under my skin, your voice and scent threatening to rip me in two, trying to grab hold of myself, my understanding of where I belong but finding my hands too shaky and slippery with the kind of want that makes it nearly impossible to hold on to anything. Promises of someday, until and maybe no match for the heady aroma of, “I’m here now and I want you so badly”….

Toes quietly flipping water across the glassy stillness of the pool, water soaking into the thick material gathered at my calves, the stark silence screaming in my ears, my head swimming with questions, why do I keep standing in the same line that doesn’t move while I watch those less vested, committed and dedicated move ahead? Less voice, less texture, less knowledge while pontificating as if they were experts in a field they aren’t even really in…and why the fuck does it bother me so. Why do I remain loyal when my flesh is being tugged on, stretched between the teeth of a mouth that begs me to jump in? The bits of water that fall back upon my legs cooling only my surface…my insides still burning, finding comfort in the fact that I would rather be inflamed than burn out, the knowing that I am now willing to sacrifice a little comfort for the freedom that comes with following the path of my own desire to learn, taste, feel and stand square shouldered, chin to chin, skin soaked with the same kind of want that wants me back..I’m in. I’m all in. 

Italy

Napa

Sonoma

Spain….

Look out

I’m coming….

Polished

Woke this morning sometime around 1:00 AM, both needing to use the potty and because my face felt all gunky and matted, stumbled past my bathroom mirror to see a mess of crazy bed-head, my thick frame in light pink jammies and my face still caked with yesterday’s makeup….damn you fourth glass of Fontainerie Vouvray Sec, damn you. Turns out in the wake of a whirlwind of party days, after Vegas, Boston and Connecticut, where my closest friends were visiting for a week, four glasses of wine were enough to knock my tired ass right the hell out before I could complete the proper “going to bed” procedures. Handled that potty business, spun the faucets in the sink and pumped a pool of face wash in my hands before lathering up and de-caking my mug, washing off the day’s gunk and applying the face goo that supposedly makes me look less haggy. Feeling somewhat refreshed and less slimy this was when I noticed my toothbrush still hanging over the side of the bathroom sink, with toothpaste on it, another, “Ewe gross” as I plunged the minty flavored wand in my mouth while cursing that 4^th glass of wine once again, didn’t manage to brush my teeth either. Nice. Shuffled back to the bed, worried that I might have freshened myself right into being wide awake, pulled back the sheet, climbed into bed and let the hum and soft breeze from the fan lull me back to sleep, a very rare occurrence for this non-sleeper and another sign that weeks of go-go-go and a bottle of wine had taken their toll. 

Seven hours later I awoke, for real this time, made my way past the kid’s room, taking a peek in to see if he had made it home last night, past the massive but thankfully dark television in the living room, on to the kitchen where the aroma of finished coffee sped up my pace. Plunked down at the dining room table, mug of creamy coffee in my paws, fired up my laptop for my morning dose of whatever-the-fuck it is I read in the mornings. Eyes still heavy, coffee working on perking me up but not quite fused to my blood just yet and that was when I saw it, the box of hair dye I had left on the table, to remind me that I need to dye my freaking hair. The chick on the box of dye looking all happy and perfectly quaffed, no dark roots, flawless skin, nary a wrinkle…bet she doesn’t forget to wash her face, has better skin goo than I and her child, if she has one, has never said, “Hey Kunta Kinte, when you going to get to them roots?". Bitch. 

Truth be told I’m not so much good with the whole polishing of myself stuff. I have to time my root killing to my period otherwise I will simply forget, (which doesn’t always work seeing as I am now like 2 weeks past my cycle and them roots, still there) I’ve nearly given up on polishing my nails as the maintenance is annoying, I cut my own hair as to avoid sitting in a damn chair for like an hour, big ass mirror in front of me….ugh, and I can’t even bother to remember the kind of makeup and powder I use, have to write it down and keep the slip in my wallet to hand to the lady at the Lancome counter…every time. I did get sucked into buying one of those face scrubbing brushes, the ones that spin and forage for the gunk that gets trapped in your pores, thing is, I only use it once in a while because it adds like five minutes to my face washing “regime” and that is more time than I’m willing to expend most days, on something as silly as the “beautification” of me. I think my lack of interest might come from trying to fight a losing battle, being called ugly most of my childhood might have tweaked my focus, but I’ve always preferred it when someone finds me clever, funny, intriguing, interesting or even sexy over being called “pretty” or any other such nonsense. Or it might just be that I find truth in that beholder stuff and think beauty is something far too subjective for me to spend much time trying to attain. My own preferences lean toward the unbeaten path and while I can appreciate the guy with ripped abs or Olympic swimmers frames, it has always been, and will forever be, the guy with the quirky grin and fierce wit that can get me to slither out of my jeans….always. So maybe I’m just a freak.

