This page contains Winings
from the 1st Quarter of the year 2005.
To contact WinoBob, click
March 27, 2005
And on the third day he arose from the tomb, saw his
shadow and declared six more weeks of winter.
Not funny, I heard this and thought to myself, there are two things
not to screw with in life, Jesus and the Mafia.
Living in northern NJ, I’m sure one of the two does exist, but
until I die, I’m believing in both and hoping neither rains a shit storm
on my little attempt at humor. Enough
said, between the black late model Lincoln and the fire and brimstone, this
has been a tough week for my funny bone.
Not wanting to piss off any other Gods, if there are
any, not that I believe in any other Gods, your holiest of nesses.
But I did take a bit from the reading I heard at the traditional
Blessing of the Food service I have been attending on Holy Saturday ever
since I was a small God-fearing lad. The
reading explicitly described for those following the just and loving God, to
prepare a Passover meal by slaughtering a one-year-old male goat or sheep
with no ailments and enough meat to fill those invited to your table.
In preparation, mark the corner posts of your door and stick a mark
above the door signifying this is a house heeding the word of the just and
loving God. Therefore this just
and loving God would Passover this house and not rain a shit storm of terror
on you as he would on the hedonistic, pagan Egyptian blasphemers.
Not being a goat nor sheep herder, and not having a goat or sheep
shop in Caldwell to purchase said one year old male fatted dinner, I figure
I would at least pay homage to the God I really don’t want to piss off,
Bacchus. So I headed down to
the cellar and opened a fatted bottle of red wine that would service, well,
me. As I poured and swilled, I
brought the bottle outside and marked the doorposts and above the center of
I sat inside, hoping any ill fate would Passover my
house. One hour passed and the cock crowed. OK, there are no
crowing cocks in Caldwell, I made that up.
But one hour hence, the noon light faded and a terrible rumbling
sound rolled towards my house. The
rumble and roar intensified and the leaded glass of my third floor windows
began to rattle. The dark
ominous sky and the noise found me on bended knee, praying that I hadn’t
pissed off the kind and just God by mockingly marking my door posts and
center above my front door with wine. I
prayed the Lord’s Prayer out loud as I heard thunderous footsteps on my
front porch. The crack of lightning in the distance and a booming
voice called out, “Wino Bob, I know you're home.”
Christ, this God could see inside. Why did I think I could
hide? “Wino Bob, I command
you to open this door.”
Half frightened, half curious, I descended the stairs
to see what this unexpected visitor looked like and why he was commanding me
to open the door. As I hit the
first floor landing, I could hear the doorknob shaking as God was attempting
to enter my home. As I reached
the door, and flung it open to meet my maker, Jesus H. Christ, it was Wino
Rocker looking for shelter as his motorcycle ride was interrupted by the
sudden storm. That’s no Holy
Man, that’s a heathen.
So I offered him a glass of sacrificial wine and gave
him a towel to dry his helmet, for what ever you do to the least of my
brothers that you do unto me. Actually Wino Rocker is more like
Bacchus. He drinks till he pukes, then wants to drink all over again.
Christ has died, Christ has Risen, Christ will come
again, and so it is written and with those words my religion and the
religion of millions is defined. But
this morning, during the homily of the visiting priest, I started thinking
about the story he told of Mary coming upon the cave in which Jesus was
entombed and finding the stone rolled aside, the body missing and his burial
clothes lying in the corner. The
religious gophers, those in the Catholic church that only come out of their
homes on Christmas and Easter, lined the aisles and filled the pews and
graciously accepted this message. I
on the other hand, still reeling from a night of drinking with WR, had a
childish thought. I say it's childish as all simple thinkers have thought the
same but never asked aloud, what if one of the disciples, in his zeal to
fulfill the prophecy, stole Jesus’ body?
OK, so I’m no theologian, since I don’t know chapter and verse of
the new testament, but what if Judas, in a moment of remorse for handing
Jesus over to the mob, not the Gottis and not the Sopranos, just the mob in
33AD, decided his act of atonement would be to remove Jesus’ body from the
tomb so those believers could truly have the sign that Jesus is the son of
God and the birth of the Christian religion.
Look, Judas threw the silver pieces back into the temple as he did
not want the blood money, then he killed himself. But not wanting to
go to hell, he took the body on day three and threw the middle finger to the
The Da Vinci code sold 25 million copies, the Last
Temptation of Christ (movie) was a box office success, the Life of Brian
amused Monty Python fans, so I offer the Gospel according to Wino Bob, the
Wino Bob Code. Hey two of those
other pieces suggested Jesus was doing the Vatican Mombo with Mary Magdalena.
I’m not going that far to say he was of fleshly enjoyments, I’m just
saying the man who is going to be the most famous and controversial
religious figure in the world, save L.Ron Hubbard, would not go to see his
Father in the nude. Jesus,
I’m still squeamish sleeping without sweatpants at my folk’s house,
never mind would I think of defining a religion in the nude.
And when he came back to show himself to Doubting Thomas, where did
he get the robes? Judas, the
tailor, that’s right Judas, was always good with the needle, sewing the
fishing nets and stuff. I’m
not saying I believe this, I’m just saying what if Judas or one other
disciples, removed the body, allegedly.
I learned through living in NNJ, that 'allegedly' is a must when
discussing the mob and Jesus’ body being stolen.
So please excuse me I have more Blood of Christ to
drink. Happy Easter (Editor's
note: Uhhh... Bob? Fire of Hell? Eternal Damnation?
Any of these ring a bell??? For the record, I don't even know this Bob
1990 Cave de Tain l’Hermitage Hermitage Rouge, Les
Nobles Rives $$
(gift from BB)
If they served this at mass, I would go to church every Sunday.
A nose of lush black fruits that tempts and tantalizes.
The flavors are expressive with spice and black berry with firm
tannins and a smooth, soft finish. Amen.
March 25, 2005
haven’t been to the new Rascals in awhile, so last night, I met a friend
for a drink. Rascals has never
had much of a wine offering, so I looked over the taps and pointed to one I
never had before, Blue Moon Belgium White.
As the Russian-accented service waif carried the glass towards me, I
saw a slice of orange rimming the glass.
Orange, what the hell is this? I have had the lemon in Weissen
and the lime in Mexican Beer but an orange was a totally new taste
sensation. The beer was one I
definitely would buy and drink and serve at the house, but the
disappointment is that it comes from one of those large, corporate
companies. Yes, this gem is
from the Adolph Coors Brewing Company.
I bet he’s glad his parents
named him Adolph.) None the
less, I did like the body and flavor of this beer, and the orange cut the
bite just enough to enhance the flavor.
It’s the water, remember that, otherwise Adolph may send a train to
pick you up.
171 calories per 12-ounce serving and 5.4% alcohol by volume.
March 24, 2005
Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for joining me today on
the EIB, Endulging in Beverages network (look, I have SpellCheck and
I know 'indulge' is spelled with an “I”, but go with the flow).
It has been awhile since I made stupid observations about the crap in
the news. It seems that since
the acting Governor threatened to kill two whacky talk show guys, he has
kept a low profile, unless you read deeply down the articles on the Jets’
move to a stadium in NYC. It
seems Gov. Codey is in line to take over the Sports Authority Commission
post the day Senator Corzine buys the Governorship.
Hoping to lock up a big deal with the Jets, he tried to hold things
up until he had that position to bring in the big deal.
But noooooooooooo! While Codey crowed, the Jets upped their bid
to the West Side deal and won the bid over Comcast.
As things go, the Giants are now thinking of a new stadium and they
might look outside NJ. Way to
go Dick! Is your home life so happy that you don’t need a Sunday
afternoon away from the family? See
Dick Run, Run Dick Run! Actually let’s run Dick out of the State.
I turn to TV, my second passion, and have found the
show of the year. I don’t
know what the awards are called for cable TV shows, but this foreign entry
is a hands-down winner. Don’t
watch this show drunk, you will need to read sub titles as the foreign
language is difficult to try and interpret to match with the action on the
screen. But make no mistakes,
the action is fast and fun and the women are hot.
