Soft Southern Touch Part I

“Kroger has proven unreliable. Roast beef sandwich is leveling though”

The text message from Suburban Wino Joe. The one that woke the husband and I up, and after rubbing my still makeup encrusted eyelids I could just make out the time on the clock, “Merde!”

 The three of us had rumpled a perfectly civilized evening into a night of dudes named Cyntrell with Lee Press On foil wrapped teeth, (who did give me the once over and asked me if I was married….still got “it” thank you very much) Jameson shots, Irish pubs, adorable new friends in the form of Adam with the big sweet grin and fish hook on his hat, (still have not gotten to the bottom of that there tradition. Will get back to you when I do) a kid around my sons age swearing that I couldn’t be forty, (again with the thank you very much…and Joe, shut up with the spouting a woman’s age, jackhole) and my insistence on buying Joe a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, aka Boo Pecoche upon hearing that he had never tried it before. I’m told I got a bartender’s invite to 11:00 AM oysters out of the deal but we had plans to see Benito who was wise enough to bolt directly after our two martini dinner at The Beauty Shop, (he was rushing home to cook for us…so he says) and missed the gloriousness of way more booze, fist pumping-barstool dancing to the classics like Erotic City and the oh-so deep conversation that nights like this inspire. He chose braising beef over pickled liver, go figure.

Slammed my cell on the desk and bolted to the shower giving the two water glasses of half consumed red wine sitting beside my untouched laptop a, “Huh?” face on the way. So you know those mornings when you are in such a panic you don’t quite notice the raging “I think I’m still drunk” voice that screams in your ears and thumps against your scull the second you tilt your head back to wash your hair? Yeah, it was one of those. I don’t say this with a proud pounding of my keys, it was an unfortunate night of Damn Old Chicks Gone Wild, the DVD is available through, “Don’t Be Mad, It’s Yo Momma” productions or as a gift with purchase of Zantac & bunion removers at your local Walgreens pharmacy. I’m not at all bragging and I half suspect that Joe will think twice about driving any distance to hang with this  end-of-the-night-red-wine-pushing, shot-ordering, yellow-label-buying doofus anytime soon.  Poor bastard.

Sent a, “We might be a little late” text to Ben as I fruitlessly tried to squish my bits back into place, (ever seen a sausage being made? Sigh…) in order to not look like Quasimodo which was a complete and total fail. Managed to wriggle into my jeans just as Joe knocked on our hotel room door, grabbed my upper coverings and headed to the bathroom to change, being sure to give Joe my biggest….full of shit, “I’m not in pain and I would so hate you right now if I didn’t know this was all MY fault” grin. Grabbed a big ass liter bottle of water on our way out the door and through lemon-faced squinched eyes assured both Joe and my husband that I did in fact have the address where we were going. Um. You know that fail thing, did it again. Through a series of phone calls and some very annoying husband huffing we turned onto a tree lined street to see Ben, glass in hand and apron fastened, waving. 

“Feel free to run through those bitters and make yourself a martini” there were harps and I’m pretty sure it was God himself reaching down, touching my shoulder…which gave me that same kind of pee shiver you get, erm, used to get, when you “went” in the ocean. The husband’s huffing squelched in the face of dealing with anyone beside his, “I thought that was the address” wife, the smell of bacon and gin in the air, a fistful of bottles and an opener in my front pocket. No matter how far I was from my comfortable little couch spot, this was home.

I slipped into the comfortable action of opening bottles between sips of the martini that I didn’t need, and couldn’t finish like I was dipping each leg into the snuggly softness of my most worn and life drenched pajamas. Joe’s nearly astonishingly beautiful eyes, the ones I had seen over and over again in the form of pictures he posted on Facebook of his beautiful baby girl, Ben’s instruction and introduction of the people that were meeting for the first time, the gracious woman, (Grace, we are now in love) who offered her home for this rather geeky event, and what we were to eat and how he thought it was best to start. Voices I had heard, in the virtual, now slipping through the wisps of hair that cover my ears and landing deep in the pit of my stomach, nuzzling into that space they have secured in my heart. Their voices, like actual voices, almost foreign…at first but the power and people behind them? The way Ben can ark my eyebrow and switch my tone, the way Joe can make me laugh so hard I fear I might shoot something out my nose, nearly felt something like settling down at Thanksgiving dinner.  Through opening my heart, yelling at times, oozing my me-ness through something as impersonal as a computer these people knew me, choose to welcome and embrace me and here I was, face to sweet, (theirs not mine, need I remind you I was in full Quasimodo) face with them.

