But...Where's the Wood?

: I want a glass of wine, but I don't know any of these.

Me: What do you normally like to drink, even though I know you are going to say "Oaky Cab Sauvs"?

: Oaky Cab Sauvs.

Me:




: ...


Me: We don't have one of those. But try this (pouring a taste of Carneros Pinot Noir and a Valpolicella Ripasso). The first one has the style you want, but the second has the weight.



: Hmmm...um...uhn...

Me: Okay, try this. I normally don't go in for Mendoza Malbec, but this one is really balanced. It won't be oaky but it is stylistically and weight-wise the closest thing you're going to get to what you normally like. And hey, why not try something new?

: Hunh....mmmm....ssssooo confuuuused....must...have...oak!

Me: Or let's do something totally different but that you'll love: a Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. It's like cocoa-dusted raspberries and—

: Raspberries?!?! In WINE?!

: You do know wine is made from grapes, right?



: I'd never think of raspberries and wine...or cocoa...and WINE?

Me: There's a lot of fruit to smell in wine when there isn't a whole forest of oak to mask it.

: But oaky wines are always the most expensive.

Me: Yes! You've hit upon something that's very controversial in the wine industry. It's the effort on the part of winemakers to please Robert Parker and his peers, a bizarre oligarchy of mouths that only respond to oak, plum, coffee, chocolate, smoke, and—provided there's enough of the stuff I just mentioned—tobacco. So any wine forcibly made to taste like these things get higher points and higher prices.

: (Pointing to a funky, poopy-licious biodynamic Rhône Syrah on the menu). I'll just have the Syrah. Is that like a Shiraz?


: Yes. Yes it is.

And Please Don't Do This, Either

There's this new one I get all the time, and - surprise! - it really pisses me off.
It's this: How come you know so much about wine?

I get this from probably 1-2 guests per night, or 4-6 per week. It's like a UTI that just won't clear up. You start to feel relaxed again, the wincing pain in the vajayzer has begun to subside and then - WHAMMO. How come you know so much about wine?

Lists calm me down, so here's a list of Reasons This Makes Me Crazy:

1) I don't know so much about wine. You just know that little. And that's okay, but what you are implying by How Come...? is that I shouldn't know something you don't, OR that wine is a subject upon which you think you should be an expert, and therefore, it's bewildering that you aren't, even though you read Wine Spectator in your podiatrist's office.

2) Because it's my job, dumbass. What do you do for a living? Well gosh, I hope you know some shit about it.

3) Because I give a care. I realize that in this town, most servers are stoned, hungover, or between 12-step meetings, but I do it because I stupidly believe in the restaurant I work for, and I stupidly believe I can change someone's life by getting them to drink Lagrein from Alto Adige instead of California Merlot. Stupid stupid stupid.

4) If you walk into a nice-looking restaurant with a "challenging" menu that changes daily and a wine list full of names you've never heard of, chances are, you're not at a fucking Burger King. Are you really surprised that the server knows "so much about wine"? How about the fact that they know the steak is dry-aged, the difference between a rabbit rillette and rabbit confit, and where the oysters are from? Is that shocking to you?

5) Oh yeah, stop asking me "REAL RABBIT?" as if that's the craziest thing you've ever heard of. Well, it probably is if you eat at Burger King all the time.

6) Every single person who asks me why I know so much about wine totally ignores my advice anyway. Then they ask me a series of even dumber questions designed to give them a chance to participate, like "What's your favorite? Mine's La Crema;" or "I bet you're a red girl, huh?" Shut up and drink what I told you to get and let's have a conversation about that instead. It's going to be much more interesting than whatever brilliant gem you gleaned from the latest mid-rate freelancer's article in GQ.
<-- Is totes down with Lagrein. "It's so plummy but not overly extracted, and the long, lean, herbal finish is tits!"

The long story is: I "know so much about wine" because I have an obsessive-compulsive attraction to things that can be classified. I also have been with a sommelier for the last 4 years who is a walking encyclopedia of wine, so I made him teach me everything he knows. But I did all this because I love to learn and because I use it in my profession, and want one to benefit from the other. And if you're going to do anything - stuff envelopes, catch fish, sell wine, make wine - go big or go home.

So quit asking me stupid questions, dispense with your weird hang ups and insecurity issues and drink the "weird" Lagrein. You'll thank me one day.

I Make Don Draper Cry

Me: Hey Don Draper, why so sad?

: You made fun of me for drinking oaky Chardonnay, not knowing that rosé wasn't sweet, leaving bad tips, and asking for my fish to be filleted.

Me: Yeah, well, those things are fucking irritating. And they do make you look like a big idiot to the people you're trying to impress who know more about food and wine than you do.

: BUT NO ONE SHOULD KNOW MORE ABOUT WINE AND FOOD THAN ME!!

Me: It's "I." And yes they should. Do you go to your mechanic and sound like a know-it-all? Wait, nevermind. Of course you do. And your doctor? Probably that, too.