So if you have time next Monday night, before CSI, not the CSI
that’s on Tuesday or Weds, or Friday, you know the 10pm Monday CSI show,
switch to A&E, pour a glass of wine and sit close to the set so you can
read the sub titles and let me know if you enjoy the show as much as I do.
The name of the show, oh, “Growing Up Gotti.”
It took me five shows to realize it actually is in English, but when
the fun-loving young Gotti boys get together, they have to run the text on
the screen so you can understand what they are saying.
Think about that, a reality show based on Long Island, in New York,
in the United States, and we are sub-titling our own language. Don’t get me wrong, I love the show, I love the Gottis, I
love the sub titles, as Victoria is the daughter of John Gotti Sr., enough
said. I watch the Sopranos, I
know what can happen, so I’m just saying this show should be nominated for
a Golden Globe, or Oscar, or whatever the F&$# award Victoria and her
sons want to win in whatever category they want to be nominated, drama, soap
opera, comedy, its yours.
There’s a black Lincoln, pulling up the street, I
March 20, 2005
I got to get my head together. The late night
binders, three, four days go by, then bam! I’m locked up in the
dark, dingy third floor, typing something out.
Drinking, I have down to a science, small doses everyday, well, maybe
not so small some days, but the entries have been too sporadic.
I think my rut is that I am drinking wines I have already written up,
so days might go by until I try something different. Pledge to myself, variety is the spice to life and I need
some more variety in the less than ten dollars a bottle category.
Having the three white wines on Friday sure added spice and variety.
I had to go to a tractor pull last night just to get my masculinity
back. Two more weekends like
that and they will be subpoenaing me to the Michael Jackson trial.
Is it true, Wino Bob, that you have been drinking white Jesus juice
at Neverland Ranch? And isn’t
it true that while drinking this white Jesus juice Mr. Jackson showed you
his twig and berries? I rest my
So today, while at Kings, I grabbed a bottle of red, a
Rhone red, in hopes of growing hair back on my berry sac. Crap, did I pick a loser.
This doesn’t come close to what I expected but I drank enough to
get a buzz and stained teeth and a purple tongue, so life isn’t all that
bad. This one came with a screw
cap, the first red I have had with a screw cap, not counting the Friday
night college fix of Riunite Lambrusco.
Nothing better than spending 10 dollars for a pizza and bottle of
wine in college, living large some might say.
I wonder if anyone has conducted a study correlating teen pregnancy
with Lambrusco, Blue Nun, Boone's Farm, or Yago.
Then we should look at teen pregnancy relating to consumption of Opus
One, Chateau Haut-Brion, Chateau Lafite Rothschild and Screaming Eagle.
My drunken money is on that less than 1% of teen pregnancies resulted
from consuming the big Five of Bordeaux or the Cult Cabs of California.
Except for some rich, Hollywood kids whose parents have a wine cellar
to rival 21 Club and whose father is a pedantic wine snob, I’m going with
cheap wine and teen pregnancy. Though if I really had to roll the bones, I’m thinking only
11% is wine related, 35% is beer related and 54% is related to teens being
too scared or too stupid to purchase Totes rain boots.
That has to be the first time in twenty years I
referred to anything from my college experience, correlating data; except
for my liver tainting. Yes, a
sociology degree comes in handy for making a living, if you want to be a
statistic below the poverty line. So
kids, listen to Wino Bob, don’t drink and stay in school and if you are
lucky enough and in a progressive school system, go to the nurse and ask for
your condoms before you buy your Riunite for the weekend.
2003 La Vieille Ferme Cote du Ventoux
Take my advice. Admire the label, then place it back on the
shelf and move on.
March 20, 2005
Thank you for calling Winostuff Consulting, home of
brash reviews, Wino Babes, Horoscopes and Drunken Gibberish. This is
Wino Bob, how may I help UUUUU. (Sorry, I let my Bloomfieldionics slip into
my professional telephone voice). Last
night, as I was trying to rush out of the house for a dinner with our good
friends, I got a phone call from my old high school, cigar-smoking buddy,
“Wino Bob, that Silver Oak we drank cost about 60
"Yes and I have the unpaid credit card bill to
“I was in a wine shop in Bedminster” (right there
I’m hearing several problems- first the friggin' guy makes a lot of money
and lives in a much nicer place than I, no me.
One night out and he already has Silver Oakitis and now he’s wine
shopping) “The guy is trying to sell me a Silver Oak for $129.00. We
paid sixty! The asshole is rippin' me off.”
"What year is it?"
"Is it Napa or Alexander Valley?"
“How the f&$# should I know?”
"What color is the label?"
“Not sure, I’ll have to go back in the store and
check. Hold on...”
Like I have nothing better to do, in fact I did have
something better to do, and that was to keep a dinner appointment with
Winette Maggie and Wino Jim to taste a few different white wines they might
serve at an upcoming dinner party. I’ve
had these plans for weeks and I’m going to be late.
More frightening is the fact that I’ve turned into kind of a wine
geek. Actually, the geek thing
is in the genes, the wine thing is new.
Cutting my personal phone call to the quick, it turned out that newly
infected Silver Oakitis boy wasn’t getting ripped off. Well, maybe
Bedminster has a luxury surcharge, but for the year and it being a Napa, the
price wasn’t over the top. I
told him my services don’t come cheap, and he owes me a bottle from the
case he was buying. Look, I
haven’t figured out how to make money at this thing yet, but free wine is
God Damn it, Cartman, its 7:05 and the reservation is
for 7. I don’t have time to go to Home Liquors.
Fortunately, Costa’s is two buildings away from Casa’s so, like
Clark Kent looking for a phone booth, I dashed into the wine shop, more
accurately, like Michael Jackson attending a cub scout meeting, I swished
into..., never mind.
“John, where are your New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs?”
"Back to the left, under the mirror."
Crap, they didn’t have what I wanted, nor did he have
the Aussie Chard, so I was left to making snap decisions keeping in mind the
price point and style differences I wanted to show.
Jesus, there I go again with the wine geek crap. I thought I
was doing this for fun.
Fifteen minutes late, I fly up the stairs like Michael
Jackson seeing a ferris wheel full of cancer kids, bag full of wine in tow.
As the waitress gave me that “if you got three bottles in a bag for
yourself, you must be an alcoholic” look, she showed me to our table.
I sat down and immediately started snapping out requests for the
waitress to bring me a wine bucket and ice and since these are not chilled,
I need a bowl of ice we can cool the glasses down other wise the acid is
going to scar away the fruit and the selections will flop and I will look
like an asshole for bringing crappy wine.
And you there, miss judgmental waitress, we are not putting the ice
into the wine like my crazy aunt, we are swirling the ice around in the
glass to chill the bowl and help bring the liquid down to the appropriate
temperature, then dumping the ice out of the glass before I pour and...
Holy Crap Marie, I’m A-hole Wine Geek to the third power.
To continue in my A-hole Geek mode, I then poured light
to heavy commenting on the wine. Hey, that’s a load of fun.
They just wanted to sip a few different white wines and see what they liked
and I am Mr. Grape-Hole. Dinner,
by the way, was delicious. Since I was having three different white
wines, I went with the Chilean Sea Bass in lemon, butter and white wine with
chopped shrimp on top. Wow, was that good.
We managed to finish off the three bottles of white and pour into
Wino Jim’s Argentinean Malbec rounding up to one bottle per person and
having Miss Snotty Waitress think we are all Winos for consuming a bottle
per person. Actually, I apologize, we are Winos and that’s the fun of
it. Dinner was great, we had a
barrelful of laughs and we totally enjoyed ourselves once I shut up about
the pedantic wine bullshit of region and flavor and style.
As a side note to Big Bob, when the Nederburg Chard
numbers spike at Costa’s, can I get a commission?
It turned out that Winette Maggie liked the chard the best and the
rest of us liked the Sauvignon Blanc, the Riesling was ok, but we just enjoy
more character and complexity on our sophisticated Wino palates as the
nuances of oak imparted a bouquet that was…… now I can’t even stand
myself. Seacrest Out.