Had a woman in the shop yesterday, she was in her late sixties, maybe early seventies, hair yellow-blonde, curled and teased into a marvelous poof, a thick cloud of very pungent perfume following her as she walked around the shop, an oddly orange hued layer of face makeup looking like putty spackled into the deep cracks of her skin, shimmering eye powder and enough mascara to make it look as if two tarantulas were resting upon her eyelids, all that while wearing the shortest short shorts and a tank top full of glitter. I’m sure that in her day she was quite the looker but the somewhat sad, almost costume like look she was sporting yesterday, simply over “polished”. Over done to the point of unattractive, trying rather desperately to compete with the “pretty girls” half or a quarter her age. “Well that was interesting” one of my coworkers said as the woman climbed into her black Mustang and drove out of the parking lot, “Really, I would say not so much interesting at all, her story is pretty easy to tell just by looking at her” I responded. 

I said it not to make fun or belittle that woman in any way, she has the right to spend her time and focus any way she wishes. Polish away dear lady and I wish you the best of luck….in whatever it is you are going for, in fact good for you in sticking to your guns and all but, forgive me if I find the little old lady that comes in every Saturday, in her visor and cargo shorts, crinkly face un made up, to buy her four bottles of grower Champagne to drink while she does her weekend gardening more interesting. Made me think of the last time importer Michael Sullivan of Beaune Imports, was leading a tasting at The Wine Country. In his ever-so-cool and relaxed fashion he leaned against the tasting bar and said, “There is nothing wrong with deliciousness, I love deliciousness, I just prefer interesting. At some point I find myself asking, is it her or the short dress?” I stood there, his words still hanging in a bubble above his interestingly attractive head, my heart thumping around in my chest as in that one comment he was able to sum up the exact way I feel about everything, including wine. Someone else gets it, gets me….thrilling that. 

As someone that has spent the past fifteen or sixteen years tasting wine, for a living, from all over the world I get truly bored and painfully uninspired by the Kardashian-like wines, the ones that have been buffed and polished right into insipid sameness, and don’t even get me started on the over-polished fuckers that have been clunked up so much that they taste and feel like sadly aging seventy year olds in go-go shorts with silly putty faces. I crave, seek out and drink wines that may never be considered “pretty” by some, are interesting as hell to me and that right there, sexy as hell in my book. 

Happy weekend all, and here's to drinking whatever it is that turns you on, gets your heart thumping, bits tingling, slithering out of your jeans and coming back for more.

Dream Team

As a lifelong Lakers fan I would remiss to not mention just how stinkin' happy I am right about now! Long time readers of this blog may have noticed that I was pretty quiet on the basketball front this past season and the truth is, I was kinda pissed at my team. Still love them mind you, but couldn't get into the season for several reasons and one of the biggest.....

                                                  (Bye Bye Andrew Bynum)



Well, he is no longer my problem, nor my beloved team's. Yay!

                                     ("Hey Andrew, I like the looks of that jersey, wanna trade?)


Few negotiations and some nail biting for many of us and....

                                                 (Dwight, "I bring the BIG guns" Howard)


Damn, like day-um, on many levels. Add to that a dash of....

                                               (Steve Nash so deserves a ring!)


Nash, and things are looking mighty fine from this fan's point of view. Absolutely elated, a smidge anxious and nervous but elation is just edging the rest out. Cannot wait for the season to start and just when I thought my Lakers love couldn't get any heavier, customer and reader William, the one with the stunning and melting smile, he slips this little clip into my inbox, (okay, that sounds a little dirty but I'm dashing this off before an early breakfast meeting and junk) in honor of our shared Lakers appreciation and Magic Johnson's birthday
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q8Qbo0WqvOI&feature=youtu.be

What a riveting way to start my day....hearing Chick Hearn and watching this, made me feel like a kid again. Thank you William! 

