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This page contains Winings from the 4th Quarter of the year 2003. To contact WinoBob, click here December 31, 2003 With little time left in 2003, I wanted to send it off with a brief meeting of friends at Bacchus. Since there are no more friends there, (OK, there still are a few), I sat at the corner of the ever changing bar admiring their new 60 inch plasma TV, and thought to myself, “Wow, what a great TV. I guess I will be paying more than the $12.00 per glass to pay for that baby.” I went easy on my budget and had a simple South African Cabernet that drank really easy. It was either that the wine was easy or my day was so shitty that any wine would have drunk easy. Wishing Tony, the new owner, and Ed, the new owner too, a happy holidays, I sat there and consumed two glasses, while friends and co-workers entered for holiday parties. Mind you, they were not my friends, nor my co-workers. No, I sat alone at the end of the bar, enjoying my wine after a crappy day at the motor pool and saying to myself what fun it must be to work in a large office. As 2003 rolls off my back like water from an oiled duck’s feathers, I bid it good riddance and await with excitement the coming of 2004 wishing, hoping, and pleading for better things to come. To Tony, the bus boy, Jimmy, Mike, Ryan and John - Happy New Year. 2002
Excelsior Cabernet Sauvignon $
(14.99)
December 30, 2003 As this year is coming to a close, I do see a difference in the feeling about things. Last year at this time, I was depressed. I did little holiday Festivus celebrating. In the past two weeks, think I have already enjoyed more company and holiday parties then the two previous Decembers. People are feeling better about the outlook for 2004 so, hey, lets drink some wine. I will keep things short as I have but a very small amount of time remaining before I must post up the Grape of the Year selection. I did manage to enjoy a few new wines and here they are. 2001
Thomas Mitchell Shiraz $ (11.00) 1996
Dominus Estate Meritage $$$
(89.00) 1994
Diamond Creek Vineyards Volcanic Hill $$$
(65.00)
December 25, 2003 Merry Christmas! In this Day of Political Correctness, I feel it necessary to step over the line and actually mention that for Christians, today is the celebration of the Birth of Christ. I hope I do not offend non-Christians and I do wish your religious, holy, ethnic or self imposed celebration the happiest and healthiest to you and yours. As for those of us celebrating Festivus, since it is for the rest of us, may your aluminum pole shine bright. Last
evening, the new tradition was cast as the folks are finally settled into
their second and final home of their lives.
A new tradition crept into the mix as we now have the pleasure which,
as children, never existed. We
now get to sit in the family room as my father ceremoniously lights the
fireplace. Yes, growing up,
Santa had to use that magic key since we never had a fireplace and, as a
child, I felt left out of all those stories of old St. Nick being partial to
coming down the chimney. We
went as far one year as buying a cardboard fireplace and thumb tacking our
stocking to the corrugated mantle. My
father spared no expense as he purchased the one with the life-like plastic
lit flame with rotating drum that offers “life-like fire noises”.
As a child, I was made fun of since I had no fireplace and had to
propagate the myth of the magic key that Santa would use to enter our home,
sprinkle magic dust into the lungs of our razor sharp short haired terrier
so he would not awaken us with his high pitched barking and the screams of
Santa as the dog buried his incisors into his ass.
So now, at the age of 43, the home of my parents has a fireplace and
last night the family gathered around as my father, the woodsman, flicked
the switch to the electric starter that kicked over the blue flamed natural
gas to dance about the ceramic fake logs.
Merry Christmas, let the feeding frenzy begin. The spread
of food was great with all the traditional trimmings I have written about in
the past. As Polish custom has
it, the absence of meat had me looking for a white wine.
Well, the two hour drive actually had me looking at white wine since
I knew I could control myself and manage the drive north on the Parkway.
I had a brought a bottle of red, though not the best choice with the
pierogies and shrimp and mushroom soup and crab cakes and batter-dipped cod
and tilapia and, and… No this meal is well suited for a crisp dry white
with an acidity and flavor to handle the lemon, and sauces.
Besides, one bottle of red leads to another and the thought of me
sleeping it off on Christmas Eve at the rest stop in Toms River just south
of exit 82 would not have worked well.
My truck definitely does not have a chimney and the magic key might
not be carried by Santa, but rather by a low seniority State Trooper who
just might want someone to keep him company throughout the night.
So the new Christmas Eve routine was fine-tuned last night and it
centers on the lighting of the gas fireplace, family, stories, food and a
bottle of white. I hope yours
was as much fun. 2002
Grgich Hills Fume Blanc $ (16.99)
December 21, 2003 The slap of reality drew me out of sleep and back to watching the ill-acted remake of Swept Away. Madonna was now the love slave of the mate she was shipwrecked with and her lack of food and water never effected her hair or make up. She was at sea for two days before they paddled to the island and her lipstick never wore off. I was confused. What was more difficult to watch, her acting or my life? I found a glass near the couch that had a clear liquid in it and hoping it was melted ice, I cautiously took a swig to alleviate my dry mouth. Clang,
bang, the heat ragged; I peered into the living room towards the front door
to see if the dead bolt was still engaged.
The big scene was close at hand and I wanted to see if the remake was
as steamy as I remember from my misspent youth.
I watched and suffered through the BS dialogue and the
semi-aristocratic air Madonna tried to project.
She finally realized she needed to give herself to the mate in a
totally submissive manner if she were to survive.
As I reached for the glass, I saw someone sitting in the burgundy
leather wingback chair to my left. He
must have been sitting there for some time as he was shaking his head and
commenting on Madonna’s poor acting skills.
Hey, you’re not that asshole White Zin grape that was here a minute
ago, are you? “No, Wino Bob, I am the Ghost of Grape of the Year Present
and I have come to ask that you rename me as Grape of the Year.
You felt that a widely accepted grape such as I was the right thing
for this year. We, as a group,
needed to heal collective wounds and promote unity.
I know you have tried to pick a different grape each year that had
significance, but we are still in a desperate divide.
It is only a common grape found in all the major growing regions of
the world that can soothe the aftermath of such a tumultuous time.”
Look, Grenache, Wino John would never accept me mailing it in.