2000 Vin d’ Alsace Riesling
Not a bad wine, but no one was excited by it. Mellow with an OK fruit
offering, kind of a wall flower, just blending in the background.
2003 Nederburg Chardonnay
This one is a good value chard for those liking the buttery, nutty
chards. The caramel and vanilla
on the nose captures you and the flavor is full for this inexpensive South
African Chardonnay. Pick a few
of these up and open them anytime at $7.99
2003 Mud House Sauvignon Blanc
This is why I like New Zealand SB, a citrus, gooseberry, lemon grass party
in your mouth. Not for the
casual white drinker, but the pucker you get out of this may help during the
after dinner activities.
March 15, 2005
Has your day ever been ruined by a glance?
Not from a person, but from the peripheral recognition and then the
glance at the horoscope in the paper. God
Damn it, Cartman, the other day I was reading the sports page getting ready
to see who was making the NCAA tournament so I could use more than a
dartboard to select my final four. It
turned out that the page adjacent to the lead sports page was one containing
horoscopes. I know I don’t buy into this stars and moon and planet
force stuff, but I do find myself reading the blurb.
Then the words get in my head and I spend the entire day trying to
match events as they naturally occur, with the general bullshit of some
college intern making this stuff up after a bong full of Panama Red (is that
a relevant pot in this day and age?). Yesterday,
it said, "be cautious as Mars is crossing your seventh house and a
personal change maybe in the air."
I got up and banged my knee on my desk. How did they know that
I would rather they be really direct, like, "today
all you born under the sign of Cancer, will actually contract cancer.
You have three months of a painful, hideous torment in front of you,
have a nice day." Did the
Pagans know something about the worship of the sun and moon and stars and
large stones carved to look like faces or rocks in a circle?
I did get sucked in one day when they told me I was going to have a
financial win, so I ran over to Sanjay’s and bought $100.00 in lottery
tickets. As you can see, my
luck wasn’t in the numbered ping pong ball contest and I have yet to come
into that fortune. What if you
are dating or married to someone of the same sign and the prediction is for
a rough time in your love life. Is it rough for me, or for her or for
both or does her rough time become my rough time even if I’m not feeling
like it should be rough? I
guess I should stick to what I believe in most, praying to Bacchus and
occasionally the porcelain idol in my bathroom.
Here’s a prediction for all you Pisces- beware of the
latter part of your month as someone you might consider a confidant, stabs
you in the back with a dull knife as the rest of the Senators stand around
Et tu, Brute?"
2001 Bodega Coperativa San Isidro Mentrida Bastion
de Camarena $ (8.99)
This blend of Tempranillo and Garnacha is a medium bodied wine with
red fruits, caramel and spice on the palate but the finish was a bit rural.
March 11, 2005
We at WinoStuff.com are proud of the week we had in new
readership. Statistics emails
and phone calls have provided a unique expansion.
First, to my new friends in Spain, I would like to offer this
greeting in your native tongue, “Dé la bienvenida a mis amigos nuevos,
nosotros adoramos la uva rellenita de su mujer.”
We are pleased that Christian went back and told his drunken friends
to read our site. See what
happens when you put someone on the front page?
May the sun beat down and shrivel your berries to produce those deep
rich reds we love. Please
forward all new wines to our PO Box in Caldwell. We'd love to
“review” your latest Jesus juice.
OK, so our international readership has grown, actually
from the stats, now that Christian is logging in, our hits from Spain have
doubled. Now what are we doing to keep the readers at home happy, you ask?
Meeting drunken people in bars and obnoxiously promoting our site.
And I am pleased to say that out of the 25 people I spoke with last
week, one actually decided to check in.
As the domestic stats go, we are 100% in line with our growth in
Spain. The crazy thing is that
our newest wino has a funky email address.
Yes, Wino Chris graduated from the school of Darts.
Look, I spent plenty of time during college at pubs playing cricket,
301 and baseball, but I never realized they actually had a college dedicated
to drinking and darts. Needing
a bit more 411 on this, I searched the email address and boy did I feel
silly founding out my new drinking buddy didn’t graduate from darts
college, but rather he is a blue blood from an Ivy League college.
Holy crap Mary, I guess I’m going to have to purchase a dictionary
and thesaurus to upgrade my linguistic skills.
Check this out, Dartmouth
was founded in1769 by the Rev. Eleazar Wheelock for the education of
"youth of the Indian Tribes ... English Youth and others."
Nickname: "Big Green." Colors: Dartmouth Green and
white. Motto: "Vox clamantis in deserto" ("a voice
crying in the wilderness").
First of all in 1769, the only reason anyone was giving
an Indian anything was for peyote in exchange, just ask the gonzo.org folks.
I would like to know the number of Indian tribe youths that graduated
from Dartmouth: Geronimo, Sitting Bull, Chief Wild Eagle (F Troop
reference. I reached for that one)? Anyway, when I looked up the majors offered, there was no
basket weaving, blanket making or peace pipe smoking, The only voice crying
in the wilderness was from the misplaced Indian tribes as the wealthy white
Anglo-Saxon Protestants moved them to Vermont so they could build the
prestigious educational institution.
Personally, I think the good Reverend was running some kind of scam
on the Fuckouwees. I’m sure
some ex-Dartmouthian brainoid will correct me that some white woman who has
1/64th Cherokee in her once matriculated a class there to keep
Eleazer out of the stockade, but that ain’t an Indian tribe school of
higher learning. Sorry, I
don’t want to piss off my smart
friends, so for them, I offer a welcome greeting from our WinoBabe of the
Month, “Is that a slide rule in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”
Vino, Verdis, Vectoris, Mons Venus, Faschizzle
(doesn’t anyone speak Latin any longer?)
1998 Casa Lapostelle Cuvee Alexandre
Chilean cabernet sauvignon lovers will find this a solid example of
the good side of the quality/price continuum. Black cherry, tobacco, blackberry and good tone tannins make
this a nice one to drink on a Friday afternoon.
March 8, 2005
Since the recent death/suicide/homicide/21-gun salute
in Colorado to the alcohol-soaked, drug-induced, writer par excellence,
Hunter S. Thompson, the word 'Gonzo' has been on everyone’s lips, minds
and reports. Stupidly, I had no
idea what Gonzo really referred to, so I went on the web and found out that
there is actually a Gonzo Organization.
And as of 2AM, today, I declare myself to be a member.
I don’t know what I am actually joining, or if there is a Gonzo
initiation where I have to get whacked on the bare ass with a wooden paddle
and ask for another, or if I have to sign over a check for thousands of
dollars and I get a lapel pin and a membership card to carry in my wallet
that reveals the secret hand shake, or I pledge to question authority and
anyone wearing a navy blue suit and white shirt.
What ever the case, I think I would be in.
I found a concise definition on Wikipedia that I offer below
so you too can understand the word and style that is so prevalent in the
Origin- from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
It's a misconception that the term was coined
by Rolling Stone writer Hunter S. Thompson to describe his (often
extreme) reporting. The word is attributed to Thompson, but it was first
used by Boston Sunday Globe reporter Bill Cardoso who, after
reading Thompson's infamous Scanlan Monthly article on the Kentucky Derby,
proclaimed "That is pure Gonzo!" According to Cardoso, 'Gonzo'
is South Boston Irish slang describing the last man standing after a
drinking marathon. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gonzo#fn_Thompson-Desperate)
Thompson himself would instigate events, often in a prankish or
belligerent manner, and then document both his actions and those of
others. The term has also come into (sometimes pejorative) use to describe
journalism (or generally any writing) that is broadly in the vein of
Thompson's writing, characterized by a drug-fueled, stream of
The intention of this is partly to involve
the audience in the action, in a manner similar to the theater technique
of breaking the fourth wall, but it is also economical as no one has to
remember any lines.
It is interesting to note that the
"Gonzo fist" has six fingers as opposed to the regular five.
According to Gonzo.org (http://www.gonzo.org),
this is "...a symbol of freak power."
Brand logo. The Gonzo hand is a two-thumbed fist clutching a peyote button.
