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In the Realm of the Sense(les)s
Confusion continuing to reign, we'll go on. Snafu, as they say.
A box arrived this morning, addressed to us. Hooray, big box = lots of samples. Nope: a box of children's clothes meant for a shop in Kerry, but most obviously (the supplier's label showed the correct destination) addressed by the courier to Bubble Brothers. Hmmm. Rang the shop in question, who said that, yes, things have not been quite right on the deliveries front lately: their last delivery was a replacement motor for a dental instrument.
Ergo... some tooth doctor out there has probably got himself a weekend's drinking in the post. And which of these three do you think is the happiest?
The kind of confusion I was intending to touch on before this happened was the deep mystery of how wines taste different depending on your environment. I've read plenty of interviews where people who should know what they're on about say their best ever bottle was something cheap and cheerful and now forgotten, enjoyed with memorable persons in a memorable place.
It boils down to, the best thing is to know yourself and trust him or her. Blake Creedon makes a stand for putting your red wine, as necessary, in the refrigerator in today's Examiner (update: link broken). Good on you Blake, for keeping up the snob-battering. I'm all for learning, but not as an offensive weapon. If you want to use a wine thermometer, go right ahead - but make sure you enjoy the drinking when you get around to that part.
I was wondering which wines go best with which plants. Let's suppose you have this shrieking clash to imbibe to. I think there's something Rieslingish about euphorbias, especially the bluey ones; but that gaudy old purple phlox, now, wants a juicy, unoaked red - how to compromise? Let's observe this combination with a softish, youngish red from the Loire and see how we get on. Unless, of course, the sun comes out, or the news was bad this morning, or a jet flies over, in which case might I suggest something else entirely? All right, so it's easy to poke fun at the sensitivities of the cybernosed among us, but this wine appreciation lark is not a clear-cut business for us humans. The contingent goings-on that make up the synaesthetic swirl of enjoying wine do not stop at food, or temperature or, thankfully, anything that can be measured or exactly repeated. So chill out, as it were, and try something/someone/somewhere new a little more often.
If any of the management are reading this, I'd be more than happy to engage in the dodgy business practice that forms the subject of this Spittoon post. Line 'em up.