Yesterday I was perusing the fine wines at the grocery store, and made a new discovery:
Naturally, I had to get it. How can you turn down ecologically friendly French rabbit wine?
That evening the Spousal Unit, who is actually something of a connoisseur, spied my purchase.
“What is this?” he asked, appalled.
“Wine in a box!”
“Good wine is not delivered in cardboard!”
“I never said it was good wine.”
He’s the one who gets the good wine. He buys fruity, delicate reds from Sonoma and rich, heady cabernets from Chile. I get stuff like Woot Cellars’ Polyphemus, a polyglot spirit with a picture of a green, one-eyed monster on the label and comic-book font exhortations describing it. (On the back, the monster was drinking wine with his pinky in the air.) I immediately started calling it the “Comic Book Wine.” We took it with us to a friend’s Halloween party. It seemed appropos.
He makes informed choices based on the region the grapes were from and the reputation of the winery. I buy the ones with interesting names like “Fat Bastard,” or pictures of animals on the label.
Generally we have his wines for special occasions, and mine are just for evenings when we want to sit on the back porch and chat over wine and snacks.
But for the record, the Polyphemus was actually quite good.
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