If I might boil it down to my beliefs, the following
phrases capture the essence for me: marathon drinking, prankish and
belligerent, drug fueled, peyote button, freak power and the obligatory
fourth wall. As a former
attendee at Arizona State University, I attempted to join the Apache Tribe
as peyote is a religious offering similar to the cardboardish wafer of my
current religion. Yes, I placed
one button on my tongue and was catching fish with Jesus the Christ himself.
(Note to Wino John, can you have your patent attorney lock up the
trademark, Jesus the Christ Fishing Tackle™.)
(Note to WinoBob: You're going to hell...)
I guess the real reason I
will now call myself "gonzo" is that my drunken rambling will be
something more than just my drunken ramblings.
And when WJ bitches out my lack of grammar, sentence structure,
spelling and intellectual thought, I will merely hold up my two thumbed fist
and yell out, “Gonzo, Baby, Gonzo.”
R.I.P. or at least in a field
of peyote buttons and single malt scotch, Hunter S. Thompson.
1997 Nederburg Private Bin Shiraz-Cabernet Sauvignon
A gift from Big Bob, this
Nederburg Auction Wine is a well-crafted blend of two grapes I appreciate.
A thrill ride of dark fruit, black currant, coffee and spice with
nicely tamed tannins. A treat.
March 5, 2005
Where are the simple days, heading out to the park for
a pick up game of basketball, hanging out down by Clarks Pond talking about
the hot chick in math class, sitting in Brookdale Park and wondering what
that cloud looks like?. Then
come jobs and life and responsibilities and the best friends you had in
school head in different directions, physically or socially.
Fortunately, I had very few friends in high school so for me keeping
in touch is easy, “You don’t call me and I won’t call you and we’ll
see each other once a year for dinner.”
Try as we might, what starts out as a promise for the end of January,
bleeds into the spring or summer at times.
Last night, not wanting this yearly tradition to fade, I had dinner
with my oldest friend from high school.
Older and mellower, we ate at a sushi place in East Hanover.
Never having been there before, I wasn’t sure how authentic it
would be, but as I sat at the table and looked at the other diners, I
thought I could have been in Osaka. He and I were the only round eyes
in the joint. The place was
packed and the food was great, I enjoyed a glass or two of Sauvignon Blanc
with the eda mane and fried bean curd appetizer.
My main meal was two different specialty rolls and they were well
proportioned for their price and tasty as sin.
After we ate, we headed down to JR’s and did what old
men do, we bought cigars and a nice bottle of California Cabernet and
laughed about the shit we did as precocious youngsters.
During high school we were inseparable, as we played football and ran
track together or took our hot Bloomfield babettes to the Royal theater for
a movie and attempts at some teenage groping (our dates, not each other).
Though as high school geeks, we spent more time talking and less time
actually groping (our dates, not each other).
His older sister was hot, so I loved going over to his house and
hanging out, in hopes I could run my smooth Wino Bob lines on his college
age sis. As you can imagine,
the tolerant pat on the head in a dismissive manner put me right back into
my pimply faced place, as my crackly voice called out “Mary Ann you are
soooo cool.” I get douche
chills just thinking about it.
It was a running conversation picked up where we left
off last year and will continue next January or February or March.
I enjoyed a nice Fuente Churchill with a Maduro wrapper and I picked
a bottle that was made for a special celebration.
We toasted to our health, and our families and our friendship that
has endured over the hills, valleys, mesas and rivers for thirty years.
We are not as close as we were in our twenties, but we did a lot of
growing up together. So, I
toast my friend, old high school buddy, that we may be alive 45 years hence
to celebrate together and drink a nice California cabernet and smoke a
pleasurable cigar, through our tracheotomy blow holes.
May you all have a friend, who has seen you naked in the boy’s
locker room in tenth grade, and decided to stay friends any way.
And to the old gang that hung at Brookdale Park, or Rock Bottom, or
Foley Field, let us never forget where we have come from, and appreciate the
journey that has brought us to where we are today. And to my buddy’s
sister, who was nice enough to let us borrow her car and cruise Broad Street
on Saturday nights, I want to unburden my soul after thirty years. It
wasn’t mud on the passenger car door that Sunday morning in May when you
bitched your brother out. No,
it was the contents of my stomach from a Saturday night of Southern Comfort
and Rolling Rock and seeing who could drink the most Flaming Arrows in 5
minutes. For those not familiar
with the ritual, you all get a shot glass, and a nip of Southern Comfort,
pour up a short, light it on fire, down it and quench the flames off your
face with a beer, while chanting the “Oh can you do a flaming arrow,
flaming arrow, oh yes can you do the flaming arrow” song.
Now that I think about it, except for the varsity jacket not fitting
anymore and there is no one else here on a Saturday night, my life hasn’t
2003 Geyser Peak Sauvignon Blanc ?
A crisp, tart, refreshing SB with nice grapefruit and lime flavors,
this wine was a treat with the sushi meal I had.
2000 Silver Oak Alexander Valley Cabernet Sauvignon
A nice offering of dark cherry, tobacco, and cassis with a velvety
long stride on the finish. A great bottle for a celebration.
March 2, 2005
You know you have friends when your posting hasn’t
changed in awhile and they email to make sure you’re alive. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen to me. No, I went 8
days between posts without the least of contacts.
Hey, it’s a Whining column. Fortunately,
Big Bob read about the lack of wine consumption on my part during my Geek
trip and extended an olive branch, actually a vine, and asked Wino John and
I if we would like to meet the winemaker from Torres.
Let me think, head home to shovel more snow and then
retire to the dark dull third floor room and eat a grilled cheese sandwich,
or head to a nice restaurant and sample a flight of Torres wines with
comments by the winemaker. The
8 inches of snow looks exciting, but I’m sure it will be there when I get
home. Off to dinner and an
evening to make up for the lack of wine in California. Taxi!
Big Bob and his NY counterpart, the French-speaking
Bordeaux-bloodline, Louie, were already at the bar with Christian Gonzalez
of Miguel Torres and this young lady ----->
(Actually she wasn’t at the restaurant, I took her picture from the Torres
But we did find a suitable replacement. ----->
Since Wino John always has to
make a grand entrance, he sat out in his expensive sports car for 10 minutes
while we had a beer and got to know one another.
For some reason, the seating arrangements at the bar didn’t allow
much social intercourse (me, empty seat, Big Bob, the well dressed Louie and
Christian), so I sipped my beer and watched TV. Finally, WJ made his Hollywoodesque entrance and we were good
to go into the dining room for our sensory titillation and intense, pedantic
wine dissection. OK, they
talked wine while I tried to interject lines from the movie Sideways
to make like I actually know about wine.
Sideways was a topic as the increase in Pinot Noir sales has
Big Bob dancing the Happy Pinot dance.
As Big Bob tried to quiet me quickly, he pulled a cornucopia of
Torres wines out of his satchel and suddenly, I saw myself running with the
bulls in a white shirt and red bandana. Olé! While we browsed the menu, we lined up the offerings shortest
to tallest, weakest to strongest, white wines through reds.
enjoyed the first three wines before I even decided on my main course, but
knowing Torres’ wines on the red side of the spectrum, I knew it would be
some slice of bloody dead cow. Now
I hate to be too hard on new friends and a potential new source for wine,
but I am not much of a white wine drinker so the first batch didn’t stir
my loin, though the new Winette we met did. --->
2003 Vina Esmeralda -
Summer chick wine all the way. A blend of 85% Moscatel and 15%
Gewurztraminer. Light and floral. Serve well chilled.
2003 De Casta - Its
a Rose, not white Zin, made from 65% Garnacha Tinta and 35% Carinena and is
dry, crisp and a nice wine for summer grilling or hanging on the
porch. Serve well chilled.
2002 Gran Vina Sol -
85% Chardonnay and 15% Parellada made in a bigger style with a nice oak
influence for a buttery feel and peach and vanilla flavors.