He expects me to put time and effort into defining a grape that
exhibits qualities that give meaning to the world and are significant to the
world of wine. I cannot and
will not repeat a grape. With that,
I felt myself being pulled through the door and floating alongside the
current GOTY. Where are we
going? “I’m going to show
you your life from a different perspective that may help you realize my
reign needs to be extended.” We
floated over an area on the East Coast where a high level meeting of a well
known publication in the wine world was discussing the need to come out with
a calendar featuring a Grape of the Month in a move to define this as their
original concept so their high powered attorneys could draft a cease and
desist order to WinoStuff.com. We
were then on the West Coast, floating over a high powered meeting where a
multi-million dollar dot com wine site was drafting a letter of intent to
buy out the world renown WinoStuff.com. Then we
floated over the countryside estate of Kevin Zraly who was having a
high-powered meeting with his lawyer to issue a restraining renewal from me
being able to mention him in my entries.
We went down the list of meetings and it seems like the lawyers will
be having a financially rewarding holiday season.
Finally, we floated over UnBacchus and there I was in a corner stool,
at the bar, alone, drinking a tall glass of house cabernet.
I saw myself pompously telling the guy sitting next to me how I am a
wine connoisseur and how wine is for the refined.
The barmaid came over to me and politely asked me to stop bothering
the customers. Then she turned
and asked, “Wino Bob, don’t you have any place to go? Don’t you
have friends or family to go home to? You are in here every night,
bothering whomever unluckily sits next to you.
It's Christmas! Here is one on the house, but please, I’m
losing tips by you chasing off my customers.
Sit, finish your drink and then get out.”
My bony fingers tipped back my last sip of wine and, embarrassed, I
didn’t bother getting my coat from the coatroom.
Walking home in the cold dark dead of night, I saw families and
friends in their homes laughing and singing holiday songs.
Me, I just headed to the sparsely decorated room on the third floor
to turn on my computer. As 84
emails loaded into Outlook, not one was actually for me. What
the *$&@ with this grape dream? Rubbing
my eyes, I saw Madonna peaking over a rocky bluff spotting a ship near the
island they were stranded. Her
love for this low level servant had grown so strongly that she didn’t want
to be rescued. It would place her back into a world she no longer wanted to
participate in. Even drunk, I
knew that Hollywood laid an egg and pulling the remote out from under my
ribs, wiping the spit off my cheek, I punched in 249 to see what was on
Comedy Central. South Park, the foul-mouthed construction paper kids who manage to find a clear lesson at the end of each episode and impart wisdom to the adults in their small community of South Park Colorado. Hey Cartman, how you doin? ……………….TBC December 20, 2003 The red
number on the digital clock flashed over to 4:57 AM, to bring in the only
other light in the small sparsely decorated room.
The early morning air was quiet except for the occasional gust of
wind that sent a barren branch scratching on the aluminum siding like nails
on a chalkboard. I shouldn’t
have had that second cup of coffee. The
blue hue and hum of the improperly lit street light outside my window was my
only companion. Am I awake or
still dreaming? It has been one
of those nights where the blurred reality between conscious and unconscious
had me caught between night sweats and panicked TV watching. The trapped water in the steam pipes bang out a ghostly
version of “At Seventeen”. Crap,
I’m awake, this is not the dream part, this is my friggin' life. No the dream part was worse. Yesterday, frustrated by the techno glitch in my desktop, I called up Wino Rocker and asked if he was busy. He is one of those friends that does not have an advance team and can go out at a moment's notice. I told him that I needed to finally get my ass out to participate in the economy called “The Spirit of Christmas” and would be wandering aimlessly through the isles of several stores near his house. If he was going to be around, I would head there afterwards for a drink to polish the edges off my day. Three hours and one street hockey stick later, the thought that Ebenezer might not have been too far off in his outlook on life, braced my soul. And in my best Eric Cartman, I jumped out of the checkout line, placed the stick on top of the sneaker rack and declared, “Screw you guys, I’m goin' home.” On my way
over to the Rocker’s abode, I dashed into Brewer’s World in Totowa and
grabbed the first bottle closest to the counter. It happened to be an Aussie and Mrs. Rocker is a Shiraz fan
so I figured the tide was starting to ebb.
As we sat and drank and talked, I realized that Wino Rocker is more
turned off by the Christmas gift tango than I.
This year, I just can’t find that spirit of it being 'better to
give than to receive' that I have been preached about to since the days when
Father O’Connor broke into a chorus of Silent Night from the pulpit. Getting more depressed from the wine and conversation, I
departed and drove past homes with bright lights, air inflated snowmen, and
the several living rooms filled with guests celebrating the holiday season.
As I turned onto my block, past the large house with the huge plasma
TV in the family room, it was alive with a party.
Oh, yeah, these new neighbors invited me to stop in for a drink and
to officially meet them, as it has only been three years since they came to
the neighborhood. A party, that’s exactly what I needed, a house filled with
friends and family of which I know neither.
It would be perfect; I could introduce myself, grab a glass of wine
and some dinner and stand in the corner of a crowded room, alone, depressed
and mute. Hi, I’m
Wino Bob, your neighbor. Its so nice to finally meet you after all
these years. Do you have any wine? Nice house, nice party, nice people. I don’t know if I was more impressed with the bar and
bartender set up in the entrance hall or the live two-piece raga band that
kept the night alive. Waiters
and waitresses passed around platters of shrimp, lamb chops, chicken on a
stick and little gay quiches. The
red wine was George’s Nouveau and for a mixed crowd it was acceptable.
So I doubled up on the wine, filled a plate with a weekend's full of
fare and pushed my way into the room with the 60 inch Sony hanging on the
wall. Holy crap Marie, these
people are rich… Spinning
into an eddy of financial depression as Country Club movers and shakers
exuberantly talked on and on about their perfect jobs and perfect lives,
until they paused for a breath to ask me what I did for a living.
As I stammered out a long winded explanation of the geek world that
pays the bills, they politely excused themselves saying they needed to find
their wife or a drink, or use the bathroom.
Not wanting to impose, I left, without asking for my coat, or
thanking the hosts and walked the one block down the hill in the cold, dark
dead of night. Awake from the wake, I flopped on the couch and turned on HBO
as they might have a movie with the chance of a nude scene at this hour of
the night, or rather early morning. The
title came up as “Swept Away”, the Madonna remake of the first movie I
ever saw when my parents got cable TV in 1976.
