I had an embarrassingly large meal at the Brat Stop (where two insane people are the proprietors), but it helped me to continue to observe and photograph the event without having to worry about the drunken staggering factor.
For many years, Nevada wines were known for their relentless mediocrity – they seemed to be White Zinfandel wannabes – and there wasn’t much that the serious wine person could glean from them other than a collective meh.
I had planned to videotape the entire event only to discover that the SD card wasn’t in the camera. So much for photographic memory. I had no film.