Politely, I drank. Actually,
I wanted to lubricate the system so the reds would more easily enter my
bloodstream. Note to the readers:
It was around this time that a table of Sideways enthusiasts sat
within eye sight. Being caught
in the mass hysteria of Paul Giamatti’s Pinot pedance, they ordered a
Pinot which turned out to be one of Big Bob's wines
The good will ambassador of Pinot, Big Bob stopped by their table
several times to enlighten, educate, and to warn them not to listen to the
off-color comments about the thinned-skinned, fussy grape that WJ and I were
making. Sideways, forward or
reverse, Pinot is just one of those grapes that can be affected by the
temperature of the picker’s hands or the amount of sweat dripping off his
brow into his basket.
Just in time, my musculin
salad dressed with gorgonzola arrived and I ditched the Gan Vina Sol like a
matador’s Veronica and dressed in my best Traje de luces I performed a
estocada recibido on the first of the Torres reds.
2000 Gran Sangre de Toro
the plaza de toros, this wine is the ring, the place, the starting point of
reds blended with 60% Garnacha, 25% Carinena and 15% Syrah. The black
cherry and spice handled the gorgonzola like a banderillero.
I could drink this wine every night if I had some.
To cleanse our palates before
the main event, before the Torero met the Toro, we enjoyed a step up the
ladder to a cabernet-based red.
2000 Gran Coronas - 85%
Cabernet Sauvignon, 15% Tempranillo with an offering of red and black fruit
and an under tone of Mocha, I would bring this one to a BYOB with friends.
As conversation flowed...,
well..., as the wine flowed, Christian kept trying to get Big Bob’s
attention in hopes of changing his seat (which was next to mine) to Big
Bob’s seat which was across the table.
Big Bob just kept ignoring these signals, as he, too, is fed up with
sitting next to me. Christian
politely listened to my prattling and leaned across my plate to invite Wino
John to Spain for a visit to the vineyards.
the main course arrived, the waiter placed steaks in front of Wino John, BB,
Christian and me, as WJ’s new best friend proceeded to uncork the jewel of
the picador, a 1975 Gran Coronas which
they located during their activities
earlier in the day. Then, the waiter placed an entire pizza in front of Louie.
Now that’s a wine-confident guy, ordering pizza with the 1975 Gran
Coronas. See, I wouldn’t have thought of that.
With the skill of a matador, Christian extracted a fading cork,
carefully protecting the Mother’s Milk inside.
The condition of the cork had us anxious as to the structure of the
wine, but Bacchus himself smiled upon the Columbia Inn and allowed us a
treat of treats. Wow. Though
the color had faded and the wine was making its last stand, it delivered a
big nose and a delightfully jammy fig- and plum-flavored beverage with
similarities to an Oporto. A
friend of the rib eye, I wanted to bathe in the bowl of my glass. With
Christian then put us in our
Back-to-the-Future vehicle and Wino John produced 1.21 gigawatts of power so
we could enjoy the 24 year younger version of the bottle we were drinking.
1999 Mas La Plana - Penedes
is as Penedes does and Cabernet Sauvignon is its Gump.
Though this one needs time to settle the aggressive tannins and
develop the fruit, it has nice potential for a real winner 5 years from now.
Color me jaded, color me biased,
color me drunk, but the wines of Miguel Torres are a charming change from
the Rioja standards. Pacs del
Penedes is a region for the cab lovers in the crowd and the Torres family
knows how to do it. I found the
experience scintillating and think that one day, Christian and I will be
hanging out. I’ll go to Spain and see a bullfight and, the next time
he’s in the US, I’ll take him to NASCAR.
If Wino John’s going, I’m finding a way to tag along….
Nasty props to BigBob,
Christian and Ryan for the great fun, food and wine.
March 1, 2005
As you can tell, I had a lapse in posting.
Last week I was on a Geek trip in the land of fruits and nuts and
vines. Unfortunately, my 6 days
in California, left me with little wine time.
Actually, I drank a volume two nights, but one was a house and the
other night was a wine I’ve had before.
Having to do company dinners and set scheduled events, the free time
was minimal. The nicest place I had dinner at was Mr. Stox in Anaheim.
Gold Medal restaurant, Mr. Stox is known for classic California cuisine
including homemade breads, fresh pasta, prime New York steaks, lamb, veal,
and seafood. Featuring a choice of dining rooms, each with its own
atmosphere yet all equally elegant, Mr. Stox also boasts a wine cellar
with over 900 wine choices, recognized as one of the best in the
Since this was a small private party, they offered a
Cabernet and a Chardonnay. The
Cab I drank was the 2002 BV Coastal. It
was enjoyable, as it was provided by the host and I went with the Prime Rib
to slow down my drinking. The
word I heard about Mr. Stox that intrigued me is that you can have a wine
locker there. I knew of this
from a time my father had dined there and his host had a wine locker they
selected from. When Bacchus
opened and I was “in”, I tried to get them to set up this type of
program. Joe the Wineguy told
me they didn’t have a large enough wine cellar to set something like this
up, but it was a nice idea. Do any California readers know if Mr. Stox still offers the
wine locker program? It might be a fun thing to do for my once a year
trip to Geekdom in Ca. I like
this place, but do not know if I could afford dinner there myself.
February 28, 2005
And the winner is...
• "Before Sunset"
• "Finding Neverland"
• "Million Dollar Baby"
• "The Motorcycle Diaries"
What the hell is the matter with the Academy?
Screen play adapted"?
Are they not drinking wine at the voting meeting?
Come on people! California, wine, movies, this could have been
the right place at the right time. The
first problem was that Paul, son of Bart, did not get a nomination.
It seems that Howard Hughes still casts a spell over Tinsel Town.
Which was even funnier as Sixty Minutes did a piece on Howard Hughes
being the reason that President Nixon schemed up the break-in plot at the
DNC office in the Watergate Hotel, leading to his resignation.
Last night Mr. Hughes’ ghost ran the show.
It seems the Academy also snubbed the French-residing
Johnny Depp. Is there an
anti-wine theme running through the voters, an anti-wine consuming region
theme, or were Sideways and Finding Neverland loved by the people and not by
Personally, I think it revolves around Pinot Noir.
What do the French-residing Johnny Depp and Sideways have in common?
Yes, the Pinot and, as we know, its such a delicate, thin skinned,
cantankerous bugger and so is the grape.
February 20, 2005
Though I have banned them from actually having access
to this site, I want to wish my folks a Happy Anniversary as tomorrow,
February 21st, I will be far too busy to contact them.
Here’s wishing a day of slaking and snagging all night long.
Dad, remember, no trapeze this year. Mom’s liable to break a
hip. I have to call my siblings
and ask them if they think the old folks still do the nasty.
I just realized something other than the fact I am not
supposed to think about my 70 plus year old parents snordling. I just
realized that I am screwed this June. God
damn it, my June is going to be totally F’ed.
I always look forward to hockey and June is the month I start paying
attention to it. Jiminy
Christmas, do they need to play a season from November through May, just to
eliminate 4 teams from the play off picture?
Here’s a novel idea, make hockey be more like rugby. If you
don’t make the playoffs, they drop you to minor league status and you have
to win your way back into contention. Here’s
another novel idea for sports in general, don’t guarantee large salaries.
Make it more like the real world, give them decent money, then have them
establish MBO’s to receive bonuses that would be the big bucks.
Does a guy play better if he earns 20 million a year or two million
then has to produce to get the other 18 million?
I found something in my mail the other day that has me
freaked out a bit. There was a
copy of Details magazine with my name and address on it.
I never ordered this, in fact, I haven’t ordered a magazine in the
mail since junior high school when we had to sell magazine subscriptions and
I happened to address the Playboy to myself.
It was cool until the day my grandmother (yes, the one I walked in on
in the bathroom) got to the mailbox first and dropped all the mail on the
kitchen table in front of my mom. I
tried to explain it was for an art project, that we were studying the female
form, but that didn’t fly. “Does
that mean I have to give back the coffee mug I won for selling the most
I digress. I spent a sober Sunday combing through
the checkbook and credit card receipts to make sure I didn’t order it
during a drunken stooper. (Yes,
Wino Wally, my tilted, drunk, lamppost hugging posture)
So, I assume it was sent to me by someone, most likely my stylish,
wealthy younger brother who always makes it seem like I am Jed Clampett
showing up when I meet him in the city.