Joe and I started popping corks and Carl chatted up the lovely ladies at the table while Ben bounced around the kitchen stirring, chopping, taking sips of his own martini. We opted, as most do, to start with bubbles, I placed the now slippery with sweat bottles on the table and grabbed the 2009 Francois Chidaine Vouvray Les Argiles that I brought for the “We don’t do bubbles” ladies. It was if the bottles merely being open started a form of intoxication, the conversations got just a little louder, the comfort level rising right up to our chins as we jumped into our shared passion, and geekdom with both feet. Hangover nearly forgotten as I put on my “Ohhhh what’s that?” hat and poured myself a taste of a sparkling wine from Georgia.

2009 Wolf Mountain Blanc de Blancs

We were, (as I almost always insist on, cuzz I’m bossy like that) drinking this bubbly from wine glasses not flutes so I can’t speak to the bead or fineness of bubble outside how it landed on the palate, which was gentle enough and reminded me of the better sparklers from California. Restrained fruit, in fact far more than I expected…being the snoot that I am, I had expected the wine to be fruitier even than California sparklers. In fact I got a nice bit of lemon cream, almost custard like that carried through on the gentle, if a bit one dimensional finish. Have no idea what this wine sells for but it was a nice, simple sipper that I think most would be thrilled with.

I tried to be cool but considering my hunchback status I wasn’t really able to pull that off and seeing as I had been eyeballing one of Joe’s wines since he posted it on Facebook, Extra Brut from a producer I had heard of but hadn’t tasted because of my particular feeling for the importer. I know, I know, jackass move but when there is so much great wine to taste, smell and sell, just can’t see going out of my way to promote wines from someone that had, in the past, been somewhat mean to me and people that I respect. Well now I was able to taste the wine on Joe’s dime, (thanks buddy!) and the second I dipped my nose beneath the rim of my glass….it was over.

NV  Ulysse Collin Extra Brut Blanc de Blancs

I was hoping to dash off some notes on my smarter than I am phone but as always, delightfully, seems to happen in these gatherings, well I was just caught up in the geeking back and forth to do so. The aromatics were simply breathtaking, that sultry combination of apple skin, baked citrus, seashells and warm butter, if I was alone I would have spent a good hour with my nose in the glass. Watching the wine evolve, shed some nerve and fatten in the glass, but I was trying to be all social and shit so I went for the sip. Fuck. I thought the aroma was bewitching. There was a severity to the way the wine trounced onto the tongue, not graceful or delicate, a mouth stomping power just rolled in and took over. More toasty, buttery notes on the palate but it was the weight and structure that made me this wine’s bitch. I ended up going back to it after lunch and found that it had in fact gotten bigger but there was a grace that was now emerging, reminded me of those old black and white movies where you would see a stunning woman appear, all sleek and perfectly regal through a cloud of smoke and the closer she got the clearer and more beautiful she became…it was like that. This thick, massive cloud dissipating leaving a sleek and gorgeous thing that you find yourself wanting to devour. I am going to be hunting this down and bringing it into the shop for sure.

The rest of the wines, for me anyway, simply proved as backdrop and lift to the fantastic Beef Bourguignon that Ben had prepared for us…while we were out get snockered, yeah, he’s a better person than I. The Dagueneau Blanc Pouilly-Fume was aromatically lovely and did in fact have the girth to hold up to the deeply braised dish but I found it still a little tightly wound in the mouth which proved to be a bit of a distraction. The Ostertag Pinot Noir, the wine that now wears the not-so-proud distinction of being my, “Bra Stainer” (don’t ask, I have no idea) which was opened post Irish bar and Boo Pecoche, simply lacked the weight and depth to hold up to the rich food. It was the Ronchi di Cialla, (a little wine I fell madly in love with while in Friuli last February) that I chose to hunker down with while eating. The freshness being just the thing I craved after slipping a heaping swath of rich broth between my lips.

The pace at lunch began to slow, the clanking of silverware a little less fierce and once again the voices began to bubble up. The conversation or conversations I should say, as they seemed to be happening around the table simultaneously as varied as the half-drunk bottles of wine. The hangover now replaced with that fuzzy feeling of warm food, succulent wine and delicious friendship. I thought of a very dear friend as I sat there, watching Joe and Ben laugh and Carl coo at the ladies, remembered the many times he shared his almost vitriolic feeling about all things internet based; blogs, Facebook even email at times and while I respect and somewhat understand that I couldn’t help but think, it’s kind of what you make of it...