Late night showing of Swept Away and The Sailor Who Fell from Grace
with the Sea starring Kris Kristopherson was the first girlfriend of Wino
Bob Bobbinski. OK, that’s not
my real name but I figure if it worked for Kris, I’d give it a shot. The movie sucked, Madonna was horrible, but some how I kind of believed she was drawing upon reality in her distain for the ship’s mate. Boredom, depression and the wine had me crossing in and out of sleep. I remember lying on the couch, watching Madonna ride an exercise bike with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and then there was someone else in the room. Well he must have been there a while since he too commented how poor her acting skills were. It was Wino John. Well, not actually Wino John, it was Wino John’s voice in the embodiment of a grape. He stood up, walked over to me and said, “Wino Bob, I am the Ghost of Grape of the Year Past and I have come to talk to you about your life.” What the %^#)? My life? Who are your really? You are old, and your skin is mostly removed and hanging. “Yes, Wino Bob, I am the grape you named two years ago, and I think we need to talk about renaming me this year. I also am the first wine you ordered at restaurants and bought bottles of and served to guests.” With that my heart started beating out of my chest and cold sweat dripped down my back. I clasped my hands over my checks like the Home Alone kid and then I let out a girlish shriek. Oh no, you are the processed grape that makes White Zinfandel. God, don’t let my past catch up with me now, I am a famous wine web site person who is known for loving the big bold tastes of you in your full red skin. You can’t be here. I looked at the TV and saw Madonna shot a hole in the raft with a flare gun, and I turned back to WZ. “Wino Bob, think about Zinfandel for Grape of the Year again. It is the grape of America and in these troubled times, when the world is still not with us, you should show courage and rename me.” White Zinfandel, my life would have been so different without ever having drunk you. “Wino Bob, come with me, and I will show you what your life would have been like if you never started the journey to appreciate good wine. Don’t be ashamed. Many beer drinkers start off drinking a girlie sweet wine. But it is the crossover that changes one's life. Come, look, see yourself in that smoke filled bar. You're sitting on the stool in the corner, alone, with a pint of Ramstein and a shot of tequila. You’re mumbling to yourself, pouring salt on the bar and licking it off. Now look, you just tried to pour salt on that guy next to you. Now you are rushing out of the bar, forgetting your coat and walking home in the cold, dark dead of night. You spend most of your time in a cold third floor sparsely decorated room, clearing spam about Viagra, Paris Hilton and penis-enhancing drugs out of your in-box because no one sends you any real email. Your health is poor and you look like at stick figure. You spend hours typing stupid, made-up stories hoping that someone would read them and think it is amusing. You will end up alone, married to an amber bottle, seeking refuge in fermented friends….” Hey,
asshole, except for the salt licking thing, that is my life………. TBC 2001
Peter Lehmann Clancy $$
(26.00)
December
19, 2003 Four days
and four hundred dollars in new software and this #&^%ing computer still
is not right. What the hell,
you buy one inexpensive box of PC condoms and the virus from one Virtual
Reality indiscretion seeps right through the natural lamb skin.
Yes folks, from one in the Geek tech world, did I ever tell you I
hate computers. If only I could do this web entry with paper and pencil, it
would be so much better. This
entry contains very little about wine, except for the crappy bottle of
Italian red I drank the other night in response to the friggin' mob scene
outside my office. No,
literally, there was a mob scene. Yes, they shot a mob scene outside
my office on Wednesday. The last week of shooting for the 5th season of
the Sopranos found their way in front of the building next to my office.
Though none of the heavy weights were there, from the bits and pieces
I put together in my own little warped mind, I think I scooped the ending of
the season. Wino Bob prediction:
look for Paulie Walnuts to get whacked.
Call it gut feel, call it dreaming, call it a bad reaction to the
crappy Italian red. There was a
scene shot with a car driving out of Galante Funeral Home’s driveway.
Rumors spread that the driver of the car was Johnnie Sac.
Now we all know that Paulie was looking to head to his crew feeling
that Tony wasn’t valuing his talents.
So I’m thinking since this was shot for the last episode and then
there are 10 episodes being shot for the final season, they are going to
start whacking the stars. Paulie
goes, mark it down. As for my computer frustration, if there is a technology dweeb in the audience, help me fix this GD issue. (Editor's note: Let's see... Is there anyone affiliated with this site who is a computer dweeb? Anyone who knows a little about computers...? Anyone at all...? I can't think of anyone... Oh, yeah. There's me! What seems to be the problem, Lamo?) 2000
Villa Puccini Chianti Superiore $
(8.99)
December 13, 2003 Happy
birthday to my therapist. Though all communications have been cut off,
I know my file is still open… I’m glad
to see Wino Wally has been posting entries since this past week I have been
in meeting for various reasons. Not
much time to write or drink, but there are two wines I can comment on.
I did want to ask Wino Wally how he came upon the idea of pimping me
out as a Christmas gift. After
my last entry, I think I put the fright into Winette Alice as she commented
that sharing info on my ball sack was more than she wanted to know about
Wino Bob. So this time I will
leave my ball sack out of the discussions and make it cut and dry for those
who actually look for information on this page.
Pimped out Christmas present note: if we do have dinner at Bacchus, I
retain the option of wearing/not wearing underwear. One evening
last week, we, as a group, were hosted to a group geek dinner at one of the
nicer eateries in Newark. Yes,
that lovable town I was born in and spent the first six months of my life
still has some great ethnic cuisine. It
warms my heart when I do get to go back there to drive by the building that
once was my grandmother’s local corner tavern and is now donned with neon
flashing lights highlighting the words, “Finest Go-Go in town.”
I’m sure my grandmother would turn in her grave if she knew the
business she started in 1942 and ran seven days a week until her health
failed in 1972, that scantily clad women are walking atop the mahogany bar
in their 4 inch CFM pumps and desperate loners are dangling dollar bills
from their last pay check in hopes of a smile and a two minute conversation.