Brick & Mortar

“How did you all meet?” a question posed to me last night as I sat on the couch of a swampy feeling, crowded apartment, someone strumming a guitar as another took their turn as rock star at the microphone. My son fixing himself another Maker’s and Coke, husband tucked into a corner just away from the impromptu stage, Amy and Merritt, my two closest friends in the world at my side. Took me a second to process the question, and for once it wasn’t wine or booze that made that whole thinking business a struggle, it was just that those two women have been so deeply woven into my very fiber that it was difficult to retrace my steps and even remember a time when those threads were not a part of my colorful and multi textured fabric. “We met at The Wine Country”….

Big day yesterday for me. Worked a full shift at the shop before locking the doors and heading over to my bosses house for our semi-annual staff Grand Aioli party. Randy and Dale are two of the most generous and incredibly gracious hosts I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. They love having people over, staff, family, friends, Dale being an extraordinary cook, makes these meals that often leave or normally mouthy group speechless or omitting these series of guttural grunts and moans in unison, Randy bringing bottle after bottle of perfectly paired wine to the table. Corks popped, the clank of utensils, the laughter and grunts, the pulling out of Cognac, Calvados and Armagnac after dessert, a family meal if ever there were one and I have been lucky enough to attend many at Chez Kemner, Grand Aioli is always one of my favorites.  

  

As I sat outside at one of the beautifully arranged tables, my thick ass tucked into one of the cushioned metal chairs, my son’s voice over my shoulder, getting more and more animated and pumped in amplitude with each glass of cool pink wine, Randy carrying on multiple conversations with those around me, always sprinkled with some comment or other that leaves the listener either laughing or shaking their head,  looking through the kitchen window and watching Dale and a coworker’s wife as they loaded roasted beets, carrots, potatoes, both sweet and the real kind, (sorry, hate those sweet bastards) big bushy heads of cauliflower and crisp spears of green beans onto platters before carving into perfectly roasted chicken and hunks of medium-rare lamb, soon to be dropped off at each table with bowl after bowl of freshly made garlic mayonnaise……I felt it again, this feeling I get when I really think about all that Randy and Dale have given and shared with me, the closest thing to what I always thought having parents would be. And while I’ve kind of known Randy my whole life, what with being second cousins and all but, I really met him at The Wine Country.

“I just feel so grateful” another coworker piled on that couch in that sweaty room of music and Maker’s last night. One that was once a fiercely loyal customer of ours; came to nearly all the tastings and worked his way through the world of wine through our suggestions and teachings, one that experienced a traumatic and tragic loss not terribly long ago, one that would see our little band of “broken toys” at his side and, once retired from his real job, found him offering to return the favor…..come work with us. One that was part of the family before even coming on board but I suspect feels those same tightly woven threads even stronger now that he is on the other side of the counter. Both of us scooting over to celebrate Merritt’s birthday and Amy and Roger’s visiting from Texas, after the aioli party, both of us feeling truly grateful and, “We met at The Wine Country”

As I went on to try and explain all of this to the lovely woman that asked the “How did you all meet?” question it dawned on me, We didn’t so much meet as much as we became, because of The Wine Country. That place is more than brick and mortar, The Wine Country has had a hand in changing all our lives in ways that none of us could have possibly imagined. I now have the family I’d dreamt of, found my passion and talent, the confidence I never thought I’d possess and friendships so powerful that I know, for the first time in my life, I will never be alone….all that from a little wine shop in Signal Hill California…

Brick and mortar can be broken, my love, appreciation and dedication to that store, for all it has given me, will never be. 

Thank you Randy and Dale Kemner, I love you with all of my silly heart.