When I first started blogging I tried to read them all, fuck was that boring as shit, and tried to comment as much as I could, both in an effort to support the author and, to be honest, get my name out there but….after a while it became nothing but a chore and I too began to hate it. Then I started weeding people out, getting rid of the garbage that bored the shit out of me, stopped caring how many people knew my name and instead focused on spending time, even over the internet, with people that truly brought something to my life. Showed me another side of things, taught me something about California wines, amazed me with their knowledge of fonts and scary black chickens, regaled me with Spam pairings and stops to sausage Meccas…made me laugh so hard my eyes would water and stunned me with their amazing gift to loop words together so brilliantly that I could feel their breath on my skin…from hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles away….

Ben & Joe, you two have given me something far and beyond chuckles, scary chickens and sparkling wine from Georgia. You’ve become a part of my life and I simply cannot imagine not visiting with you, be it in Memphis, California or over the ether. I adore you both and I quite humbly thank you from the bottom of my heart.

For much better, (and way fucking shorter) recaps of our meeting:

http://wine-by-benito.blogspot.com/2011/10/catnga-summit.html 

http://www.suburbanwino.com/2011/10/good-people.html 

Real Wealth

“How many bottles are we bringing?” My husband’s tone sweet but mildly concerned with just a dash of annoyed. The suitcase unzipped and resting on the guest bed with piles of possible clothing options at either side, “Um, guess I’ll be bringing home a shipper” my response. A suitcase, a slightly irked husband and a sticky note on my purse, a reminder to purchase a shipper from work, this combination can only mean one thing….vacation.

Been a rough year on everyone. The economy beating us all down and trust me, this wine slinger is feeling it as well. Seems like there is this somewhat fanciful cloud of delusion around many when they think of the wine business, as if it is impervious to the whims of Wall Street and the suffocating choke of purse strings being pulled extra tight. Aint true. Aint true at all and to all of those that shrug and say things like, “Well I’m sure you’re still doing okay, people probably drink more in this kind of economy” I can only say, “If that’s true they are hitting up the extra-large bottles of Vodka from Costco”. Before anyone gets too worried, the store is doing okay. Not great mind you, but we are hanging in there, still able to buy wine, cheese, put on our events and pay our somewhat shoestring staff but trust me, we are all feeling the crunch, small business are especially dry in this “trickle down” bullshit….

We all make concessions at times like these and my household is doing the same. As the manager of a small independent store my eye is always on ways to chip in as it were and the easiest way to help shave costs at the store is to….well be there less. I always worry that my bosses see my leaving early, coming in late or taking off when there are four people there on a slow day as me just not giving a shit, couldn’t be further from the truth. I cost the most and if I can shave a few hours off a week to save them some money, well I’m going to do it. The other side to that coin, well let’s just say that I have been doing some string tightening of my own.

“So here’s what we can do” my husband and I talking travel over a plate of steak and eggs at my favorite coffee shop/bar, (damn do I love me a place where I can get breakfast at 9:00 PM with a martini). The only trip we have taken this year, together, was to Louisville for our son’s graduation, (fuck, I love saying that…our son’s graduation) he has been gone a ton and I did have that wonderful trip to Friuli but much like everyone else, we’ve been hanging around the pad more this year than ever before. The proposition on the table, along with the steak, eggs and martini, “Do you want to go spend a week in Paris with Amy?”  

He had just returned from a trip to Dallas where he was able to spend time with our dear exiled friends and had been listening to Amy talk about her upcoming trip to France, took heed to her urging him to “Make this go for her” and here he was, across a dark table offering up our one vacation for me to get away and spend some time with my dearest friend in the city she and I are both madly in love with. I pulled the fork tines from my lips, big wad of eggy steak flopping against the side of my mouth as I attempted to place the fork on the side of my plate….the weight of pleasure, guilt, the store, my best friend and I wreaking havoc in wine bar after wine bar along the streets of the most beautiful city in the world…..the sweet face of someone that loves me, willing to sacrifice, whatever he needed to, in order to make me happy….all of it making that fork one hundred times heavier than it was when I hoisted the animal bits into my grill. Didn’t feel broke, felt enormously wealthy.

I ran through the logistics in my mind, (and this was before my other best friend left The Wine Country, leaving a ginormous void) what we could really afford, what I was willing to do without to make it happen, how sexy and beautiful I felt knowing that my happiness was all my husband needed to be willing to spend his vacation fondling an X-Box controller and visiting the oh-so exotic….guest room. I was choking back tears when I remembered a message I received from another friend, “If Kelly and I had a ceremony, you think you and Call-o would come?” Michael Hughes asking if we would be able to come out to Memphis to celebrate 10 years of devotion with he and his boyfriend as they exchanged vows…in a city they both adore but, as of yet, does not allow or recognize their partnership as valid. Something about sitting there, in a place I love, being offered what was basically our entire vacation fund, the power of that gesture and the absolute honor of being invited to share in such a moment with two people that love each other so much they wish for the world to know. Well, I pulled out my cell and sent a text, the action alone letting me know my decision.