I’m seriously thinking he is trying to impart the “happening”
scene thing on me. So last
night, I took the magazine into the bathroom with me so I could do a little
reading and, Holy Crap Marie. This
magazine covers all the trendy things you should be doing and wearing and
saying and all the hot spots you should be hanging out at and all the hot
stars that are on the move. Let
me start out by saying, if I had $2,105.00 to buy a sport coat, I’d be
buying a car. Who the fuck are the people that can afford a shirt for more
than 19.99? Shoes, watches,
gloves, sound systems, cologne, you name it, this magazine covers what is
in. So I guess I am out.
There were some nice things I saw, but be serious, the total on the
one casual outfit they had on this dude was 7,400.00.
My first three cars didn’t cost me that much, and do I really need
a crystal paper clip holder for my desk at a mere 1,400.00?
The other trend I guess I am too out of it to realize
is that the show Desperate Housewives is ruining my
masculinity. Note to the author
of the article, Desperate Housewives is not ruining my
masculinity since I have never seen the show.
I do admit, I goggled Teri Hatcher naked once, but that was during
her days as Superman’s damsel in distress.
The only other person I can connect to the show is Nicolette
Sheridan, because of the Monday Night Football opening with her naked in the
locker room pouncing on Tyrell Owens and the entire flap that came out of
it. Are you ready for some
Desperate Housewives naked chicks? Note
to Wino John, we need to see if Teri Hatcher has naked pictures drinking
wine and she can be our next wino babe of the month. (Editor's
note: I could probably bikinitize the following picture. The
crack WinoStuff censors may not allow me to nakedize it...)
Teri Hatcher, out of control at the last WinoStuff
So, I guess, I prefer cotton t-shirts and washed out
Levi’s to Polo and Armani. And I prefer simple BYOBs over the trendy
hot spots of the City, and I like reasonably priced red wines rather than
overpriced Bordeaux. If the
magazine comes next month, I will scour it to see what I am not, but the
thing that most concerns me is how in the hell anyone could remember what
designer to wear for shoes, but who’s out for suits and who’s in for
shirts, but where not to be seen this month. No, I will continue to
weave my way home from Costa’s with a different bottle of ten dollar wine
and sit at home, and taste, in my crappy old sweater and jeans.
2002 Chaddsford Proprietor’s White
A blend of Pennsylvania’s favorite grapes offers up a tropical
fruit and citrus wonder with decent acidity and a finish of melon.
February 19, 2005
Every once in awhile, you have to sit back and have a
simple dinner with a nice glass of wine.
Unfortunately, I could never get to that point.
This week, WJ and I actually had to meet and drink wine.
Yes, we had a tasting commitment and we had to find time in our busy
schedules. Actually, I am available at the drop of a hat since I
really have nothing important in my life, but WJ is a very import business
executive. Finding the only two-hour opening in his much-committed life,
we agreed on a day and time. I
took to the Internet to find a BYOB somewhere in between he and me.
One of the NJ restaurant guides presented choices by county, or
cuisine, so I hunted through the descriptions to see which were BYOB.
It turned out that there was one that fit best so I emailed WJ the
info and we were set. Except
for the fact that the restaurant was closed on a Wednesday, at 6:45PM.
What the F%$@? Closed, dark, locked down. Crap, what the
hell are we going to do now?
Fortunately, within two miles, you can throw a rock in
any direction in NJ and hit a small strip mall containing an Italian
restaurant that is BYOB. Not
being far from several I was familiar with, we caravanned over to Marra’s,
an Italian Restaurant in a small strip mall in NJ.
To be clear, I use the word caravan in the descriptive form of
several cars in a row, as opposed to me or WJ owning a Dodge caravan.
Geekdom and all, I would not own a caravan. Marra’s was packed, which simply means that the other 10
tables were full, but we were able to secure the last remaining place to
park and eat. Glances and
murmurs greeted us as the two of us sat down and placed more bottles then
bodies on the white linen table cloth.
Oh my God, those gay guys are alcoholics.
Why do people take in stride two women dining at a quite, candlelit
table, but point, stare and snicker when to neat thin gentlemen dine at a
cozy, candlelit table? Hey,
that was the last table in the place, how did I know it was the “lovers”
Nonetheless, undaunted, we proceeded to open and drink
and ignore the discomfort of the regulars.
Actually, Marra’s is a great place and the food is delicious.
At the end of the meal, Wino John actually agreed to review one of
the wines, so I will not be addressing that one.
Panic set in when one of the other bottles was corked. We panicked
since we brought it and couldn’t send it back for another.
Which left us with the bottle I will comment on.
And to careless web sites with dead links and bad
information, get your shit together before I report you to Al Gore.
For those of you who don’t listen to the left wing, hate spewing
ramblings on Air America, they reported on Friday that Al is still seeking
gainful employment, but as a filler job for his resume, he has declared
himself Head of Internet Policing of Policy, Organizational Content,
Regulations and Text, or as we like to call him HIPPOCRT.
2001 Chateau St. Jean
Cabernet Sauvignon Sonoma County $ (11.99)
Nice, this wine hands you a solid everyday wine with black fruit, cassis and
vanilla on the finish. A wine I
could bring to a BYOB or sit at him with as I cruise porn on the Internet.
February 13, 2005
Since three bottles for the crowd on Friday night,
doesn’t seem like 'more bottles than bodies', two wines were not new to
the reviews so I didn’t include them and this last one I hadn’t
finished. We hit the point
where we opened it, took a few sips and passed out.
So into the refridge it went and I tasted it, well actually finished
the bottle, off on Saturday. I
am actually glad; I didn’t dump this one out, as under a lifted fog, I saw
this one more clearly on Saturday. I
was so wine-soaked on Friday that I most likely would have rated this lower.
I am glad the instinct of wine sense kicked in and overrode the haze of
In addition, we had dinner Saturday night at the Court
Jester Café in the lobby of the Sheraton Tara in Parsippany. Let me
send out a big FU to them. The
wine selection sucks and the balls of you to charge $9.00 per glass for
Parallel 45. I could by the GD
bottle retail for $7.99. FU.
2001 L de Lyeth Cabernet Sauvignon Sonoma County
A weighty wine with good mouth feel and flavors of plum and black
currant. A smooth silky finish
with nice length.
February 12, 2005
It's a good thing those pills the doctor gave me worked
last night, as a 'more bottles than bodies' Friday night found Wino Rocker
making himself at home on the couch. God
forbid I had my brain turn into 'my brain on wine' after the gang cleared. The
angora body-haired Wino Rocker lends a great deal of credibility to Charles
Darwin’s theory that we climbed down from the trees and onto the Savannas
of Africa. That man could send
an electrolysis technician’s kid to Harvard with the amount of treatments
he would need to resemble modern man.
Speaking of Charles Darwin, I believe today is his
birthday, which should fuel the debate on creation versus evolution.
Did we evolve from that organic scum that floated on top of the ocean
for millions of years, or did God indeed rip the rib from Adam, spit on the
dirt and sculpt Eve to be weak and betray the eternal bliss of Eden we were
granted, by falling to a cleaver talking snake that caused her to eat a
snack between meals? Thanks,
you bitch, we could have all been living in Paradise, but you fell for a
talking snake. Think about it,
it’s a snake, God damn it. When have you seen any snake or any other
animal for that matter, talk? Do
you have teenagers? Christ, they barely speak and they are human! How
in the hell could you be fooled into taking advice from a reptile that
smells by lashing out its tongue? It
doesn’t have a nose, why would it have vocal cords?
To make matters worse, as soon as she bites the apple,
they look at each other and realize they are naked and go and put fig leaves
on their danger zones. Do you
know what life would be like, living in Paradise, naked?
Just think what the Wino Babes of the Month would look like, no
thongs here. And the Janet
Jackson boob thing wouldn’t have us rewriting the First Amendment. Let’s think about this, if we evolved we would still be
walking up to chicks, mounting them and they would in turn pick the lice off
my body. No, that’s not my
lifestyle. So we must have been
created, because I do not live in Paradise and the women in the neighborhood
all walk around in clothing to hide their hey-nanny-nannies.