Done The Research

A couple of months back coworker Ronnie and I were asked to attend a big trade tasting being put on my distribution giants Southern Wine & Spirits, a tasting laughingly called, “Best of the Best” but truthfully should be called, “The Best of the Crap Bulk Wines We’ve Got” so as I’m sure you can imagine, I was really looking forward to it. The truth is I, as in my departments, do almost no business with this particular company, not a political statement of any sort, just find the majority of the wines they have mediocre…at best and that is not what The Wine Country has ever been interested in dealing with. Let the chains and restaurants deal with that crap and we’ll just keep stocking our lesser-known but often far more thrilling wines and everyone wins. That being said my boss Randy wanted us to go and as someone that often tells people, “Unless you’ve tasted recently you really don’t know shit” I figured I had better practice what I preach, so went we did. Sigh…..

The second Ronnie and I entered the massive banquet room spilling over with stuffed shirts, shiny suits and spray tans my jaw got tight. A huge room that smelled like hotel Prime Rib mixed with about 25 different perfumes and colognes….perfect. I took a deep breath, slipped my backpack over my shoulders, grabbed a glass and looked at Ronnie, “So, what do you want to taste?” a shrug of his shoulders in response and we began our loop around the joint. Ferrari-Carano, Ruffino, Cavit (Best of the Best?! Okay) Jordan, my glass still empty and after nearly being knocked over by a Asian kid, 23 if he was a day, yelling “Winner winner chicken dinner!” and shoving me aside to get at the Caymus table I was once again looking at Ronnie, this time nearly pained look on my face, scrunched as all get out, “There is literally nothing here I want to taste let alone drink”. Dreadful show of wickedly boring “juice”. I finally saw the Champagne table, one of the most crowded of course, but thought it was time to revisit some big house Champagnes and see what if anything I had been missing. Yeah….

This was Ronnie’s first time tasting through so many of those wines. He was not a lover of Champagne when he came on board at The Wine Country, matter of fact I believe the direct quote was, “Champagne is fine, I just don’t prefer it” which after a few tastings and nights with open bottles of grower stuff, he is now a full blown Champagne “prefer-er” and in some ways is even snobbier than I.

 We stood there, glasses extended, squished between the sequined and heavily sprayed taking mouthfuls of utterly boring, if not down-right bad Champagne, Ronnie finally opening his mouth to say, “How can people drink this stuff?” exactly. Tasted the range from some of the most prized and famed estates; Clicquot, Moet and even Ruinart, even the high-end stuff, each and every single wine was insipid, absolutely uninspiring and honestly, not even swallow worthy. Fuck, no wonder people don’t drink more Champagne. This is the stuff being touted as “The Best”?! I can tell you, as a fiercely impassioned Champagne lover, if those wines were all that there was….I’d give up Champagne for good. Truly awful. Where is that rich, powerful and fully flavored wine that Clicquot used to be? Ruinart was a gem of a heady, doughy and monster style bubbly, now both are awkward, thin as shit, weirdly metallic and gassy in that ever appealing burpy way, dead sexy and luxurious that. That Grande Dame is now a shriveled old shrew and I’m calling her old ass out, “Your new clothes are showing all your business and um, damn, kinda gross”.

The one that didn’t surprise me in the least, Moet & Chandon. Those gas inducing wines have been crap for as long as I’ve been drinking Champagne. Crap and something Americans might not know, they have been fucking with you for decades. White Star, fucking White Star, how many times have I heard a customer tell me, “I like a dry Champagne like Moe-a White Star”. First of all its Moet, a Dutch name, (thank you Ron Washam for pointing out my error. I had originally said German) so go ahead and pronounce that T, secondly White Star is a sweeter wine that was created for the US market, not a dry wine, never was, tasted like donuts the first time I had it, gave me the gag shivers and I would only begrudgingly taste that shit during appointments where my Southern reps were begging me to bring the line back in the shop, which, after tasting, I never did. Always poorly made, (least in the past 15 years) and always priced like twice what the wines were worth. Not being dramatic, if I were handed a glass at a party I would pass and opt or water. They are that bad. The one thing that did get my attention at that, “Best of the Boring Crap We Have” tasting, no White Star.