Not that I would know what goes on in one of those places or
anything. Sorry, I was actually
speaking of the famous Spanish Tavern on Green Street in Newark, where
bronto-sized steaks, and chops and caldrons of shellfish stew cram the
tables. One of the managers sat to my left and ordered up some white
wine, and as I was dining on my mound of mussels, clams, scallops, shrimp,
and lobster, I filled my glass with an Albarino that gently held the hand of
my palate. My week concluded with a WinoStuff planning meeting at JR as the year is closing faster than an ass of a young boy seeing Michael Jackson coming his way. It is time for the debate to begin and my time of contemplation, education and frustration as I toil over the task of selecting the Grape of the Year for 2004. Please note that if the December 2004 issue of Spectator has the same grape posted, then it’s true they have listening devices planted on my phone and are monitoring the reams of documents that I flood to WJ as I justify my selection. This year the process has not gotten any easier and WJ laid out the criteria I need to use to ensure a sound decision. I will be sequestered for the next several days drinking, hanging a dollar between my thumb and index finger in hopes of two minutes,……sorry, flashback. I mean, I
will be alone, drinking, tasting, touching, feeling, and
visualizing.....sorry. Hey, I
got two weeks to drink my ass off and figure this thing out. 2001
Agro de Bazan Granbazan-Amber $ (14.99) 2000
Chateau St Jean Cabernet Sauvignon $$
(25.00)
December 7, 2003 Oh, the
weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful...
No actually, the evening with wine, words, food and friends was delightful.
It is a shame that we cannot get together more frequently, due to the
fact that Wino Lou and Wino Bruce have real jobs.
Wino Bruce is a famous museum photographer who’s been to the most
remote parts of the world photographing artwork and artifacts that date back
to the beginning of… well, artifacts. Wino Lou is
one of those super smart scientist guys that has invented several of these
pills Medicare is making a ton of money on by selling to older people and
stuff. He actually wears a
headband so his brain doesn’t ooze out of his cranium. And then in
between their discussions of the latest art show opening, or the newest drug
to cure something, I could only interject a sentence or two like, “Wino
Lou, will this new medicine give me an oily discharge?”
Hey, don’t be so quick to judge my stupidity. Did you ever
read the warning on those fat reducing potato chips?
The food was great and the conversation was fun and since I could not
add much to the intelligent conversation, I made up for it by bringing over
a decent bottle of wine. I was
able to hang with a conversation on TCA until Mrs. Wino Lou started drawing
the chemical formula on a napkin and explaining the microbiological reaction
between the bacteria and the orgasmatron and then started speaking in Latin
for the elements. Boy, did I
waste my years in college learning neat stuff.
Though it did allow me to build up a tolerance to alcohol and
heightened my desire to pursue a career in drinking.
If I only figured out then that I could have studied wine in college,
I could have been somebody, instead of a stick figure on a web site. By the end
of the third bottle of wine, I forgot to write down what Wino Lou had
brought. I know it was a South African; I could taste the Paarl soil
and the balmy ocean influence. Actually,
I got a quick glance of the label and saw it was a Glen Carlou.
After all, it’s all about me anyway…
And to the delight of the crowd, I did keep my ball sack well
covered. 2001
Qupe Syrah $
(17.99) 1994
Clos du Val Cabernet Sauvignon Reserve (my
first good wine to cellar from WJ)
December 6, 2003 Special Announcement The Global
Warming Protest against chemical manufacturers of CFCs has been cancelled
due to SNOW!!!!!! Hey Al Gore,
its only December 6th and I am shoveling 11 inches of freshly
fallen snow. Mother
McRae, I cannot believe that winter has paid us a visit so early this year.
Snow has only one positive effect, the hectic schedule of the
neighborhood grinds to a snail’s pace and the hunter’s get a day to
gather on the corner over the roar of snow blowers to ask the question,
“Who’s house tonight?” Tradition
has sprouted from necessity and each winter after the first major snowfall,
we do a potluck dinner and wine evening at a volunteer’s home.
The holiday decorations, the crackle of a fire, and the warm friendly
conversation over a cornucopia of food items and a well supplied wine flow
make this a treat. It is almost
a Hallmark commercial. Today, while I was blowing the walk ( that is not a phrase I will use again) a synapse fired that had been charging over the past two years. Summer wine nights on the porch were commonplace for the neighbors, but the past two years we have not been able to connect. Through the past two years, the winter gathering started. So my mind raced with reasons why our time together with food/wine-loving good friends has shifted. Forget the obvious crazy schedule answer, I ruled that out last year since we did have a few dates that would have work, but didn’t. Then, while changing out of my wet clothes from blowing, my reflection in the bathroom mirror brought everything into focus. Winter is cold. Therefore, I must wear long pants, bulky sweaters and a jacket. But in the summer, I usually wear baggy shorts, t-shirt and no underwear. I must have let my saggy, saltwater taffy sack swing too freely the last hot humid night on the porch. Maybe one of the neighbor’s kids has been scarred for life after Mr. Potato Head showed his bald spot. Yes, in the winter, Mr. Potato Head hibernates. To Wino Lou, Wino Bruce and Wino Chris, please extend my apologies to your families. I will make up for it in wine and will be wearing an extra pair of under shorts tonight. Let the fun begin. (Editor's note:
Now getting back to wine, I did get to see the Spectator’s Top 100 and I will not spend much time commenting on it since Wino John and Wino Wally are much more capable. I just have one thing to say: A Merlot? Are you mad, woman? A friggin Merlot…
December 1, 2003 Boy, did my
extended weekend end in a bust. The
dreaded common cold took away my ability to taste, smell and enjoy wine so
the remains of the poor wine I picked for Thanksgiving is my last memory of
the beverage. However, all was not lost, as a means of sleeping well last
night to be refreshed and ready to tackle the morning, I grabbed a bottle of
Vicks Nyquil. Mother of God,
did this knock me out, but one or two more nights of this and my buds should
be back in working condition. November
28, 2003 Uneventful,
hey, I’ll take that as a win. Thank
God Thanksgiving is over. Next
year it is a Swanson TV dinner in the comfort of my small hideout on the
third floor of my house. Pop it
in
the oven for 25 minutes and an entire dinner comes out with corn bread and
all. Crumble the tin dish and
Thanksgiving is officially over. Taking
the advice of WJ, I selfishly took wine that I wanted to try to dinner
yesterday. The crowd, mostly
non-drinkers, polished off 6 bottles of non-alcoholic sparkling apple cider
while I disappointed myself with my choices.
I stopped into Shop Rite Discount on Wednesday evening and only had about
twenty dollars, so I picked two wines that I thought would work (for me).
I actually drank one glass of the one bottle and sent the rest to the
septic tank/ Boy, was that a loser. I
finally found a Rhone I didn’t like.
When I got home, I read through a blurb on the wines from this
appellation and when they said it could be hit or miss, they weren’t
kidding. Swing and a miss,
you’re outa here. The
wine I opened and drank with dinner was a better fit, though nothing
compared to the euphoric White Hall Lane Reserve I had on Wednesday.
