- search results
If you're not happy with the results, please do another search
It was too late to pick up my allocation because there was no more room in the (full-sized!) SUV.
We’d have a blind taste-off with wines that we brought from our own cellars (wine coolers, actually. This is Vegas. There are no cellars.)
And the lottery tickets didn't help. Eight dollars in winnings don't exactly add up to a retirement-worthy windfall.
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.
No additives and no laboratory gymnastics to get the wines to fit a certain "profile," just fermented grapes in a bottle. What more could you ask for.
This would be fabulous with a weekend late evening summer dinner of salads, light meats, and other summer fare. It also pairs well with writing, because it's what I'm drinking now as I sit at the keyboard.
It's an end of one era, but the beginning of something just as great.
Drinking this wine and imagining oysters made me think of a Hemingway quote from A Moveable Feast: As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture...
Unfortunately, that means that sometimes I miss on stocking up on wines that once opened, may not be replaceable. Like this one. Oh well.
When we last went to the Zin Fest in 2010 (has it been that long?!?) we never expected to be interviewed by the local paper!