BESO DE VINO (2009)—Worth drinking but not saving

Get this, my fellow inebriates: My parents are so disorganized that they actually had to call the movers and ask them to come a day later. Luckily they picked an odd time of month to move, or we’d have been S.O.L.

Why could they not get their shit together in time? What is wrong with them?

In addition to being video-game addicts and procrastinators, over the last six years I’ve come to suspect they possess a gene or gene combination responsible for hoarding behaviour. Tell me, who has 14 non-working stereos? Who hangs on to books that are embarrassing (The Yeast Syndrome, How to Write Erotica)? Who has just been forced to work backwards through four years of unopened mail?

There is indeed a genetic marker associated with hoarding, located on chromosome 14. Hoarding is a subtype of OCD that tends to run in families. But my parents can’t blame any familial line for their propensities, although you don’t have to delve too far into the family tree to find moderate insanity (and—as summer’s open windows bear our conversations aloft—our neighbours probably suspect my mother of another chromosome-14 disorder, Tourette’s).

In all likelihood my parents are just disorganized, which might explain why, without managing to pack all the stuff we’re not using, they’ve packed our few meager alcoholic items along with all the wine glasses. They won’t find that stuff for days, even weeks, which leaves us without glassware to christen the new LBHQ. Hell, it leaves us without glassware when we feel overwhelmed and desperate later today. And it means no one will be buying new wine until we find the glasses—OMG!

In fact, we’re all caught up on wine reviews, except for one bottle.

Wine Advocate gave BESO DE VINO (2009) 90 points, a too-good-to-be-true score for a $13 wine. Not that we haven’t had awesome $13 wines, and for all we know, reviewer Jay Miller was taking into consideration the low price. But this ain’t no 90-point wine.

Antonio the Bull, amorous animal with low-swinging balls, is the frontman for this Spanish Syrah/Garnacha blend. Usually my mum knows better than to purchase wines whose labels feature livestock, but  the pricetag talked her into it—especially since it had a blue-and-black label rather than a yellow-and-red one (avoid!). BESO DE VINO seemed safe, and we’ve been having good luck with Spanish wines lately, so she plunked down the $13.

It’s hard not to like this goofy little bull and his mondo testicles, but you can’t rely on his tasting notes. Sure, the wine is a lush and opaque purple, but it doesn’t serve up the promised aromas of “roasted coffee, baked berry, chocolate covered espresso bean…” It serves up a grape-juice fragrance—pleasant, fruity, and full, but juvenile somehow, even though I couldn’t detect any nuts. Now, maybe we were primed for an impression of immaturity by the bull’s jouncing teabags, but honestly, there isn’t much on the nose.

Does Antonio realize bulls don’t often live past 15 years old?

On the palate BESO DE VINO comes through with full-bodied dark fruit and a generous mouthfeel along with some modest tannins, but it still suggests a kid’s juice box rather than the Reidel glasses we’ve prematurely stowed. Although I could pick out some of the suggested coffee notes, some earthiness, and some spice, BESO DE VINO isn’t much more than a half-decent table wine. It would taste just fine, for instance, with some cheese strings or Lunchables.

Still, you can’t argue with $13, and there’s nothing offensive about BESO DE VINO, except maybe Antonio the Bull’s dangling yarbles. It’s worth drinking once, but not worth hoarding a supply (really, parents).

What’s in your drawers?

Only when my mum started packing for the LBHQ move did I learn about all these tools, wedged into various drawers and whatnot. Everybody probably has a similar collection.

They really don’t get enough use. Owing to my parents’ grievously small beer-appreciation range, not a lot of specialty beers cross our threshold. Beers that do gain admittance to the LBHQ fridge invariably surrender to a twist-off action and/or one particular bottle opener.

I like these tools because they represent the only realistic chance for me to have a party when my parents go out. Ideally, though, I’d like one mounted against the wall, about eight inches off the floor.

How do you get your bottles open? And what about the bears in your house—how do they do it?

HOYNE SUMMER HAZE HONEY HEFEWEIZEN—Too mellow for hooliganism

If I were a 100-meter sprinter (LOL), I’d want my name to be Usain Bolt. I mean, bolt, people. What a fantastic handle. And today the dude broke an Olympic record to win the final.

But who knew some guy would throw a beer bottle on the track just before Bolt bolted to victory? Seconds before the starting gun, a man hurled some verbal abuse followed by a beer bottle, prompting his immediate arrest. Bolt was so focused on his 9.63-second sprint that he didn’t even notice the bottle.

American Justin Gatlin did notice the distraction, even though he achieved a personal best of 9.79 seconds. Perhaps the beer bottle helped?

I think beer bottles always help, with everything, particularly when they contain a yummy hefeweizen like HOYNE SUMMER HAZE HONEY HEFEWEIZEN. I doubt this is what hit the track field in London (what sort of macro beer would an Olympics hooligan toss…anyone?). Hailing from Victoria, BC, brewmaster Sean Hoyne can probably rest assured he had no influence, even lepidopterally, on the 100-meter outcome, but he does brew one wicked wheat beer.

And that’s a big statement at LBHQ, where we’ve been disappointed by many a hefeweizen, mostly because they tend toward citrus, banana, or just general weirdness. SUMMER HAZE avoids these pitfalls by balancing the expected wheaty lightness with that delicious honey that we bears go apeshit for. Prefacing this lingering sweetness is a crisp and malty aroma. Nicely balanced, SUMMER HAZE hits the tongue with an enveloping maltiness, dramatically contradicting the sharp expectations I had for it. Mid-palate the honey redoubles satisfyingly and holds into a marvelous finish. Ahhh!!

We can thank Christine (once again) for SUMMER HAZE. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I think she brought it over because bears like honey, and I certainly loved this slightly cloudy, mildly hopped brew. Unlike an IPA, this beer couldn’t possibly make you angry or ornery; it’s too docile and friendly. You wouldn’t, for example, chuck it on an Olympic track just behind the soon-to-be gold medallist who’s about to school everyone on sprinting. And he wouldn’t even notice anyway.

There’s a time and a place for hooliganism, my fellow inebriates: my house, after we move on Wednesday. We’ll take the door off its hinges and you can hurl bottles everywhere. You can wreck the place.