Cheers!

Allow me, for a moment, to whine about wine. There are just too many choices out there today! It’s baffling. It’s like sending Super Hubs to the Clinique counter with the request to buy me a lipstick. He’d freak out under the pressure of multitude selections!

We were invited to a Wine Party this past weekend. The invitation instructed us to bring a bottle of wine to share, either our favorite or an unusual variety. Sounds simple enough, right?? So very WRONG!! I am actually fairly wine literate, and some people consider me to be a bit of a connoisseur. I once hosted a wine-tasting party for my friends, after I did a little research first. I enjoy guzzling I mean sipping wine responsibly on a frequent I mean occasional basis. I know my Reds from my Whites from my Blushes. And some of the Reds do make me blush! I am utterly confident that I can choose the perfect wine to go with Beef Wellington. (A soft Bordeaux.) Or chicken with curry. (A dry German Riesling.) Or pasta with bolognese. (Pinot Noir or Sangiovese.) (Now I’ve gone and made my stomach growl.)

I went shopping for my bottle of Party Wine with the self-assurance of the naive. I was bound and determined that I would not choose a boring and ordinary Merlot or the usual Pinot Grigio. I would find a bottle that was not only tempting to the palate, but fascinating, besides. One that had some pizzazz! One that presented me as an Expert of the Vine. A Woman Who Is Always Current. So I went to a store that prides itself on selling many global varieties. And I stood there, in the midst of all the shiny bottles, and nearly had a panic attack.

Wine covered every inch of the shelves. The bottles were organized according to country: The United States, Italy, France, Germany. But South Africa? Canada? Switzerland?? And who knew that Portugal produced good wine? Or Hungary? I was thoroughly overwhelmed, and it did not help that Little Squirt kept throwing random bottles into my cart.

So I found the store’s Sommelier, and asked for his assistance. Would he help me pick out a nice and unusual bottle for my party that evening? The patronizing Sommelier peppered me with a bazillion questions: What variety of grape was I looking for? Did I want sweet and served chilled? Or dry and served at room temperature? Semi-dry? Rich? Complex? Or did I want a blend? What vintage? And what flavors did I like? Was I interested in cherry or currant or oak? Musk or melon or mouse or something? It was all too confusing and by now my self-confidence of the wine expertise sort was completely deflated. I wanted to crawl into the fetal position and detox from all the choices! I began to only hear, “Blah bla bla blah blah blah," and I wanted to yell, "STOP WITH ALL THE QUESTIONS! YOU'RE KILLING ME!!" Until finally I interrupted him, “Can you please just find me a bottle with a pretty label? Any kind will do.” And so he did.

I left with a lovely Malbec from Argentina that was, I don’t know, red and delicious. And, even better, on sale. And I went to the Wine Party, where I enjoyed much relaxation with good food and good friends, and I had a fabulous time. After all.