OK, so I was created in the likeness of God, but Wino Rocker, he
definitely looks like a silverback. Come to think of it, I’m missing
several bananas from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table.
2002 Chaddsford Winery Proprietors Reserve Red
This red blend from the best known winery in Penn, is a light, spicy
red that is easy to drink with decent fruit and a soft structure.
Not bad for the region.
2002 Santa Ema Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon Miapo
Cabernet from Chile is becoming a habit.
This is a nice wine with plenty of mocha, cassis and tobacco.
The finish offers up a touch of vanilla and the tannins, unlike Wino
Rocker, visit and leave.
2002 Michele Chiarlo Barbera D’Asti Superiore Le
Orme $ (11.99)
nice wine for the price showing bright cherry, ripe raspberry and grape jam
with mild sweet earth hints and a touch of tar. In the mouth it has a smooth
texture with very clean fruit. A nice example pf Piedmont’s other grape.
February 9, 2005
is a key that unlocks my ability to suppress the juvenile reactions in me,
like when you see someone trip or hear a word, that as an adult, we
stoically process the information and move on.
However, with me, my brain pictured here has a tendency to revert to
junior high school humor no matter what the setting.
Finding myself laughing inappropriately, for an adult,
at words and situations, I went to a doctor who immediately sent me for an
MRI, to see if they could find any area of my brain which was under- or
over-active, just before the doctor hit the floor he handed me the result.
This is my brain on wine.
So I come to this entry with a note from my doctor
explaining it is not in my composition to let easy sexual innuendo or humor
pass without comment, tune out if you must, but I have duly warned you.
Congratulations to our yellow friends, all 2.4 billion
of them as today is the Chinese New Year, 4703.
For those of you who follow the squints, they use animal symbols to
represent some ancient cultural thing for what type of year you will have.
This year is the year of the Cock, they say Rooster, but we all know
they are just trying to be politically correct.
Our friends at the Rainbow Winery, the all-gay winery WJ named WOTM
in his attempt to touch his lighter side, were prancing around excitedly as
this for them will be a big year. Sparkling
wine corks popped deep into the night as they promised to soak up all the
Rooster (euphemism) they could get this year.
Currently under development is their new wine rack which holds just
one bottle, but boy oh boy does it promise an evening you will never
Which brings me to my next topic. Coincidently,
today is Ash Wednesday for all good Catholics.
Yes, this 40-day period of reflection, atonement and new fad dieting
had me thinking about the Pope, and Italy and Italian wine.
Now first, I do need to wish the Polish Pope the very best as his
health is ailing, though he did email that the wino babes of the month have
his heart beating more regularly, but it may be time to park the Pope Mobile
and head off to Pope retirement in the old Pope’s home. I get to thinking about Italian red wine and the WOTM being
Chianti. The Italians make
quality wine and they denote their quality wine from the Chianti region with
a DOCG symbol as pictured below.
Now why, I ask my wine soaked over-active medulla
oblongata, would anyone place a black Rooster on their Chianti bottles?
So I do a bit of research and find out that the Rooster (euphemism)
is said to be independent and flamboyant, unwavering, hard working with a
flare of confidence.
The year 1924 saw the formation
of the Consorzio per la difesa del vino tipico del Chianti, a group
taking as its symbol the black cockerel, the Gallo Nero still seen on
all bottles today.
As you can see, today is full
of Rooster (euphemism) and to my Winette friends who were born under the
symbol of the Cock (they rotate the animals every twelve years so I am not
referring to girls born this year), I say, grab a bottle of Chianti, Da
Vinci might just be right, and enjoy the knowledge that a black cock is
guaranteeing you the best there is to offer.
February 5, 2005
I became concerned last night while sitting in front of
the TV watching a show regarding the dark period in America.
No, not the Revolutionary War, nor the War of 1812.
The Civil War gets close, but from what this show presented, I have
the impression the Civil War behaviors lead to this very dark, depressing
time in our country’s history. I
speak of the actions of the sexually frustrated, PMS-suffering,
hatchet-wielding antics of Carry Amelia Moore Nation.
This psycho bitch is credited with a red state bible thumping, the
likes we could not think of today. It
seems Ms. Nation set out to rid the world of the pleasures of enjoying a
little drink, a little heavy petting and a fleeting moment of mutual dolphin
flogging, if you get my point.
So I did a little investigating into Ms. Nation’s
background and clearly understand why she was so pissed off. I submit this picture as it is worth 1000 words, none of
which have anything to do with "happy", "sexy",
"hot", "milf", "life-of-the-party",
"babe-o-licious", "wino-babe-of-the-month" nor
at nearly 6 feet tall and weighing 180 pounds, Carry Amelia Moore Nation,
Carrie Nation, as she came to be known, cut an imposing figure. Wielding a
hatchet, she was downright frightful.
seems Ms. Nation had a rough childhood. Boo-hoo, who hasn’t?
Christ, I walked in on my grandmother taking a crap once when I was eight
and I still have nightmares about it. You
don’t see me taking up a cause to rid the world of wrinkled old smelly
people, nor am I throwing bricks through the Eljer factory window.
So she has this tough childhood and seeks refuge by marrying a
Doctor, whom it turns out was an alcoholic.
Why in the hell else would he have considered marrying you? At
6 feet, 180, there ain’t a whole lot of womanly things going on!
The poor guy had to be blind drunk to think that face was worth
hooking up with. Plus I am sure
your bitchy attitude kept him hitting the bottle so he wouldn’t hit you.
and formidable, Nation mocked her opponents as "rum-soaked,
whiskey-swilled, saturn-faced rummies."
there is this whole issue with how she spelled her first name. She
spelled it Carrie, her father spelled it Carry.
This ambiguity may have led to deep seeded sexual identity issues,
especially when you are a 6-foot, 180 lb. chick in 1890.
Except for President Lincoln, I don’t think men in general were
that tall in those days and look what happened to Lincoln.
There is a book out that claims (allegedly) he slept with a bunch of
dudes. Face it, he was shot in the theater. What in the hell
was going on at the turn of that century? Thank God Bill Clinton used
a cigar on a chick, a fat pig, but at least the DNA evidence says she’s a
chick. So her father is
referring to her by the masculine spelling of Carrie and her mother goes
through a period thinking she was Queen Victoria, and sending Carrie off to
be looked after in the slave quarters.
I would rather have seen slave quarters then the likes of my
79-year-old grandmother reaching for some toilet tissue, Holy Crap Marie.
her first husband died and she was able to hook up with a lawyer, minister
and newspaper editor. And it is with Mr. Nation that Carrie, or Carry, or Karie, or
PMS laden, hatchet-wielding bitch gets involved with the Women’s Christian
Temperance Union and busts up any saloon, beer keg and party spot her chubby
legs could get her near. Remember
she’s 6-foot, 180 swinging a hatchet and throwing rocks, fueled by sexual
frustration, cramps, heavy flow and not drinking to take the edge off.
is why I choose to drink and mellow the rough spots in life with wine.
Maybe I will never be recognized by a country for helping get an
amendment to the constitution passed, unless of course, I could get Senator
Corzine to pass a law prohibiting, tall, fat, PMS, dry bitches from hanging
out in bars and restaurants. What
did I do with my list of Senator’s phone numbers?
2002 Laurel Glen
Reds California Red
I will take this as an everyday drinking wine made from a blend
of Zinfandel, Petite Sirah and Carignane. This inky-dark purple wine
shows a distinctly Zin-like personality.
Black cherry and blackberry fruit on the nose with hints of tar and
tobacco give this wine an interesting depth.
February 3, 2005
In the strange-but-true category of wine and people and
strange things people do with wine, this little item caught my eye.
I am always looking for new and exciting ways to enjoy the fruit of
the vine and have talked about wine in cheese, wine with chocolate wine and
health benefits, but it took a 42 year old woman from Texas to enlighten me
of using wine to flush my brake lines, if you know what I mean…
Yes, a warm red rubber bag of wine, as this story
shows, is not a cure for constipation, spastic colon, irritable bowel
syndrome, polyps, a hot Carl or a Dirty Sanchez.
