Friday, 25 April 2008
One bright spot about not currently being preggers is the return of the wineglass in front of me at supper time. My heavens, how I've missed sipping wine while I was cooking these past few months! I can't drink a lot - more than two glasses and I become a giggling tipsy thing subject to narcolepsy - but I do savour a glass with a meal, or while preparing a meal. (It's important for me to have food in my stomach before uncorking anything.)
My current goal is to teach D that there IS a difference between the giant economy size bottle of wine and a really tasty bottle of wine. I think I have a little touch of wine snobbery about me, but I try hard not to let it surface. I don't actually know a lot about wine, but I DO know that keeping a box of Jackson Triggs in your fridge for an entire summer and still thinking it tastes great is not cool.
My parents always drank wine; I still remember my mother (who was a French teacher) wanting to kill my father after he sent her to the liquor store in search of his favourite bottle of white, which he insisted was called "L'esprit" (it was actually called "L'eparyie"). Dad has since progressed from his enjoyment of table whites to raving over $5 bottles of Chilean merlot to appreciating different kinds of red that may cause him to break a $20. You cannot escape from my Dad's cabin without sharing a glass of something with him, a trait of his that I truly admire.
But I owe any real understanding I may have of grapey goodness to an old friend who was a wine agent for many years. That man has exquisite taste in wine and he taught me pretty much everything I didn't glean from frequent tasting trips to Niagara on the Lake. He even has a gianormous wine cooler thingy in his house; it stretches floor to ceiling and I think it can hold up to 300 bottles. He's also someone who won't let you leave without sampling a little something from his private stash.
My absolute favourite wine at the moment is Ravenswood Zinfandel. The aforesaid friend introduced me to it back in the days when I thought Zinfandel was synonymous with icky pink sweet stuff that only trophy wives drank. How wrong I was; red Zinfandel is complex and jammy - perfect for sipping on a slow Sunday evening. If I was going the white route, I'd splurge and buy Toasted Head Chardonnay. It took me a long time to get used to the grassy flavours of chardonnay, but this one is mellow and buttery. And you have to love the label's charming fire-breathing bear.
Tonight I am making D stay home instead of stripping trim at Someday. I'm going to put on the dress he bought me, make his favourite Thai Peanut stir fry and open up a good bottle of Gewurztraminer. Thank God for simple pleasures.