We’ve all done it. We’ve been getting ready to head over to hang out with someone. Just before leaving we call to see if there’s anything we should bring. You know what I’m talking about. “Need anything?” Most of the time the answer is “No we’re all set” or “Grab a two liter”. Not this time. It was “Bring a bottle of wine.”
Now for all intents and purposes I know nothing about wine. Thinking of wine brings back three memories. All three are very different experiences. None are related other than being about wine.
The first memory flashes me back to what I refer to as my vodka years. If you were around during that time, you understand what I’m talking about. Related: Kudos for being tough enough to still be around. If you weren’t around during that time, count yourself lucky to have missed it. It wasn’t pretty.
I was at a surprise birthday party for one of my friends. This was at a public venue here locally. This friend enjoyed wine. He knew wine. One of his gifts that year was a mug shaped like a woman’s breast. Complete with usable nipple. Who doesn’t love nipples? He offered up a taste of his wine via that nipple. Now I’m not one to turn down the offer of a woman’s nipple to suckle. Granted it was fun. Everyone laughed. But damn wine is nasty! I vaguely remember something about Merlot. Honestly I vaguely remember a lot of that night. Well, except for all the stories that I’ve heard so much about.
My second experience with wine that I recall was with a lovely little blond lass. I was visiting her residence and enjoying a summer evening. I remember her wine being somewhat fruity. No idea what it was. I do remember it being relaxing and leading to some other activities. Ah yes, precious memories.
The third and final recollection comes from years ago at deer camp. It was in a remote mountaintop cabin in West Virginia. If you can only imagine a drunken scholar lecturing a bunch of rowdy young men about wine.
There he stood behind the kitchen counter. Thank God for this. He was wearing house slippers, long handles, a blaze orange toboggan, glasses and smoking a corn cob pipe. Oh and how dare I forget to mention the blaze orange suspenders holding up the bottom half of his long handles. Let that soak in for a minute.
I remember something about holding the stem. A bouquet. I do believe legs were mentioned too. Maybe swishing something and spitting. Hmmm guess you can take it for what it’s worth.
As you can see I’m limited as to my knowledge of wine. However I did stop at the liquor store and pick up a bottle of some kind or other. I didn’t need that wine after all. As the evening progressed it seems that my host was preoccupied with receiving an oral injection of a special miracle root rub. But that’s another story.
I’ll stick to Gentleman Jack. You just can’t go wrong with that fine sour mash Tennessee sippin’ whiskey.