I had heard somewhere that Moet & Chandon was dissolving the label, didn’t think much about it seeing as I hated the stuff and wasn’t even considering ordering it but, I do have an obligation to have answers as a specialist and all, and that includes knowing what’s up with the broad market dreck should anyone ask. I mentioned that I thought they had stopped making White Star to a friend a couple weeks ago, one that didn’t seem all that inclined to believe me I might add…and you have to know how much I love that, so I last night I popped on their website and guess what? Yeah, no White Star. Ha! Take that Mr. Smart T. Pants! Oh but not to worry, where that dreadfully dank and donuts tasting bubbly was, there is now another…oh yeah.

Fantastic! The first ever Champagne "designed" to pour over ice! Nothing says classy like ice cubes in your wine, especially your Champagne! Water and Champagne being so beneficial to one another and all. Don't I feel like the asshole now, I stopped putting water pitchers out for my Champagne classes years ago, because you know, I thought water, and one would assume ice as well, are Champagne killers. Color me so red-faced, should have looked to goddamn Moet. What….the…fuck?! I did some brief reading around the internets and this bullshit ice-needing swill is described as being “super-fruity” and just so you know, that is code for sweet, and has been targeted to exclusive, high-end, resorts and retailers, that right there is code for dumping this repackaged White Star, (I’m sure the bottle color is sheer coincidence) on the filthy rich that brand buy and have absolutely no taste….a little something cold, no icy, to sip on while their Armand de Brignac Ace of Spades is chilling in the gold lined ice box on the yacht. Cannot wait to see this show up on my Housewives of New Jersey….fucking Moet. 

So I’ve done the research and I can say without hesitation, haven’t been missing a thing. Asshats keep making my job harder. Grumble....

Up Up & Away

Off again. Spending a few days on the other coast, sweating I'm sure but this time at least it's not a dry heat. Couple of days in Boston and then nestled into a tiny "village" in Connecticut. Fuck, when are one of those importers going to snatch me up and run me off to Europe again?!

Anyway, I hope to be able to check in here...maybe even find time to share a story or two but there are rumblings of me being held up in a cabin....a cabin, (dude, so not me) so the chances of like real internet access might be slim. If you see a bunch of these ....:...::: it is my code for get me the hell outta here, and bring me fresh crunders. 

In other news, I wanted to take a brief second to congratulate and gush on my baby sister. In the midst of caring for our infirm brother, finding housing and rehab for him, she started and successfully ran a fundraiser on behalf of a sweet faced little three year old student of hers, one that has Cancer. She had to fight to earn his trust; at first he wouldn't talk to her at all, just sat arms crossed giving her stink eye, but eventually they grew to adore each other....then he was diagnosed with Leukemia. Tessa wanted to help so she started Naustin's Gnomes, http://www.gofundme.com/naustinsgnomes at first with a $2,000.00 goal but hitting that so quickly that she doubled her goal and last week, she reached it! Very proud of her effort, and her sweet heart. I would also like to thank those of you that responded to my Facebook linking and posting about Naustin's cause, you and your donations touched me deeply. Thank you all and way to go sister!!

Off to eat too many clams and drink lots of Dunkin Donuts "Coffee regular" which is so loaded with cream and sugar I would never drink it back home but seeing as I'm like on vacation and junk....gonna, and lots of it. 

XOXOXOXOXO

 

Unclean

“So how was it?”

“Oh it was so good. You know how you are always talking about clean food? Well that was exactly what it was. Just fresh, simply but wonderfully prepared food without a bunch of crap on my plate. We ordered the Bailly Sancerre and went through 3 bottles effortlessly”

Randy and I having a conversation about a dinner he had at a very dear friend’s restaurant. We had all been several times before, likely would have been more had either of us lived close enough, it’s in Silverlake and that is a bit of a jaunt from Long Beach. But it is a remarkably beautiful spot, super-hip on the inside but it is the patio that makes me swoon. Pillows, over-stuffed and in varying shades, sizes and patterns strewn upon the high backed banquettes that rest upon the slightly elevated, almost tropical bungalow feeling terraced tables, the comfy cushioned wicker chairs and white cloth covered tables that sit dwarfed by a massive planter, home to one of the coolest trees with outstretched branches I’ve ever seen growing right out of the center of the patio. Twinkle lights stretched beneath the panels of fabric woven into a partial grid above, making you feel as if you are dining in the swankiest but most comfortable tree house imaginable. It’s gorgeous and welcoming unlike any patio I know. The restaurant, Cliff’s Edge has gone through what many do, which is dealing with multiple chefs and trying to find their way, and even though I always thought the food was great to fine, it sounds as if the chef in place now is hitting new strides and according to the press they’ve been getting lately, getting a seat on that there patio, well it might be even harder than it was before. Add to that their newly installed $1.00 oyster Thursday nights, and this “clean food” stuff and well, going to be heading up to that oasis a lot more often. 