I do think for the price, it was a good one and for a Thursday
nighter, it was fine. I’m thinking next year to just have a liquid Thanksgiving
after my TV dinner so I won’t have to deal with the ever-expanding
waistline from Bourbon yams, mashed potatoes and stuffing. The
headache can be cured by drinking more, they gut can only be treated by
vigorous exercise and, other than the striking motion of my arm moving
towards the champagne cork, neither 'vigorous' nor 'exercise' have been in my vocabulary
for years. 1997
Eric Rocher Terroir de Champal Saint Joseph $
(8.99) November
27, 2003 Great,
Thanksgiving, a time to be thankful, and be with family and be thankful.
Do we really live in an age that we need a day to be thankful that we
survived another year? Are we
living in such wretched conditions that we need to take an entire day, no,
an extended weekend, to appreciate that we survived on cod and corn?
Look, I’m grateful that I live in America, and I am thankful that: Red
wine came into my life I can
kill millions of brain cells every night My
swollen liver makes for fun party tricks I only
received restraining orders from the industry giants and I don’t have
to bunk with a large sweaty
black man in need of loving in prison Wino
John corrects my spelling You
Winos send emails sometimes without using four letter words Freedom
of speech allows me to post my stupid comments on the WWW
without fear of being taken out of my home in the middle of the
night I have
the chance to share wine with some of you Wino
Rocker is wealthy and I can have him invest in my next get rich Ralph
Kramden scheme My
family are not Puritans Modern
medicine allows me to live a healthy life and I was taught at an early
age to eat citrus fruits so I don’t get scurvy White
Burgundies drink heavy enough to almost be a red wine I am
not French Veronique
Drouhin touched me, even if it was to choke me ATMs
were invented Man
made synthetics so after civilization dies out, the aliens that land
here to re-populate the earth will see the plastic containers we
stored our abundance of food in and the cheap rayon and polyester
leisure suits we had to wear for our sixth grade school picture For
Syrah, Grenache and Mourvedre I took
Kevin Zraly’s class, though he isn’t We have
lawyers that show us how idiotically liberal a society we live in We can
elect conservatives to counter those misgivings For
safe water to drink I can
go to Taco Bell for a bean and cheese burrito anytime of the night
(they’re open late) I can
gorge myself on a steroid-enhanced turkey with six legs I do
not have to look at a woman in a burlap sack I do
not have flies buzzing around my swollen head I can
buy cheap wine I can
own a gun I can
speak out against idiot politicians I can
drink my cheap wine until I stumble into bed God
invented satellite TV with 500 channels I drive
an SUV that gets 8 miles to the gallon at ¼ the price I
don’t have to eat dog, then fashion it into my next article of
clothing We have
indoor plumbing But most of
all I am thankful that I will be locked down at a table for four hours
eating, drinking and exchanging conversation with people I haven’t seen in
at least, uh, two weeks. Thank God we survived through those long
fourteen days of hardship, uncertainty and famine. Yes,
Thanksgiving officially started at Sundown last night, in front of the TV
watching survivor and treating myself to a, dare I say, Big Ass California
Cabernet. (Editor's note: YES!!!) 1996
White Hall Lane Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon $$
(36.00) 2000
Monte Antico $
(8.99)
November
24, 2003 We spent an
enjoyable evening touring the streets of Bayonne on our way to meet Winette
Alice and Wino Paul. The tour was unexpected as finding my way around Bayonne was
a bit more difficult then expected. The
delay did put a wrinkle into the pre-dinner entertainment.
The time delay cooled the fondue and warmed the champagne, but the
fun conversation more than made up for our delay.
Winette Alice had an 'in' at the restaurant so they were kind enough
to hold our table. The
restaurant is called De Noi and is a warm, intimate setting with a cozy
fireplace and soft lighting. The
food was delicious as I had the grilled shrimp over vegetables for appetizer
and the meat stuffed tortellini with peas and proscuitto in a pink sauce. As my luck
with wet corks is running, it happened again.
As the wine list was given to me, I scanned the list for something
not too expensive with a good quality.
The list was loaded with Italian wines and they did carry several
high end Super Tuscans. I
selected something syrah based since Winette Alice loves this grape.
As the waiter cut the foil, I saw that crusty, rusty look of a leaky
bottle. The waiter drew the
cork, and poured the wine. I do
not know if he was unaware of the reason one presents the cork first before
the pour, or he knew that the cork was soaked and wanted to see if I would
say anything. The wine had an
off smell and a vinegar finish. I
then made the waiter show me the cork and I pointed to all the things that
made me concerned about the wine being spoiled by improper storage, the
rust, the soaked cork, the smell, the taste.
To support my case, I suggested the waiter taste, but he informed me
he had a bad liver and could not taste the wine, but would bring me another
bottle. The second one showed
similar signs but the wine had not turned yet.
Not wanting to press the point, I let go of the issue.
I only hope that the high end wines are kept in a better storage
location so someone paying two and a half times the retail price would not
be faced with an issue that would make them have to question the waiter if
the wine was spoiled. Imagine
spending $250.00 and the waiter telling you it was OK but that he couldn’t
taste it to verify. The
gracious Winette Alice had coffee and dessert waiting back at the house so
we headed out and spent the rest of the night enjoying stories and pictures
from the world travels of Wino Paul. 2003
George Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau $
(7.99) November
22, 2003 Happy
Single Gun Man Conspiracy Day, or should I say Happy Magic Bullet Day.
Well here it is, the third week in November, and that means we are
cloaked in two traditions I have a hard time dealing with.
Tradition number one, the easier one to discuss, is the fan fare that
greets the tasting of Beaujolais Nouveau.
Admittedly, I am a novice to wine and its traditions, but as an
outsider, I never understood why the wineries rushed out a pre released
product for you to sample. This
is akin to ordering filet mignon as your appetizer at a fine steakhouse
where you go to enjoy filet mignon for dinner.
Are there that many wine drinkers needing to have the 411 on the
upcoming vintage of the light and fruity Gamay beverage?
Hell, except for the Grand Crus, I don’t have many people telling
me they are stocking up on Beaujolais at the birth of their children to
serve at their weddings. I
drink this wine young, I chill this red and yes, I serve this one to my
crazy Aunt so she can add in a bit of club soda.