: Well, I just don't want service people taking advantage of me because they know stuff I don't.

Me: So you would prefer professionals whose expertise you seek to NOT have more expertise than you?

: Yes. That's why I believe in a god that couldn't possibly be smart enough to come up with evolution and hate uppity intellectuals who went to college and think they know how to run the country.

Me: Surely there's some stuff you know that I don't.

: ....

Me: You're right. That was ridiculous. And motherfucker, you're good-looking.

Sweet Berry Wine!

Today in Thanks Yelp A**hole, Next Time I'll Just Ask My Dog:

"The wine was light and had a strong fruit/berry flavor."

This might be a good time to revisit John C. Reilly's best work ever ever!

Here, try this. It's the same fucking thing you drink every night.

Me: Can I help you with the wine list at all?

: I'm just trying to find a wine.

Me: Red or white?

: WHITE! I NEVER drink red. Ech. I want something that's not dry but not sweet but I don't like a lot of oak... And no Pinot Grigio.

Me: I'll let you in on a little secret. "Dry" is the most useless word to people selling you wine. It means something completely different to everyone. Let's try this instead: I'll pour you a taste and you tell me where to go from there. (Pouring William Fevre 2008 Chablis without her seeing the label).

: Hmmm. Hmmm. (Hands it to boyfriend, unable to form a conclusion on her own.) What do you think?

(Shrugs)

: It's too... too...

Me: Is the acid too high? Do you want something creamier or more mouth-filling?

: Um, not CREAMY. But not, I don't know, what was that word you used?

Me: Never mind. Here try this. (Pouring a slightly honeyed, softer Soave.)

: Woah, this is SWEET.

Me: OK. How's the feel on the tongue, though? Is that level of acid good for you?

: Nnnnnh. Mmmm. Emmmm. Uhhhh.

Me: Do you like Sauvignon Blanc?

: NO! I HATE SAUVIGNON BLANC!

Me: Okay, I think this is our winner then. (pouring a taste of Pinot Grigio. Scarpetto, which is truly decent)

: Mmm! That's PERFECT! What is it?








Me: Pinot Grigio.

: Dang it! I keep trying to drink something besides Pinot Grigio, but I can't seem to get away from it!

Me:

From Cosmo to Chablis in 60 seconds

"I'll have a cosmo," said the woman I waited on last night. We only have a beer and wine list, and I told her so.
"If you were in the mood for a cosmo, I'd suggest one of our rosés. We have several by the glass, and some have this great red fruitiness that--"
"NO," she waved her hands around. "I don't want sweet." Said the woman who asked for a cosmo.

I explained that rosés aren't sweet, that she's thinking of spending her teenage years parked outside a DQ with a 40-oz. styro of Boone's Farm warming up on the dashboard. Well, I didn't say so in as many words.

Dumbass.

I brought her a taste anyway, of Chateau d'Oupia, a wonderful Languedoc rosé with a coy strawberry smile and creamy little tongue. A whisper of granite on the finish gives it elegance and beauty, keeps it from being too slutty.

"Nah," said the woman. "I think I'll just have this Chablis." A Chablis that's like licking an oyster shell dipped in lime juice.

You know, I give up listening to people tell me what the fuck they want. They don't even know.

People Love Themselves on Yelp, the coda

I'm back to reviewing restaurants regularly while also maintaining my pink-collar loyalties a few nights a week (the subject of an essay I will work on right after my graphic novel about the customers who have sucked most—enter now for a chance to win a guest appearance!—and my memoir about trauma and tragedy, affectionately called "The Dead Mom Opus").

Couple that with my freelance work on a wine website, and you have three—hahaha, three!—jobs to help me barely get by while trying to buy things like wedding rings and little stringy white lights.

Ah Ah Ah! You're getting married in a recession, Dumbass!

That also means I'm back to perusing Yelp boards to try and understand the opposing points of view, or at least the popular conception of a restaurant I am writing up, having lost the faint scent of anyone there who even remotely knows what they're talking about (by now they've all ejected and started their own blogs - so have plenty of people who know absolutely nothing).

Thus resumes my frequent venting about Yelp (and other hyper-democratized online reviews) so that I don't grind my teeth into powder and say "I Do" with one eye twitching madly.

Here's a great kick-off:

• Authentic! <--remember this for later
  I was delighted by how wonderful and fresh this new Latin restaurant was.
  
  My Bistec and Carnitas tacos were amazingly flavorful if not a bit small for liking. The Spinach Salad with Jicama, mandarin oranges, walnuts , queso fresco and a light vinaigrette were such a surprise and contradiction to the standard ICEBERG and GUACAMOLE salad at most Latin restaurants...
  

There's so much wrong with this clutch of words that I can't even ridicule it. Not without Photoshop. Let's see what I can do with Snagit Beta in thirty seconds...I do have three jobs, after all.

Clicky:

Please send Photoshop, ASAP.