Oh sure, it all starts out as fun and games, “Hey honey, you know
what I feel like tonight?” Then
someone goes a bit too far by filling the bladder with not one, but two
1.5-liter bottles of that crappy fortified wine from Spain.
Next thing you know, some one gets drunk, really drunk, then dead.
After reading this, I have decided to stick to the cliché’s I know
best, like having someone blow smoke up my ass. At least there is a
limit to how much smoke they could blow at one time.
Accused of Giving Lethal Sherry Enema
(Reuters) - A Texas woman has been indicted for criminally negligent
homicide for causing her husband's death by giving him a sherry enema, a
police detective said on Wednesday.
Tammy Jean Warner, 42, gave Michael Warner two large bottles of sherry
on May 21, which raised his blood alcohol level to 0.47 percent, or nearly
six times the level considered legally drunk in Texas, police detective
Robert Turner in Lake Jackson, Texas, told the Houston Chronicle.
"We're not talking about little bottles here," Turner said.
"These were at least 1.5-liter bottles."
Warner, 58, was said to have an alcohol problem and received the wine
enema because a throat ailment left him unable to drink the sherry, Turner
told the newspaper.
"I heard of this kind of
thing in mortuary school in 1970, but this is the first time I've ever
heard of someone actually doing it," said Turner, who led the lengthy
investigation in the case.
The woman admitted
administering the enema, but denied causing her husband's death, the
A dispatcher for the Lake
Jackson police said only Turner could discuss the case, but he did not
return phone calls from Reuters.
Along with negligent
homicide, Mrs. Warner was indicted for burning her husband's will a month
before his death. Both charges carry maximum penalties of two years in
Mrs. Warner surrendered to
police on Monday and was released on $30,000 bail, the newspaper said.
So now the big question... what brand of sherry did Mr. Warner enjoy at
his last hooray, and is that company going to be dragged into a lawsuit as
being partly responsible for not labeling their sherry with the following,
soon-to-be-required warning label?
WARNING- this wine-based product is not intended to be enjoyed
through your ass. Drinking sherry through your ass constitutes a
clear violation of the intended use of this product and may lead to fever,
cramps, explosive diarrhea and death.
However, if you choose to drink our product through your ass, my we
suggest a soft cheese like brie since Pecorino may be too sharp to ingest.
Drink responsibly, intended for mature audiences.
Overheard by one reporter was Mrs. Warner telling the officer she was
innocent since she does not drink sherry. It always left a bad taste
in her mouth. Hey don’t blame
me for this one, I know the difference between my ass and my elbow and my
February 1, 2005
One month down and an exciting one coming up, stay
tuned, winos. Who knows, I just
wanted a grabbing opening sentence. Last
night I got my advanced screening copy of the movie, Sideways. OK,
actually, as you know the movie has been out since October and made $40
million to date with it being recognized by the academy for best picture,
best supporting actor, best supporting actress and best director.
How does that happen without Paul Giamatti getting consideration for
Anyway, with time to kill, last night I saw that Sideways
had come to a theater near me, the crappy, small, cut-up warehouse being
called a multiplex, within walking distance from Costa’s Wine shop so I
used a ten-dollar bill to get in to see what the buzz was about.
Monday night downtown is less than exciting and I found myself seated
alone, in the second to last row in a sparsely attended theater. Three old folk couples dotted the rows in front of me and
several small groups of women sprinkled the left side of the middle aisle.
With much anticipation, I sat through three previews and listened to
the cackles of the two groups of woman friends that were out for a good
night. Interesting to me was
the audience reaction to the movie. I
snickered to myself as the wine pedants guffawed, at every mention of a wine
label, winery, or grape varietal. The
over-the-top, cliché tasting styles of Miles (Paul Giamatti) had three
people in stitches, but for the most part appeared socially acceptable to
the pedants. Paul plays the
part well, but it is not a stretch from the quirky, nerdy parts I have seen
him play in American Splendor. I
found the storyline well worn but understand why Jack (Thomas Hayden Church)
was recognized. His character
was the life and breath of an otherwise body at rest.
I was surprised to see them get through the censors, their drinking
while driving and driving after mass consumption of wine.
That will be my next excuse when I get pulled over by the local
authorities. "No, really, Mr. Policeman, I was just reenacting
the scene from Sideways after Miles leaves Stephanie’s house having
consumed 6 bottles of wine between the four of them and the last bottle is
shared by only me and Maya."
The very last scene sets the sequel, as the old folks
clamored to know if Maya was home. The
biggest laugh I got was the burger and Cheval as the fried onion rings must
have played nicely with the fare. Maybe
I have met too many people into wine that are too much like Miles and not
enough people like Jack. Oh,
laugh two was the spit bucket at Frass Winery.
For the most part, it was OK, but Pinot Noir’s precious journey to
becoming wine as a metaphor for Mile’s fragile existence left me searching
for the quote Miles uses about toilet tissue floating out to sea.
Sideways seemed more
mainstream tasting pedantic stereotyping then a deep life changing
experience, or maybe its just sour grapes on my part…
January 24, 2005
Yoo Hoo, Mr. wine-drinking neighbors, it’s the
traveling wino gnome, wanting to drink.
Actually, I went out Saturday to do the first pass of clean up and
the neighborhood was dark. It
turned out that Sunday morning saw about an equal amount of material as
Saturday. Way more time was spent cleaning up, then drinking up.
So last night, after I bathed in Ben Gay (he said gay), I decided to
soothe my sore muscles with a bottle of wine more upscale.
I grabbed a bottle of red from the techno dweeb.
When I say techno dweeb, though it does apply that WJ gave me this
bottle during our holiday party, I am actually refereeing to the techno
dweeb wine producer, E. Guigal. We
have written in the past that Philippe
dweeb in his own right. Bringing
computers and software and what not into the mix makes this company one of
the dweebiest, and as wine goes, the Rhone is one of my favoritest.
be damned as I throw caution to the wind and matched my chicken parm and
pasta with this Rhone dweeb. I
must tell you, I even treated myself to enjoy this in my Riedel Sommelier
Series Syrah glass, woo hoo! I’m runnin with scissors now.
I sat by myself, stinking like an old bastard, listening out my
window for the cheers coming from the Eagle-loving Wino Lou’s house as he
and most likely the rest of our neighbors watched the game on his 60 inch
plasma HDTV, while I sat alone, drinking my Rhone, like a rolling stone…..
Guigal Hermitage Rouge
(it was a gift)
When I die, I
want this wine dabbed behind each ear so when
they slam the lid on me, I will be perfumed in black currant, spice,
cedar and vanilla and the feeling of dweeb love crafted into liquid heaven.
Enjoy this on a cold snowy night, alone, in front of a TV and the
faint sounds of your neighbors having a party.
January 22, 2005
What is it with AWD or 4-wheel drive assholes that see
snow and decide to drive all over town?
Don’t you know some of us are on potentially life critical missions
as this blizzard of ’05 pounds our area?
You, a-hole, are out tooling around to see how well your all-terrain
tires grip the snow-covered, unplowed, hilly back streets of Caldwell, while
I am desperately trying to get to the store and secure necessary supplies
for what may be a 24 hour snow storm. Milk,
bread, eggs- I guess old people love French toast when it snows, salt, snow
shovels, snow blowers- I guess some people never think ahead. Hey asshole,
move your BMW X5 so I can park closer to the door! I will be coming out with
a handful of much needed… red wine. OK,
so I joined the ranks of SUV owners and clogged up Bloomfield Ave, so I
could ensure I had enough red wine in the cellar in case I get snowed in, or
better yet, a snow blower party spontaneously combusts this evening as males
on the corner converge, engines screaming in the background, frozen snot
hanging from the tips of our noses, and we make the command decision as to
whose house we drink at tonight. Fireplaces
ablaze, potluck dinner and plenty of red wine are all I need to make it
through a night like this. Actually,
as I wanted to place a small amount of anti-freeze in my blood lines, to
keep them from freezing up later while I shovel, I cracked open an
inexpensive Chianti to help me out.
Nando Chianti Classico