So, I woke up this morning feeling kind of ornery (sounds like a Ke$ha song), and decided that it was time to resurrect the old blog; a.k.a., "how an old lady speaks her mind when her family no longer listens". I have no plan other than to relate the truth about whatever topic pops into my head and, considering that I have no filter, this should be quite an interesting ride. I guarantee that there will be days when you love what I say, and days when you want to grab a spoon and gouge out my eyes. As always, your comments are very welcomed; just go easy because the old ticker ain't what it once was and I cry an awful lot these days, too.
On to today's topic - "unfinished wine and why on earth would I want to drink it!" I have chosen this topic because this past weekend I had the pleasure (said with tongue firmly planted in cheek) to particpate in a sort of moveable wine tasting thingy. The purpose, I thought, was to go from vineyard to vineyard getting increasingly "happy" with each stop along a preplanned route. Holy moly, was I wrong! Happy was anything other than what I got with each stop. Actually, the correct word for my descending mood was probably "isitoveryet".
Having never been to a wine tasting anywhere other than the "rich, fertile wine producing region" of southern York County, Pennsylvania, I am certainly no expert on the subject; however, if what I experienced this weekend is anything like what occurs in the Napa Valley, or Bordeaux, France, I'll be a monkey's uncle (actually his aunt but the humor would be lost). Around here, a wine-tasting thingy goes like this: long, boring speech by vintner or other employee, 2 drops of unfinished, very bitter wine; another long, boring speech by vintner or other employee, 2 more drops of an equally disgusting unfinished wine; yet another long boring speech by vintner or other employee, 2 more drops of something quite medicinal tasting; move along to sales area for several doll-sized tastes of finished wine that continues to taste like medicine because my palate has been poisoned by the previous unfinished wine samplings; get out the credit card to purchase a bottle of wine that I really don't want or need but feel obligated to buy because the poor vintner is starving to death as evidenced by the shot-glass sized portions of food that are served to the incredibly stupid wine-tasters (Me!). Ok, you can breathe now...it's over! At least until 40 minutes later when we pull into the next vineyard after having practically tossed our wine laden "cookies" on the way.
That, my friends, is wine tasting in Pennsylvania; about as quaint as a horse-drawn Amish buggy holding up traffic on Route 30 during the Columbus weekend sales event at the outlets in Lancaster. Next spring, the only wine tasting event that I will be attending is my nightly drink(s) of a hearty and robust, fine Italian table wine served from a very large glass jug!