Clean food, this is something I tend to rant about, maybe a bit too much. I mean I did almost come to blows with the caterer for my wedding reception when he kept insisting on putting fucking fruit salsa on the salmon I ordered, “People will expect it” he argued, “How’s about putting it on the side and giving them the option ya asshat? No means no!” I responded through clinched teeth, my now husband wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. Fruit on my meat is something that bothers me, immensely. Keep your cherry port wine reduction, your l’orange, raspberry chipotle coulis, apple slaw and whatever-the-fuck fruit chutneys, relishes and salsas away from my protein dag-nab-it. Oh and don’t even get me started on the vanilla and caramel bullshit some chefs are spooning over scallops and whatnot….fucking gross. I happen to like the taste of my food and don’t want it covered up by dessert or breakfast like crap, maple honey glazes, well they can just blow me. I am a food lover in the first right, have been known to spend nearly a month’s rent on a dinner from time to time, I’m not a dull eater, not in the least, (although I must confess that innards and filter meat make me heave, but mostly because of texture…and they taste like guts. Maybe they need mango chutney) but much like wine, I seek purity. Great ingredients perfectly cooked and seasoned. Toss a bunch of noise on my plate, or my glass and my undies creep right up my sizeable ass. Crunders crunched. Simple food pleases me and one of the most important reasons? Um, much more wine friendly. 

So okay, I’m a food purity crusader by night but in my day job I am often faced with some crazy combination of crap on a plate, a sweet faced customer looking to me to pair a wine with their over-studded and bedazzled creations. What’s a girl to do when given a menu of Moroccan lamb with apricots paired with blue cheese grits? Well other than concentrate on fighting back the gag reflex? Yeah, I have to politely mention that those flavors aren’t really conducive to food and wine harmony, and bite my lip about putting blue cheese grits with that lamb dish, but ultimately I will try and find them something that they will like, (always ask these folks that look at me like I’m from Mars when I mention that their dish isn’t at all wine friendly, what they like to drink…I figure at least I might make them happy that way, sure is shit isn’t going to be with a great pairing) that hopefully won’t go all swamp assy in their mouths once mixed with spiced lamb, fruit (ugh) and blue cheese…grits. Yeah, aint all that easy, and not to sound too much like a wine snoot, they probably won’t care all that much. Not everyone gets their bits all tingled by food and wine pairings and I always try and keep that in mind. I’m not the pairing gestapo for fucks sake, I’m a wine slinger and while educating people is important to me I shan’t be that wanker that treats people like they’re morons when they are in our store trying to buy a bottle of Merlot for their fried oysters. 

A couple weeks ago I had a very nice, and very tiny woman, I swear she could barely see over the front counter, come in and ask for a recommendation for a wine to go with “Grilled stone fruit in a balsamic glaze”. I tried to un-scrunch my face, leaned over the counter, my tummy resting on the hard wood surface, feet almost off the ground and after a deep breath said, “You are aware you just put two wine killers, like together, right?” to which she responded, “Yeah that was kind of what I was thinking. Sounds good but I just can’t imagine there is a wine that would taste good with that. What about something that might just be fun?” nearly picked her up and swung her around all Sound of Music like. Hooked her up with a bottle of Brachetto, a bubbly, semi-sweet red from Italy that I thought might not cause too much damage and sent her happily on her way. I love that story. I really do, kind of in that same way I love those stories about a homeless person finding a winning lotto ticket or a doggy walking 600 miles to find his family…it’s rare my friends, very rare. 