Help me here, FOWB (Friends of Wino Bob), if you tell me its just
another excuse for the French to party and drink wine, I’m all over
that. But if you seriously look me in the eye and tell me that you
need to drink from the barrel this special nectar of the Gods- I say, I
say…. I say I don’t believe you. Now as I
write, I am trying to schedule time in my day to run over to Shop Rite
Discount Liquors and grab a few bottles to bring to Wino Paul and Winette
Alice’s this evening. It will
be my present to them for the invite to their Chateau and to further our Fun
With Wine classes. As a
precursor to dinner, it will be a fun wine, but knowing Winette Alice’s
penchant for Shiraz, I don’t think this will fit her style.
But wine is a fun learning experience and I am off to broaden their
horizons. Now that
the wine-related part of the entry is out of the way, I wanted to just
mention something else that his on my mind this week and, of course, was on
JFK’s mind today. The single
gunman theory, Oswald worked alone, the Warren Commission, LBJ, the Mafia,
Castro, Dallas, canceling football, November 22nd.
I spent hours at night this week switching between the History
Channel, the Discovery Channel, ABC, and Comedy Central.
OK, Comedy Central has little to do with this, but I had so much
conspiracy theory I thought my head was going to explode.
The Discovery Channel did a superior job, unlike any of the others I
have seen so far. Like Charlie
Brown’s Christmas Special and The Great Pumpkin, it has become a thread in
the fabric of Thanksgiving week that we see the latest installment of an
interpretation on the JFK assassination. What sent
me over the edge this week was the Canadian-born, USA-hating, highly paid in
US dollars, Peter Jennings special. He
greeted the audience with the declaration of how their research would once
and for all clarify the fact that Oswald worked alone.
The computer rendering of the renowned Zapruder film brought the best
technological explanation of the bullet path from the book depository
through Kennedy’s windpipe and into Connelly.
They spent good time and money developing this.
However, they fell short by totally ignoring the fatal headshot
through the same computer analysis. They
never drew a line for the headshot to the 6th floor window.
They should have been able to digitize the fames that captured that
split second when the second bullet struck the President.
But no, nothing was discussed. There
was nothing rendered, all they simulated was his fall to the left towards
Jackie. My question, how can a
news show on a major network fall short of a complete, thorough and truthful
explanation for the entire event after the declare they had all the evidence
to prove their theory? I have
an editor, and Wino John often checks my facts so we present the most honest
and truthful version of what spills out of my drunken stupor. Shouldn’t WABC TV and their highly paid, Canadian-born,
star news man be held to the same standard as this stupid web site?
I think so, and I say right here and right now, Peter Jennings is a
dick. Turn in your newsman
credentials and apply for a job on Access Hollywood where you can bring out
your left leaning bias and not have to pretend it's news.
Why don’t you take a job with Al Franken-stein and Al Gore on the
All Al-Liberal Radio Network soon to be clogging the air space in a city
near you? Hey Al, you were
funny in the seventies on Saturday Night Live. Now get over yourself. So another
year has come and gone and we again are left with more questions than
answers. Why do they need to
taste a wine that has born-on dating and why do they need to keep locked up
the documents that will clarify the entire JFK assassination?
Come on Teddy, I know somewhere in your Chivas-soaked soul, you can
find the need for America to know the truth.
Stop stonewalling and let the truth be told. November
20, 2003 After
a week of driving around holding Wino John’s sack, I got tired and called
him up to grab lunch. “WJ, I
am tired of holding your sack. Can I give it back?”
“If your done with it, I guess, but I don’t mind if you what to
hold it a while longer.” Now
all you Michael Jackson gutter heads think again. I was holding WJ’s
wine sack. One
night when we ate dinner at a BYOB, WJ brought a high-end cab in his high
end wine sack and left it in the restaurant.
I went back and got it for him. I
hate being in charge of other people’s stuff so I needed to get it out of
my possession. Since
today was Laurie Day at JR’s, we met for lunch and I handed him back his
sack. I guess that’s enough
childish humor with the word sack, which has me thinking again about
words. As you know I am a
frustrated writer. Back in
college, I dreamed of writing the next great American novel. As you can tell from my writings here, I neither have the
Word-A-Day vocabulary nor the intellectual thought process to write a novel.
Fortunately, this dumb web site lets me write in my unintelligible
fashion for my own amusement. That
is why I so enjoy listening to great music.
One of the things I never understood however is how these great
musicians write words, that aren’t about what they mean, but mean
something else. I am too
literal and when someone in the line of a song says, “When football teams
are kissing queens…”, I immediately think that the songwriter from
Train, from his song Calling All Angels, was not an athlete
and his dig is that all the jocks are now the gay kids in class. But he explained that this is about kids who are athletes
because they are living out their fathers' sports fantasies. I don’t make that connection but maybe some of my synapse
has de-linked from the wine consumption. To me, you say what you mean and
mean what you say, but great songwriters say what they don’t mean and mean
what they are not saying. That’s
why I, as a literal person, thought that Meatloaf meant the two high school
kids in Paradise by the Dashboard Lights were 'doublely
blessed' since they were young and naked.
But no, doublely blessed meant they both had protection so they could
go all the way. Jesus, imagine
if a songwriter was negotiating a contract in the business world.
“Yes we will buy the wave soldering machine as long as it’s
sheathed.” OK, does that mean I need to sell them a cover or does that
really mean that they get a one-year warranty? This
really gets mixed if I delve into the hip lingo of the Rap community where
Bad means Good and Phat means Good and Dawgs mean Good and Whop Bop A Lop
Bop means Good. For Christ Sake, just say Good. I guess having a fifth grade vocabulary forces me to, well,
say what I mean. So now
here’s the 411 on the water I nizzled.
(411 is 'information' and water really means 'wine' and nizzled is a
word I once heard Snoopy Doggie Dog say, but I’m too white to really know
what it means so I thought it might make me out to be not so white which
would make me cooler than I really am as a white man of middle class means). Drizzle my phashizzle - I hope I didn’t curse at anyone… 1999
Freemark Abby Cabernet Sauvignon $$ (30.00) November
18, 2003 Having such
a great time last Thursday, I found myself stopping by Bacchus to have an
attitude adjusting glass of wine. Wanting
not to beat the dog again after a day of frustration at work, a comforting
glass of red wine, some light conversation and POW, instant Mr. Happy, until
the bill came. Double POW. “I’m
sorry, Mike, you must have given me the bill for that party of six diners,
the table over there that ordered the 2 pound lobsters and Kobe beef.”
