As many of you know, I 86′d George Clooney a couple of months ago in favor of new hotness, Eduardo Verástegui, who brought out my inner Dirty Old Lady. In which I revel.
It’s Saturday night, and I’ve spent the last several hours visiting my mother in the hospital (she’s doing fine, by the way. Flirting with the young single male help. She’s 90 and disappointed that they won’t flirt back), and talking to the Wineaux Guy.
So just how good could an 11-year-old Napa Cab be?
Please. You’re kidding, right?
Let me explain. We already know that not every Rosé is like sex. I mean, after all, White Zinfandel is a Rosé. I mean, technically speaking. But really. Ew.
I’m going to be 60 my next birthday. Do I want to spend a gazillion dollars for a wine that will be good enough to drink in ten or more years, possibly “peaking” in 25? Uh. No.
There were lizards, monkeys, apes (all toys, of course), backpacks, outback hats, leopard prints, khaki, and tiger stripes. The wines were from Africa and Australia. My favorite wine of the evening was a Tukulu Pinotage (2006? I didn’t take notes!) which was as smoky and luscious as any I’ve ever had. I shamelessly stole the cork.
One of the complaints I’ve received about my occasional tasting notes and/or videos is that I’m tasting wines that sometimes cannot be purchased anywhere any more. I would like to say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.
With that being said, when Issa at Khoury’s Fine Wine and Spirits showed me the four-pack of CoCoNut Porter – that’s not a typo – I hesitated only a moment before I grabbed one. What the heck. I did look askance at Issa, and he grinned and said, “it’s not sweet.”
I dunno. Something about “Hug” and “Deer” just seemed to fit. But I digress.
What was for dessert? A few Bat Nuts, of course.
I’m quite the advocate (Wine Advocate … get it?) of cooler temperatures for red wines than what we’re used to. We Americans tend to think that “room temperature” equals “warm.” Kind of how many Americans tend to think that “Chihuahua” equals “cute.”
I’m a Paso Robles Zinfandel fan, and I grabbed some popcorn as I prepared gleefully for the carnage. Paso Zins were going to kick some serious Napa butt, right? But as I read through the article – with horror, I might add – that was not to be. Not because Paso Zins were bad. They just weren’t invited to the party.