The Best Wine for the Moment

I'm a snob.  Particularly when it comes to sparkling wine.

Not much of a secret, really.  I write ranting posts like this one.  I've yelled at family members.  Things like, "it's not Champagne, dammit!" have burst from my lips... words before thoughts, it seems.  Never do I intend to come off like a pretentious jerk-ass.  It's sort of a bubbly version of Tourette's.

Furthermore, I find myself- inadvertently- turning my nose at most big California producers.  For no good reason.  I guess I just want to put my dollars towards something obscure, with little financial backing or marketing.  Maybe I'm just cheering for the underdog.  The small market team.

To summarize, when it comes to bubbly, I have no verbal filter, and an animosity towards capitalism.  Guess that makes me the sparkling wine equivalent of Steve Heimoff talking politics on Facebook.

So, why did I find myself purchasing, opening, and drinking this bottle on Saturday?

"Here's to Crime"

It's not something I'm uttering because I might've eaten an olive from the olive bar at the grocery store today.  Nor, is the title indicative of the fact that I drove 37 in a 35 yesterday, and got away with it, to the chagrin of hapless coppers.

When I say, "here's to crime", I say it as a toast.  A toast to this man:


That's my grandpa, Louis F. Herrig, who finally decided that he'd done all he could do in this life, after a tidy little run of 103 years.  He passed last Thursday, leaving a legacy untouched by any family member I've ever known, along with the template for long life:

- The daily Vodka Martini (Gramps was never much of a wine guy, save the splash of dry vermouth in his martini)
- Red meat, pan fried in butter
- An occasional cigar
- Hard Work
- Faith, and Family
- Humor, in every situation

All of it, as he prescribed, in moderation.  Seems to have served him well.  I was also taught by Grandpa- along with the moderation thing- not to let anything cause stress in my life.  Admittedly, I can occasionally stray from the principles of Moderation.  However, I'm not going to allow my deviations to stress me out.  Perhaps Grandpa'd be proud of my loophole.

While it's easy to say that sadness is not protocol for those mourning someone who had lived so fully, the fact of the matter is we were given that much longer to get to know him.  Hence, the loss is so greatly significant.  His loved ones had become accustomed to Grandpa always being around; his gruff and self-effacing exterior merely shrouding tenderness and a fierce love for his family.

However, my title for this post does not insinuate that his leaving us was a crime.  Grandpa stole not a single one of those 103 years.  He lived each and every one with purpose:  causing us to laugh ourselves dizzy, imparting unparalleled wisdom, making new friends, and outliving his enemies (if any).

Rather, "here's to crime" is a toast Grandpa used to pronounce to us when glasses were raised.  Quite simply, during Prohibition, it was the jovial and defiant salute given by patrons of the speakeasys.

Something about that always made me smile.  And though Louie has left us for the great Unknown, the stories and the memories will always remain.  They- themselves- will be shared, passed on, toasted, and embellished upon...

...in moderation, of course.

In the Weeds

There are ideas and things that need to be said rattling (or sloshing) around in my cranium.

Unfortunately, I've been covered up trying to preach the goodness of the grape to your neighborhood drinking establishments.

I recorded a live session at a sales call today.  It's in black and white because we're behind places like Seattle and San Francisco down here in the South, and we've yet to discover Technicolor and such:

The Evangelist

Sometimes, in our minds, we build caricatures of who we wish to be (or, somehow deep down, believe we already are):

An Awkward Gentleman's Guide to February 14th

Like a sacrificial human heart from a Temple of Doom victim's body cavity, I, too, am torn.

With February 14th- Valentine's Day- upon us, what measure of tight science could I serve up to my bros on the blog?  And why did I just say "bros"?

Admittedly, I have some chops in the wine-knowledge department.  I can cook my way around the kitchen, I suppose.  And, I make a mean chocolate monkey.  If I really, REALLY, applied myself, I imagine a list of smooth things to say, cool wines to order, foods that make women happy, and slick moves at the restaurant could materialize that would help a single cat or kitty woo the filly or beefcake he's/she's after.

But rather than searching for needles of suavity in a haystack of ineptitude with the opposite sex, why don't we focus on the haystack.  Because I've pulled a hell of a lot more disaster-y than mastery in the arena of love.  So, grab your pitchfork and listen up if you don't want to definitely not get lucky today:

Gifts to Avoid:

- Carob
- Lane Bryant gift card
- Rogaine for Her
- 5 lbs. of Veal

Commenting on her appearance:

- "You're hotter than any of the moms on Toddlers & Tiaras."
- "Someone's looking sensible tonight!"
- "Meow!  Move over, Greta Van Susteren."


At Dinner:

- "Say you're my daughter... the kid's meal is free."
- "If we eat enough of the bottomless salad bowl and breadsticks, we can split a meal."
- "The lady will have the Grand Slam Breakfast, please."
- "Do you want the chicken, or the beef Mexi-melt?"

In the Boudoir:

- "Errrrr... Mexi-melts."
- "Let's make eight babies!"
- "Are you familiar with micro-phallus?"
- "I have night terrors, but not always."
- "'No' really means 'yes', right?"
- Screaming "IT'S A BOY!"