“Sam, I just got a call from a friend of Randy’s, (and they all think they are Randy’s friends, even the ones he greets with a, “Hey….you. Good to see you” because he can’t place them) and he needs you to pick wines for a wedding next weekend” my coworker as we were setting up for my Friday night class. I didn’t really have time to deal with a whole pairing thing, especially a wedding one, but even though we were a person short, and the bosses were away, when you hear the owner’s friend needs help, well you try and make the time….”Oh fuck me” alert the gestapo.

I rather hurriedly took the printed menu from my coworker’s hands, (sorry Jen, not you, just busy) and noticed first the venue, The St. Regis Monarch Beach, swank with a pimpy fat-ass E, I then saw what they wanted to maybe spend per bottle, for a 13 case order…up to $40, per bottle? For a wedding with 450 attendees? Well hell, maybe I could squeeze out a little time. My eyes then hit the first obstacle, Condiments on each table: red pepper flakes, jalapenos and salsa. My inner wine Nazi simply went, “Nein!” and I barked at my poor coworker that I couldn’t deal with that right now. Asked that she let him know that I would take a gander at the menu over the weekend and get back to him. 

The rest of the staff putting out placemats and glasses for our Pinot Noir event, a second of free time and the curiosity got the best of me, grabbed the menu again and actually found myself laughing. “You have got to be shitting me” the only thing I could think to say. What I held in my hand had to be the single worst menu, for wine, I had ever seen. As I let my eyes fall upon each line, several of which were horribly misspelled thusly causing little hiccups in my scanning, my little wine brain feverishly flipping through card after card in my mental wine rolodex…I swear, I started to smell burnt hair and thought I was going to stroke out. 

The Menu:

Tray Passed Hors d’Oeuvres

Chicken Tikka

Paneer, Bell pepper & onion skewer

Aloo ki Tikki

Lamb Samosa (more spicey)

Tandori Shrimp

Lamb Chop (more spicey)

Fried Chutney Sandwich (no crust, add chutney before frying)

Vegetarian Spring Roll (more filling and more spicey)

On to the mains:

The afore mentioned Condiments at each table

Stacked Fresh Mozzarella, Tomato, Cured Olives, Torn Basil Leaves, Basil Oil and Pesto Drizzle

Freshly Baked Asiago Roll, Cranberry Bread and Rosemary Roll

Jerk Chicken with mango relish, jalapenos, chili flakes, plantains and vegetable rice (more spicey)

Or

Spicy Eggplant Parmesan with Polenta and Curry Vegetables inside Puff Pastry, baby carrots, aspargus, and brocollini

Okay, so while trying to steady myself, and shouting, “How they hell did they spell spicy right once but wrong like five other times?!” and “What the fuck is an aspargus? Is it some kind of anti-social veggie?!” the little Julia Roberts like vein popping from my forehead, thumping and threatening to burst at any second, “Is that burning hair I smell?” me handing the menu to anyone that would take a moment to look…eyes bugged out and damn near frothing at the mouth. “This, this is some kind of joke right? The bosses put their friend up to this right? I mean, they can’t possibly believe that there is any wine on the planet that will go…well with any of it let alone all of it….right?” my voice beginning to trail off in a post rant, nearly seized whimper. Unclean…

Ended up waiting until Sunday to actually talk to the gentleman, who was in fact someone Randy knew, over the phone and when I gave him my much calmer suggestion of, “You know, this is just about the most unfriendly, for wine, menu I have ever laid my eyes upon. I think the way to go is to get some super-tasty wines, stuff not too high in acidity, oak or alcohol, that may not, (read never) give you that wine and food moment, they won’t clash too much and hopefully people will just enjoy drinking them, regardless. He then went on to tell me that the couple getting married were like obscenely wealthy and just getting into wine. They were looking to impress their friends and he too was hoping that they would understand, if just for this event, that putting shit like Silver Oak Cabernet, with that menu, was going to end up shoving their guests into their glasses of water rather than enjoying wine with their dinner. Don’t think either of us was holding out much hope, especially me after recommending a Viognier and hearing, “That might be too light for them”….sigh. Just kept thinking about Randy and Dale, in that beautiful tree house patio, slurping oysters, forkfuls of clean food, polishing off bottle after bottle of wine. “How much wine do you think we’ll need for 450 people?”……

“About a case”