The finish was exquisite, lengthy, and sensual, which gave me a “I’ll have what’s she’s having” moment which the men around me immediately noticed.
If you come into this bar to cheer for the other team, you do so at your own peril.
Okay, since driving wasn’t involved, it was actually wine drinking. Staggering home is not illegal. At least as far as I know.
You won’t regret it and you’ll taste wines that will make you take a step back (The Wineaux Guy™’s term for a really good wine that stuns you).
And then I tasted it. Dammit.
People, like grapes, come in all colors. And like grapes, can sometimes be surprising with their personalities, characteristics, and the way that other people perceive them.
You’d think that after trashing the Café Zinfandel like I did, the fact that I went out and bought a cube of boxed Pinot Noir would be the height of insanity. And you’d probably be right.
The official name of the Strip, by the way, is Las Vegas Blvd. And I’m not a “Stripper.” Get it?
I’m just glad I didn’t take a vacation day off in order to assume a fetal position, drink something expensive, and await the final foretold cataclysm. What a waste that would have been!
While I did not rant (you would have been soooo proud of me!), I did point out that this minuscule bottle of White Zin is not the same thing as a Rosé from the Loire, even if they are the same color.
Well, now that the end of the world is nigh, I figured that I may as well find something that’s worth drinking while the Earth is exploding (or we’re being invaded by aliens, Zombies have attacked, the waters have flooded the desert, blah blah blah. Or whatever).
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.