The Fine Art of Full-Contact Wine Tasting.

Industry wine tastings; the ones where sellers and buyers meet on hallowed cement floor ballrooms partitioned between palettes stacked high with cardboard encased receivables and shippables, where table to table waltzes take place… waltzes of sophistication and purpose by those and for those with educated and experienced palates and the authoritative ability to sign a check.

Professionals.

The entire mercantile psychology of gambit and counter offer, what one might spectrally expect in any realm of exchange and more, occurs here within this environment… the sheer essence of the piss and sniff, swirl and spit resides here. This is civilization as we know it at work.

Etiquette is the rule of the day, for ethics are for idealists and morals are for fools when it comes to the quest for what fermented manipulations deserve to be stacked around ceiling posts in the middle of an island between the bread and deli sections, or delicately coddled in mahogany and cherry rack systems far beneath in-climate venues of gastronomical delight. Courtesies extended ad nauseum with nods and handshakes until condensed sugars break down and transform into uninhibited pokes and jabs of remembrances both delightful and embarrassing… usually concerning a previous such event and its aftermath. Old friends are reunited. New acquaintances are embraced.

And then inevitably, something strange happens and always centric to the tasting tables because that is where the initiating offer is made and the handed-off acceptance is acknowledged. Here is where alpha and beta hierarchies collide. Seller and buyer whiplashing over nuance and intricacy morph from the most innocent differences of opinion into personal affronts to one and all’s being. Statures bend and sway, pushing and pulling as former business alignments are loathed and future ones are dreaded. Encroachments across tribal lines become blatant attempts to improve another’s position in the wine acknowledged pecking order of one-upmanship. “You have just got to taste this Cheverny Rouge before that cretin you came in with does!”

And yet, these are actually normalities. They are to be found in similar configuration at tattoo conventions and auto swaps. This is human nature. But specific to this industry, a worse thing occurs that is beyond reproach and worthy of extreme prejudicial intolerances. This is about tasting table hogs who plant themselves, elbows flared, anchored in front of the 20 bottles they fully expect to sample, beginning to end, regardless of the 80 other tasters trying to maneuver around them, daring anyone to attempt a disapproving stare, grunt, or end-around. This is where civil society fails at its most extreme.

There are no identifying characteristics that these people possess. They are the most normal seeming of waiters and buyers and managers, sommeliers: appointed, anointed, or self-proclaimed. They are geeks and ruffians, employees, employers, owners of their own domain. They are mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. And they are unable to comprehend that the 1-once pour of Bandol, the one that’s more than 50% Mourvedre or the Cornas that wholesales for $77, dripping with the ludicrousness of that pricing, can all be sampled, dissected, spit or swallowed via a step back from the table. They are relentless in their power grab to dominate the Savennieres Cuvee, the Reuilly La Grande Piece Rose or the Leredde Sancerre Red until they are bloody well ready not to.

Alas, the trials and tribulations one must negotiate to be a wine industry professional. And yet, when all the ruffled feathers and unabated friable asbestos settles. When all 75 wines are given their respective due and all the due-diligence can be logged, cataloged, and ranked notably in the proper queue, taking solace in knowing your efforts are solely for the benefit of all…

Mission accomplished.

 

Not much time for just one wine…

I absolutely miss wine I can take time with. Logistics of a wine mercantile require a continual impatient overwhelming of the senses. I think of barrage. A strafing of the palate. But to sit with one wine for hours. Days. Like the chase within a long seduction leading to a longer foreplay. Something like that.

 

…

What theme will I employ today? Daily themes are a necessity for successful boutique retail application. I think I still have many options available. I know I’ve yet to try the blue bottle ploy or the only French labels in English. I’ve already done the wines you can taste but are not allowed to buy. And of course, the totally naked elder wine shop owner, I’m saving until last.

 

Streamhenge…

Chrome covered land-locked dirigibles… leviathan arks containing a place for those to lay their heads with minimal amenities mounted on worn torn rubber… lined single file across the horizon, readying to snake their way… foothill to mountain bound and beyond.

The pass glistens with the dashed runoff hope of those whose puddled impatience drove them to attempt impassable summits too late or too early and monolithic monuments to the failed brave littered along the trail become testaments to some pretty shitty planning. Where are those Druids who threw holly and thistle to the wind. Where are their bureaucrats and accountants now? Just where did all the resale value go?

 

And what draws these newest of disenfranchised nomads to form alliances and strategies? What pulls them all in, onto vectors of diminished returns, trickling down into a faded American Dream?  Could it be Mother Abigale’s sister Emilia? Could it again be Beatrice?  Or is this the final call of Isis before she lets loose the wrath of the Nile?

 

And when the gates of Valhalla and Shangri-la slam shut, when the heavens are deemed at maximum capacity and near non-compliant, where will all the newest of unimproved also-rans and ne’re do wells go? What land would welcome and not shun the unclean, unkempt non-keepers and possessors of foundation and deed? What vista will be left to perch upon, slope to lean against, where pursuant pursuers, prosecutors of persistent persecutions shall forever cease and desist?

 

southwest of Bordeaux
edging over into Gasgogne
in a little village called Cahors

an old world Malbec
…w/the darkest
deepened fruit

rustic
and earthy
and
with chocolate chip cookies

 

A brief recent future history of wine and food…

I remember when a nibble was an afterthought. The idea of wine in and of itself existed solely in the glass and in the mind, independent from compliment and enhancement. It was strictly supplemental and all the subjectivity mechanisms were label centric. Pretty labels. Cult labels. Viral labels. And magnificent marketing entities drove the culture and it was easy, for they had templates of proven success to work with. They had milk, and sugar, soda and Budweiser.

