Nebbiolo has always been Italy’s wine. No matter what, it seemed as if the grape wanted to stay firmly attached to Piedmont’s hind teat and refuse to be weaned into the new world.
I began my foray into the bartending world by starting as a barback. It was easily the hardest work I’ve ever done for less than minimum wage in my life.
Personally, I have a hard time with Cabernet Sauvignon and Malbec because they are real bruisers. Unless, of course, there's a candlelit, air-conditioned romantic dinner involved...
The first seminar I attended was all about Pinot Noir. There were ten for us to taste and it was hosted by two Master Sommeliers and the winemakers. Was I in heaven or what.
I will admit that some Napa Chards have exceeded the idea of balance in favor of the overdone ("What was that vintage? 2006 Louisville Slugger? Yum!") With that being said, I'd rather have an overoaked Chard than one that tastes like lemonade laced with pineapple juice. I want WINE, not a melted popsicle.
So I also ordered an iced tea. Which was interesting, because although our very diligent beverage guy made sure that our glasses were filled, there was no actual “ice” involved until he asked us if we needed ice for our iced tea.
I looked at the large tumbler filled with ice cubes and White Zinfandel fresh out of the box. It was topped with a colorful bendy straw. I sighed. Surely there had to be more to wine than this.
I can pretty much vouch that even the most passionate of NZ Sauv Blanc winemakers avoid the addition of cat pee into their wines.
And then for some reason, tiny insects decided that they just had to commit suicide on my freshly painted doors. Besides tweezing their little carcasses from the paint, there was even more razoring, sanding and repainting!
They must think that we’re a special kind of stupid to believe that what they want to sell us is “better food.” What they want is for us to do is to shut up and eat.