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*As in "Welcome to" and where "Gator Country"
means "Los Angeles"

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post #34
bio: mina

first post
that week

Favorite Things
· red wine, for the people.
· for donnie's knock at the door
· out for donnie


Category List
barely legal

wine club. on the road. portland 5th avenue suites-style, how ya doin'.
Viva Portland, Oregon!

I'm in pinot country, baby!

OK. Unfortunately, I'm not keeping up with the reputation of this wine-rich area. Por ejemplo: I had a delicious "merlot" at dinner. Just merlot. Nothing else. Not sure what I got, since after I ordered, I looked at the wine menu and realized that at least by not saying "house red", I whittled down the list of possibilities to three types of crappy wine. Merlot. That's all I said. I might as well have said "wine" for the look I got. And here was that look: "Who drinks merlot anymore? Didn't you see Sideways?" [Nota bene: I didn't, but it's on my list.] And note to self: They did have a cool-looking pinot on the list, but mama tired from her big travel day, so I'm now back at the hotel.

Right now, I'm having a delicious glass of "chardonnay." The rest of the wine is in the bar fridge. Hang on, lemme go check. OK. Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay, California (all right!) 2003. Ooh -- "vintner's reserve"! That means fancy. It also says on the bottle, "For more than two decades, my family has sourced [I thought it said "scoured" or "scourged" but that's incorrect] fruit from mountain and hillside vineyards to bring you flavorful wines." Jesus chardonnay-drinking Christ, why did they write that on the bottle? It's not that good! It's even signed by one of the Jacksons (not Michael), but honestly it looks like "Ass Jackson." Haha. My poor, distressed family overcame divorce, heartbreak and hyphenated last names just to band together and spend over 20 long years scouring fruit off mountains, jumping over fences in the dead of night, and tweezing buckshot from competing vintners out of our collective asses, just to bring you this shit bottle of overpriced crappy chardonnay. Hope you like it, loser. Luv, Broke Ass Jackson.

But, seriously, wouldn't that be great if it said "scoured" or "scourged"? As if the dignified and sober Kendalls and Jacksons had to steal their neighbors' grapes to bring you (i.e., we so hate you, look at what you made us do!) their mellifluous vintner's reserve like they were North Koreans burrowing for fruits and nuts? ("When only the best will do and, frankly, we don't have it! But Rodney Strong does! And he's a total dick, so whatever [W sign with hands]!")

Anyway, I still like chardonnay. Regardless whether they've been working on the antediluvian family recipe for all of 20 years. (By the way, that's so west coast. 20 years, bah. They act like that's forever.) Yeah, chardonnay is so 2002. Maybe even so (gasp!) '99. But to heck with it. I like chardonnay. There I said it. Even made with fruit (just say grapes! it's grapes!) stolen from Rodney Strong or Phil's parents or whomever.

I just checked the fridge again. No more wine. It's chardonnay or nothing else! What the hell? Hm. Well, so much for comparing things. I've forgotten what the merlot was like, anyway. OK, but here goes on the chardonnay (clearing throat):

When allowed to warm up a little towards room temperature, I find that this delicious 2003 vintner's reserve has a slightly citrusy smell. Not sure if that's normal. May have something to do with being in bathroom juice glass, filled to the rim.

Interesting cork. Don't smell it. (In fact, don't even look at it.) It's made of plastic or rubber or something. May try to set on fire later. But back to the wine. Cool, yet slightly tangy. Is that weird that I said that?

By the time the wine reaches the back of my palate, I've forgotten I'm supposed to be remembering what it tastes like. Sorry about that. OK, let's try this again. Ah yes, bigger gulp now, since I do not trust that tiny sips will sufficiently break through the barrier of my attention deficit disorder. Half a glass gone by now, and YES, finally I see that there is a lingering taste in my mouth which is almost exactly like that original taste! Huh! Couple more times, swirl the glass, hold it hoooollldddd ittttt, swallow. Nope, tastes exactly like the last time, only now I'm beginning to feel a slight buzz. Just remembered that I need to call downstairs for more hangers and conditioner.

Well, hell, I just drink wine, not write about it. And if they didn't mean to make us stupid and drunk, they would make the bottles smaller. Oh, and Rich, if all else fails, I see two things of J&B in the fridge. Did you know these Scottish guys were appointed by the Queen? The Queen is a big lush!

(And Rich, if you post my glamorous picture, I promise I will bring you back not only these two airplane plastic bottles of J&B (gasp! a blend!), but also two airplane plastic bottles of . . . Courvoisier! It's "Le Cognac de Napolean"!! Aawwwwww yeeeahhh. Just think how classy it would be to write about drinking two tiny plastic bottles of Courvoisier. Dude. Two words: Ladies Man.)

[Next week: The eponym of "Mad Dog" 20/20. Was he actually a dog? Why was he mad? Do dogs like Kiwi-flavored "wine"? Did he have perfect vision? Is it true that the real "Mad Dog" is Morley Safir? Stay tuned!]

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