Mike picked up my check, looked it over and clearly stated, "No,
Wino Bob, that’s your bill for the three glasses of Napa Wine Company
Zinfandel.” Thud- I hit the
floor, three glasses of wine costing TWELVE DOLLARS each? Holy mother
of pearl. As I researched my
choice, I am finding that a bottle runs around 20-24.00.
Now I will admit, Mike showed me the bottle and it is the thickest
glass bottle I have seen in a long time, but I didn’t expect to be paying
by the pound of glass. I expect
a mark up, but I do want to be able to sit down after drinking a few glasses
of wine. This morning I felt
screwed; it was the same tired headache I get from the $6.00 glass of
wine. What makes it double? I
believe next time I will inquire into the bottle price and sit and consume
2-3 glasses from my own bottle, put my name on it and ask them to hold it
for me for a future visit. Pow, twelve dollars per glass, so much for mellowing out
after a crappy day. 2001
Napa Wine Company Zinfandel $
(24.00) November
16, 2003 Not since
the 'grassy knoll' and the 'Hollywood faking of the landing on the moon',
has there been such a conspiracy theory to make news headlines.
On the heels of Wino Wally’s in-depth expose on the blatant ripping
off of subject matter by the Wine Spectator of our original ideas, my copy
arrived in the mail today. That Syrah grape headline just made me madder
than hell. Having plenty of
angst from last night and now with this, I drove over to the local Shop Rite
Discount Liquors. By the way,
let me tell you how good the renovations have made this store look.
The new racking is beautiful and the clean, crisp layout is
impressive. Anyway, I walked over to the first display that said red and
had a price less than ten dollars, and a grabbed a bottle.
Then I marched over to the cooler that was stocked with sparkling
wines, found the cheapest one that contained a cork, paid for it and drove
home to alleviate some stress. How did I do that you ask?
Simple, I headed down to the launch pad and unhilted my saber.
After a Don Quixotesque sword fight with windmills, I turned my
attention to the art and craft of beheading a sparkling wine bottle.
With camera rolling to again document every twitch and bead of sweat,
I took a deep breath, a practice tap and then with the fluid motion of a
pyromaniac striking the match that blazed up Chicago, for the second time, I
swung through with the finesse of Tiger Woods chipping one in from the
fringe. Swoosh, ting, pop,
fizz, success.
Yes, Winos,
the little man in the boat applied the surgical strike of a mid night navy
seals' raid of a Talibahn training camp.
Quiet, swift and precise got me in and out of the neck and sent the
glass encased cork across the room as a small amount of foamy spray gushed
out the neck like a 17 year old boy on prom night.
Behold the first successful mission as I train for the coveted title
of a "Napoleonic Admiral in Waiting" to be touched on both cheeks
by a sweaty, pimple faced, over weight, non-deodorant wearing, balding
Frenchman. Winos, I am ready to
take on your next big event with my saber wielding performance of champagnous
decapitatous. I
understand if I do well, I can stand in at a Bris.
1997
Domaine de Montgilet Coteeaux de L’Aubance
gift November
15, 2003 I know I am
far from a wine expert, but even with my pea-brain knowledge base about
wine, I know when people are trying to bullshit me.
You know I love the JR place. It is a frequent lunch stop for
WJ and I, but last evening I had an unfortunate incident.
No, nothing to do with police, or punches or strangle holds and no
important industry people. It
was a simple, low-key Friday night. I just wanted to grab an
inexpensive bottle of wine, inhale some second hand cigar smoke and nibble
on a fruit and cheese plate. So I played a hide and seek game from the wine shop sales
people, as they are most annoying. They shadow you and keep asking if you
need help. Hey, wine shop boy,
what part of NO don’t you understand?
So after playing a little mind f game by picking up a bottle, and
going to hand it to them to bring to the counter, then changing my mind and
picking something else up, then changing my mind (he still didn’t get the
hint). Finally, I settled on a
bottle of Torres Gan Sangre de Toro. (Unlike WJ, I am loyal to old friends,
as you can see he quickly jumps on the bandwagon of the newest person to
file legal documents against me.) The
Torres will be in Big Bob’s portfolio in January. After the
ritual of paying, being told if I buy the 2nd bottle it’s 10%
off and how I go about handing it to a waitress, show the receipt, there is
a corkage, blah, blah, blah.. I found the affable Laurie by the bar, and she
set me up at a table in the back by the fireplace.
Upon cutting off the foil, Laurie noticed a rusting to the cap and an
obvious stain to the top of the cork. She
showed me the wine manager and told me to bring it to her so I can exchange
it for another bottle. Laurie
accompanied me to verify she had just cut the foil and I showed the manager
the cork’s condition. The
manager picked up the bottle, looked at the cork, turned to me and said, “
Oh that, that just means the wine is peaking, it will be really good to
drink.” What the f&$#
????? Peaking? Are
you serious? Play me the fool,
but I have just enough pea brain knowledge to know that wine does not peak
by making its way to the top of the cork.
Then they proceeded to sniff the cork and see if they could tell if
the wine was good. Are you
kidding me? You are going to try and off load an $11.00 bottle of
Spanish wine to me by convincing me the wet cork is a must for wine to age
properly? What Sears Wine
School did you graduate from? I must admit, I became a bit testy with the young girl and
even informed her that her distributor would make good on it.
So she reluctantly went and got another bottle of the same, had the
affable Laurie cut the foil while the wine shop vultures danced around
asking me if I wanted to buy anything else as they were checking the cork on
this bottle. As it turned out,
that bottle’s cork was wet also and I was told to find a different wine to
buy. What got
under my skin the most is that this was the complete opposite of how I had
been treated when something similar happened several years back.
At that time, WJ and I were spending a great many hours after work
drinking our way through the inventory and talking about doing a web site.
We got to know Richie, the wine manager, and he was a true,
customer-oriented person. That’s
also when times were good and I was purchasing a lot of show wines: Opus,
Cask 23, Quintessa and the like. One
day I purchased a high end Burgundy and set it in my cellar.
Months had passed before I decided to give the bottle a try.
Jesus, mold and crap was all under the foil, the wine smelled like my
jock after basketball practice. So
I was in JR the next week, buying some trophy bottle and I started talking
with Richie about the problems I was having setting up my wine cellar and
that several bottles had turned. He
spoke with me for a half hour, and finally asked which wines I lost.
