I predict that, not since the bitter feud of the mid-90's between California's Death Row Records and New York's Bad Boy Records, there will be such a vicious and visceral divide among the two coasts for a long time.

Forget Giants/49ers... amateur hour.

Real Housewives of Orange County sparring with Real Housewives of New Jersey?  Please.

This one is between the 'burbs of Atlanta and the backwoods outside of Portland, Oregon.  And it was all started over a taco.

Let me say, before I bury my claws, that I find Beau Carufel (head honcho at Beau's Barrel Room) to be a genuinely nice fellow.  He's a diligent and well-respected wine blogger, a true wine lover, and, up until recently, I would dare say I considered him a friendly acquaintance amidst the sea of wine writers and bloggers.

Now, I'm not one to get offended by people regurgitating vapid political beliefs on Facebook.  I don't mind when Betsy's 13th adorable child is born, and Betsy has to post 500 pics of the actual birth on Facebook, which get pushed to the forefront of my timeline, because 6000 other wives with 13 children have to comment with, "OMG!  OHHHHH.  SO CUTE!!!!! :) :)".

Profanity, crude jokes, pictures of bacon, and even MEMEs (pushing it, MEMEs) are tolerable.  But, earlier this week, there was a particular update from the charlatan in question that set me off:

Oh, shit.  Ring the bell.  The "taco" bell, if you will.

Typical left-coast, weak-stomached whining, Beau.  For a guy originally from Long Island (or New Jersey, or somewhere up there), I can't believe how soft you've become.

First off, Taco Bell is awesome.  I ate two 99¢ Chicken Burritos last night, and then measured my biceps this morning, and I'm pretty sure they grew like 4".  Granted, I've never measured them before, but it really happened.  Furthermore, I'd been sipping on Txakolina Roja, Sancerre, Bugey, and Grower Champagne prior to my meal... obscure, European wines built to go with food.  Know what I wanted to eat after sipping on all these exciting, subtle, elegant European wines?  Taco Bell.  Food and wine DO go together, you know.  700 million Europeans and centuries of proud winemaking tradition can't be wrong.  But you, smugly, seem to think the contrary.

And, the money I saved on these delicious, affordable burritos, left me extra to spurge on a Beef Mexi-melt.  Culinary symphony, the mexi-melt.  And not just on the East Coast (ain't that right, Samantha Dugan?).  Yeah, I know the dreadlocked trust-funder hocking you $9 burritos at the Forest Grove Tuesday Farmers' Market says they're made from heavily-petted, hand-massaged, free-range organic heirloom-breed chickens.  But you and I both know he spent all his money trying to score weed from the local marionberry farmer, and bought his chicken at the same supermarket, from the same vendor who supplies Taco Bell.

But I digress.  Let's step back and dissect your hollow witch-hunt against Eat This, Not That's second favorite fast food mecca, where two distinct errors in judgement stick out like a mild Border Sauce packet among a fistful of Fire Sauce:

1)  Ordering plain, hard shell tacos is a rookie mistake.  At least get the Doritos® Locos™ taco.  Or a taco supreme, brimming with dairy-fresh sour cream and off-the-vine tomatoes.  But, you went with plain tacos.  Hey, a lot of people order vanilla ice cream at Baskin-Robbins.  And they're boring as hell.

2)  You ordered a "couple" of tacos.  I assume that to be two items.  Unless you're digging into the glorious monstrosity that is Chef Lorena Garcia's Cantina Bell™ burrito, then two items is the order of a waif runway model.  And you, sir, are not that waif.

Or, is it as simple as you hating Johnny Cash?  That's downright un-American.

In summation, I guess some folks just lack the DNA to Live Más.  But don't shove it in my face.  The great thing about America is choice.  Keep your anti-awesome and nourishing taco agenda to yourself, sir.

I will continue making runs to the Border.