Amy and I, we’ve got years of Paris stomping ahead of us, in fact I have this sinking suspicion that there might even be books written full of the boozy retelling of stories of two older blondes closing wine bars and restaurants. Tales of trouble makers told through the smoky haze of late night ramblings and “one more” glass of Champagne. She and I? Well we are in this for the long haul and that opportunity shall arise again, you can bet your ass it will but this invite, it was too sweet and quite frankly, too amazing to pass up.

Michael Hughes is a fellow wine blogger and (insert very pink face here) long time reader and supporter of this here silly blog. Not sure when or how Michael started reading but I felt an instant connection to him and our relationship, much like many of you, has evolved over the three years that I’ve been doing whatever it is I do here. He is blogging less, commenting less but he and I have moved well beyond the wobbly legged fumblings of blogger friendships into something so real that I ended up extending my trip to Louisville last year to spend time with he and his Kelly in Tennessee where I would also finally meet Ben Carter of Benito’s Wine Reviews. Ben was one of the first wine blogger to respond to this grumbling, effusive and oft off her rocker wine blogger when I first started writing. He encouraged me to keep going, was open and shared any tips he had learned along the way….very rare that, and even went so far as to design the header that you all see at the top of this blog, for no reason other than he wanted to help me.   Where Michael responds to my chest pumping, “Rawr” posts, Ben…Ben puddles over posts about my sweet son and my wee cupcake making neighbor. Two very gentle men that wrapped their loving arms around me way early on and two people that I find it a very real honor to call my friends. All that, just for unzipping my heart and sending my thoughts and stories out over the internets? Feeling kinda wealthy…

“So when are you going to be in Memphis?” Joe aka, Ed as renamed by my beloved HoseMaster that to this day insists that Joe’s (Ed’s) parents must have been mistaken when they named him as he clearly looks like an Ed. Joe hooked me on the very first post of his I read. He was funny, snarky, self-deprecating and completely devoid of all the stuffy, “Yer dumb” shit that tends to ooze from so many wine blogs. Met the Atlanta based blogger last year when we both just so happened to be visiting Sonoma in the same week. Been feeding and watering our relationship ever since and now, well now he is making the drive from Atlanta to Memphis, a few bottles of our shared obsession and the reason we all met in his bag. Simply cannot believe my good fortune… 

We’ve made plans to meet up twice, (Not Michael as he will be all tied up with his big day and all) once for a casual meal and drinks, the other when Ben will make us one of the feasts he is always posting about and where we will be popping corks and getting our Wine Nerd on. I walked the shop over and over again trying to think of what to bring. Seven thousand square foot shop full of wines from the world over and I couldn’t settle on a few bottles?! Was starting to get a little anxious until I thought about what I was going to be doing there in Memphis and the people I was going to see. “Bring what you love” came slamming into my head and I began grabbing bottles left and right. Sure I could bring some high-end, rare and culty wines along with me but….well I opted instead to pack away the bottles that inspire me. Made me love wine in the first place. The wines that keep me company while I pound away at my keyboard, sharing the stories and passion that in turn inspired these lovely people to want to get closer to me in the first place. Francois Chidaine, Andre Ostertag, Pascal Agrapart, Didier Dagueneau, (okay there might be a couple more, I am a geek I remind you) all people that I’ve met, shared wine with and fallen madly in love with, they too will be boarding that Memphis bound flight with me this morning.

I skipped Paris for Memphis. When you say it like that I sound crazier than usual but when I say, “I’m going on vacation, with my husband, to spend a few days soaking in wine, friendship and true love” well it makes me feel like I’m in that 1% that everyone is constantly grumbling about. Feeling very wealthy indeed…

One more thing, speaking of feeling rich and all, I would like to wish a very happy birthday to a man that also found me through this blog and whose entrance in my life has changed it so much for the better. His talent never ceases to amaze me, his humor a gift I feel lucky to get to share in and his boundless love and support something I simply could not and will not imagine living without. Ron Washam, you are a rare and beautiful gift to me and I love you, I love you with all of my silly heart. Have a wonderful birthday Love, no one I know deserves it more and just so you know, you have made and continue to make, me feel like the richest woman alive. 

Box of wine and bags packed

Heart full

Memphis, here I come.