I told him the one I was most bummed out about was the high end
Burgundy I had read up on and that I purchased it there. He looked through the shelves, found the same vintage and
handed it to me, straight out. Kind
of like the Nordstrom’s mentality, go the extra mile to make the customer
happy. That simple act has lead
to many a three bottle nights between WJ and I at the JR lounge, too many
lunches to document and the buying of a good quantity of wine.
Now that the economy is down, I do not buy that much wine and my
price range rarely goes above twenty dollars, but JR’s is still on my list
of favorites, until last night. I
finally picked a different bottle, drank it quickly and headed home, but the
experience was dampened by the way things were handled, not by the affable
Laurie, but by the wine shop staff. November
14, 2003 Needing to
recover from the unfortunate incident with the champagne saber, Wino John
used his industry connections and got us into the Joseph Phelps dinner at
Bacchus. The main dining room
was over flowing with enthusiasts anticipating the pour of the night, the
2000 Insignia. WJ and I were
seated at a table for six and shared some great wine conversation with Tom,
Ron, Jean and Kim. Ron at one
time ran a wine class in Summit and was very informative about the Phelps
wines. The evening was enhanced
by the presence of Phelps Vineyards' President and CEO, Tom Shelton.
Upon
entering the dining room, we were handed a glass of the 2001 Chardonnay
Los Carneros as a warm up. Pay
no attention to any spin WJ may place on my conversation with Tom.
We hit it off famously and he extended an invitation to us to visit
Phelps Vineyards. Well not us - WJ and me specifically.
More like the cordial, collective 'all of us in attendance'.
But he did extend an invitation… The first
course was wild salmon over multi grain rice with pumpkin seed oil. Boy,
I can never get enough pumpkin seed oil.
It was paired with the 2001 Pastiche Rouge.
Phelps is an original Rhone Ranger and two Rhone styles were poured
during the evening. The second
was a fav of mine for a long time. The
Pastiche is a solid wine for being sub 10 dollars as an easy drinker with a
nice interplay of fruit. I
would keep this one around for those nights when you feel like a glass or
two, alone, while watching some reality show in hopes of escaping your own
miserable reality. Course two
was a roasted yellow and red beet Napoleon. I guess if I do get
inducted into the Champagne Sabering Society, I will be eating a great deal
of this. As a delight, they
paired this earthy, beet salad with my fav, Le Mistral.
Fittingly, NJ was under siege by a blustery 50mph wind that fit the
wine perfectly. This 2000
vintage is weighty, bold and one of those wines I would like to bathe in,
sorry, I mean it is well constructed with great aromas and bigger, chewier
fruit. Waiter, bring us another
bottle. Course
three was sliced smoked duck breast tappas, which is a kind way of saying 'leftover
duck sandwich on toast'. Accordingly
it was paired with the 2000 Merlot.
I could have passed on both. The main
course was roasted filet mignon, aptly paired with the 2000 Insignia.
Nothing better than medium rare red meat and a Meritage.
There was a collective sigh that rippled through the audience as the
plates and wine were brought into the dining room. There were tears in the eyes of the crowd and Wino John
himself caressed and cuddled his glass to the point I was feeling a bit
uncomfortable. Phelps has a
great reputation and the three wines that our table liked the best were the
blends, which supports my position on wine.
The depth and complexity of blends are seductive and as one varietal
may have a bad harvest, the wine master can play to the strength of the
blend. I passed on
the Fig strudel as fig and prune cause the same chemical combustion within
me and there was no need to ruin the fun.
Upon draining the last drop from the bottles for the event, WJ and I
headed to the bar for a nightcap. We
made some new friends and are hoping that once Tom checks out our web site
and reads about the enjoyment and excitement with which we talk about his
wines, our phone will be ringing to set up that private tour of the Phelps
properties and have lunch with Tom. It
works that way for the writers from Spectator, the WSJ, the Times, Departure
Magazine, Food and Wine… So I am sure our media presence will be
recognized and the Phelps brands will start flying off the shelves of the
Bottle King stores all over NJ. Dinner
was hosted by Bottle King and WJ must purchase so much wine from them that
his invitation was actually highlighted in 24K gold leaf.
Just one comment, go easy on the Le Mistral. I will be out
hunting down this wine for myself. November 8,
2003 Warning,
for those with weak stomachs, please do not read this entry. Winos, if you
notice the warning and the font type and color changes, this is because the
asshole, Wino Bob, decided to try his hand at removing a champagne cork by
the art of sabering. Wino
Wilson here, and I just wanted to give you a quick review as I sit at the
emergency room of Mountainside Hospital. The doctors are looking for a tobacconist who is familiar
with re-attaching severed pipe
cleaners. Amusing as it was,
and thank God I was rolling tape, the daft Wino Bob attempted his first
practice run at his Napoleonic Admiral Kegel thing.
Unfortunately, it went bad. Way bad.
The video is too large for the server to handle, but I did manage to
snap a few shots of the aftermath as I waited for the emergency workers to
arrive. This is your last
chance to turn away… Warning-
Not for the faint of heart!!! Winos and
Winettes, I present the disastrous pictures.
As I understand, it might be several days before WB can type for
himself, so hang in there since updates may be delayed during recovery.
(Editor's
note: WinoBob, don't say that I didn't warn you...) November
7, 2003 I
am typing this out today as possibly the last day that I have all my
appendages. Wino John is
convinced that during my episode of champagne sabering tomorrow, I will
slice through something and be less than whole.
Typing is challenging enough, but typing sans two fingers would make
my updates fewer and farther between. I
am not embarrassed to accept any free bottles from any major wine importer
to practice my craft, in search of my title:
Official Champagne Swordsmen and Mass Wine Consumer, the Honorable
Napoleonic Admiral in Waiting, French Foreign Legion Grand Kegel.
Life is made to be fun and the video camera will be rolling to
capture this event. Fun will be
in the eye of the beholder depending on the outcome.
But as for now, I am thinking positively, drinking profusely and
slicing spastically. As
for my wine drinking, Castello Banfi continues to be a favorite for my
Italian wine consumption and, as white wines go, I am becoming a big fan of
Sauvignon Blancs. Last night I
drank some of each. 1999
Castello Banfi's Cum Laude $$$
(57.00 restaurant) 2001
Brancott Sauvignon Blanc
$ (14.00) November
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