It’s late, Art the Husband has staggered off to bed “I’m sooooooooooo beat, heavy sigh, stumble stumble stumble” Um. Okay. Hey, buddy, remember, I’m the one with the flu, pace yourself accordingly. To which I receive no answer. Oh well. I’ve popped my nightly Ambien and have settled into an armchair with an old copy of Gourmet magazine. I figure I’ll flip thru it for articles and recipes of interest, mark them and then enter them into the digital Wonderland of Recipe Goodness that exists on my MacBook. Ambitious goal at best, seeing as I’ve got approximately 15 minutes lead time before I’m flat on my ass asleep. But I’m a fast reader. Until I get to this article by some French dude (now, wait, this is good) pooh poohing anyone’s ability (especially we Americans, pssshhhht) to evaluate a wine’s merits when the only factor is the glass. Same wine….tasted out of different glasses. Blah blah blah, proves nothing, blah blah blah oh look, we fooled you stupid Americans by adding food coloring to a Chard….tee heee heee, le trick le trick le trick! Sneaky French, oh how I adore them so…..and then a lightbulb flickers and my magaziine drops to the floor. I have wine! and I have glasses!! I have different wines and different glasses!!!! And I know someone who is very French!!! This has absolutely NOTHING to do with the article I just read, but I’m going to try something!
I run, sort of in a straight line (we’re 10 minutes into the Ambian now) to the pantry and grab two bottles of wine:
Project Happiness, 2005 bottled by the happy winemakers at Oreana Winery on Santa Barbara, CA
It opened clean and happy, and loved loved loved the glass I chose for it.
And then, No Man’s Land, 2006, bottled in Bulgaria from fruit grown in that 5 mile strip of land that separated the worlds of Socialism and Capitalism.
The cork tore in huge open wounds when I attempted to free it, the wrapping at the neck of the bottle peeling off in shards. Yes, that’s barbed wire you see pictured on the bottle.
Personally, I’m not so much swayed by the glasses I’m sipping from, but more intimidated by the labels each bottle sports. One clearly would like to be my drinking buddy, the other seems to want to be left to breath at a table somewhere just out of my line of sight.
Project Happiness, is smiling my direction whilst it strips the upper layer of cells from my tastebuds in it’s acidity. I can only manage 3 pulls from that glass before smiling painfully and waving bye bye as it swirls down the drain.
No Man’s Land fared better, much to it’s displeasure I think. Far smoother but still rather flat and tannic. It’s attempts to push me off by circulating several pieces of broken cork past my lips have failed, as I will finish the glass and pour half another. The broken cork is no worry, I have a rubber one for just these occasions. It will be put up for tomorrow’s dinner. It’s not a great wine, but I don’t plan on making a monumental dinner. I will, however, use the body of it’s competitor to make the sauce that will grace the pasta that will hold court with No Man’s Land tomorrow at supper time.
Woah. Time for bed.