Then a shift occurred in the food chain; food became still readily available but not immediately accessible. Food that time and patience were required to acquire and that unfolded into elements of attentiveness and due diligence and education and something deemed an art form… I believe it is called preparation. Community was re-established as cocooned humanoids began abandoning isolated transportation devices and pre-prepared mass produced individually wrapped mixtures of uncertainty. Allergies began disappearing as well as extra-large t-shirts and stretch pants.

Wine that was made strictly to be consumed to stimulate or dull suddenly integrated with that which was to sate. And then wine’s characteristics began to change. Acidity was elevated, minerality accentuated. White wines became crisp and refreshing. Red wines became thinner and structured. Drinking wine all of a sudden became part of an all encompassing process–something not having to go out of the way for–something not the center of attention and within only a couple of years, over two thirds of the world wine production transformed into a second thought. Something called terroir became primary and huge distribution entities that bribed, leveraged, and coerced their profits via legislation and bullying disintegrated… the first domino to tilt over, initiating the demise of all megalithic corporate control of the human race. Health care became readily available to all. The average age expectancy surged beyond the age of 124. The common cold was cured.

All this because some fearless visionary hero long ago took a nibble with a sip.

 

bookclub at dusk…

The ladies are in the loft, wascally wenches I want to say… but I won’t. They have their book of choice to discuss, dissect, and delve layer upon layer upon but I’m not hearing much in the way of book references concerning critique or review. I hear wascally wench noises though and I would suppose the wine is causing the conversation to drift. They have handmade salami and cheeses and the such and they are dousing them with a Jo Pithon Anjou Cab Franc. They have an old vine Macabeo. They soon may have something else that envokes the giggles. I’ll stay down here beneath the loft and take notes. That is what this is all about… notes.

 

 

6th Annual Pinot Gris/Grigio Corn Dog tasting.

Yes, it’s that time of year again when the daffodils are falling to the wayside, making room for tulip heaven… and corn dogs.

The Libation Station 6th(?) Annual Corn Dog / Pinot Gris / Grigio tasting

will commence on:

Saturday April 16th… all day.

Bring into the shop one or more corn dogs obtained from your preferred vendor of choice at the Tulip Festival Street Fair and get 4-free tastings of the Pinot Gris /Grigio’s of our choice.  All other wannabe sippers without corn dogs will be assessed a $5 no corn dog fee. The pours are the same and still well worth it.

Correct Corn Dog

Just in case one needs reminded:

Incorrect Corn Dog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taste the difference. You’ll never be able to accept street fair food the same again.

Don’t forget the yellow mustard.

 

test

Yes… this is a test

 

 

MM

It’s Manhattan Monday. That doesn’t mean there’s any sort of salute to Manhattanites or communal reverberations toward the Wall Street set. It means 1.5 jiggers of Bulleit Bourbon, one shot of Dolin Rouge vermouth and a dribble of orange bitters. Stirred and not shaken over ice and drizzled into an apropos martini vestibule. Plop some Dolin and sugar soaked cherries in if desired.

We used to use rye but good rye is expense and besides, we have 3.5 liters of Bulleit in the cabinet… Thank you Arizona Liquor Board.

All other Arizona agencies tho can bite it.

 

changes…

There is one basic mantra (okay, maybe several), but this one rings resonant with my particular frequency more than most:

We can be bought, but not bored.

Well, I am full blown bat shit crazy bored and things must change for the sake of all within physical and virtual reach of this most recent metaphorical reincarnation–me as a live wire looking to attach to ground. It’s not that I don’t have enough to do or need more filler on my plate. The problem is the quality of all the maniacal incidentals are rapidly becoming devoid of acceptable levels of inspiration.

I had hoped as did many that the State of Washington would have let loose of their grasp of the liquor monopoly they currently enjoy and open more possibilities for allowing Libation Station to really embrace all that is and can be libated from educational to retail to special event standpoints. There is another attempt via the ballot box circulating its way through the system to privatize liquor, but my hopes are not running too high for that to actually happen. This bizarre love / hate relationship the State has nurtured between the prohibitionists and revenue generators over the decades has not only been brilliant but basically bulletproof. My fingers are still crossed for a breakthrough at the ballot box though I’m not holding my breath.

Anyway, while our goal is still to maintain a physical brick and mortar presence, a sense of place, I’m looking more toward adjusting our focus within the virtual world, but NOT as an on-line retailer. As this blog references the chronicling of such wine shop antics; how we roll or don’t, I will continue to post little blurbs such as this as things unfold. I still want to maintain our wine retail license because access to all that great juice gracing our doorstep is still a driving force for my particular happiness factor. But we are at a point where a melding-like merger-esque transforming manifestation in a transcending way is, and organic by nature, a necessity. We are drawn to growing potentials of various localities. We like cross-pollination. We adore the overuse of the word “sustainable”. We may promote a revolution or two in the process. We might dis some standards along the way.

Part of the fun though will be wading into the murky processes to see what plays and what doesn’t. That’s the great thing about the virtual world–the immediacy of real-time statistical analysis, and by the looks of the decreased traffic on the sidewalks and the consistent increased hits on this blog and activity on Facebook and Twitter, this direction is a reasonable shift for now.

Stay tuned. This could get interesting… or not.

r