While the visit to Caesar’s was pretty horrific – in fact, I haven’t returned – the one jewel was the glass of Calera Pinot Noir which was presented to me to make up for all of the Wine Fubars they had committed.
Was it genuine respect, damning with faint praise, or was I being overly skeptical of the tone of Wine Enthusiast’s gushing press release? You tell me.
July, in my opinion, is the convection oven of the Las Vegas year. It’s not Chamber-of-Commerce-poster-child time here in Sin City.
That being said, I was going to go to at least four to five wineries/olive oil producers each day, take lots of pictures, and document everything carefully and thoroughly. Well, two out of three ain’t bad.
Meanwhile, I have a gazillion pictures, hours of videos, and pages upon pages of notes and observations to sift through as I share my experiences during this wonderful trip.
Something has happened during my time here, and that’s called “resting.”
Okay, since driving wasn’t involved, it was actually wine drinking. Staggering home is not illegal. At least as far as I know.
The first problem that I had to address was my singular, well-known ability to get lost in a small room. I call it being directionally challenged. The Wineaux Guy™ calls it hopeless.
So until I find a place that I can settle into – and be reasonably certain that the owner won’t change his mind and kick me out because someone else showed up with the bottomless wallet – my Paso Robles Getaway posts may sound more like pity parties.
Of course, it was 100°F in Vegas, so I guess summer is in the eye of the beholder. Not quite Surface of the Sun temps, but not too far off.
So I became an ABC (Anything But Chard) gal. It was quite a few years before I found the Chard character my palate desired and, as I discovered, you had a spend a little money to get it. Nowadays – whether it’s because you really don’t have to spend a fortune to enjoy a good Chard or because my palate has matured – I enjoy it on a fairly regular basis.
Yup. Me. Liking white wines. Who’da thunk?
The next night I had a roasted turkey thigh and poured a glass of the same wine – with some trepidation, I might add. After all, could a wine that caressed the barbecue sauce so beautifully the night before possibly be any good with plain ‘ol turkey?