CALONA VINEYARDS ARTIST SERIES SOVEREIGN OPAL (2010)—Delightful, even if it fails to get the Tooth Fairy sufficiently drunk to work up the courage to get the damn tooth

Impatient for more tooth-fairy funding, Miss P yanked a lateral incisor out this evening, fascinating Miss V and grossing me out with the bloody artifact.

She’s not supposed to do these things while Dad’s away in Ontario.

First of all, he’s missing a milestone.

Second, my mum is totally chickenshit about getting the tooth out from under the pillow. She’s so worried about waking P up that she’s too timid to do it; she usually gets Dad to do it unless P’s lying conveniently off her pillow.

You can't handle the tooth

Which she wasn’t tonight. Squarely over the incisor, P lay in a sweaty sleep, looking insufficiently comatose for the would-be tooth fairy’s liking. Mum managed to deposit the Tooth Fairy Water (diaphanous red this time) and slid three bucks under P’s pillow, at which point P shifted and opened her eyes—seeing nothing, we hope, but actually looking kind of creepy. So Mum beat it out of her room, toothless and defeated. Tomorrow P will find money AND a her bloodied tooth—and wonder what the hell is going on with the tooth fairy.

The tooth fairy wasn’t even drunk. Yes, we had one glass of CALONA VINEYARDS ARTIST SERIES SOVEREIGN OPAL (2010) while waiting for P to drop off to sleep, but at 11% alcohol it wasn’t going to compromise the mission. It did, however, wow us with some delightfully delicate floral aromas and unexpected complexity. If you’ve never heard of the Sovereign Opal grape, it’s because it was engineered by Agriculture Canada to thrive specifically in BC’s Okanagan Valley. A cross between Maréchal Foch and Golden Muscat, the grape takes robustness from the former and personality from the latter.

2010-calona-vineyards-artist-series-sovereign-opal-20110605115731-314238For $12.99 I wouldn’t have expected this wine to offer so much nuance: juicy citrus notes, rose petals, honeydew melon, and pear strike the palate pleasingly, with the slightest hint of almond in the background. Medium-bodied and off-dry, the stuff is crazy yummy, especially for the price, and those fantastic fruit harmonies haunt the palate lingeringly. SOVEREIGN OPAL overdelivers and then some, unlike the parsimonious tooth fairy who can’t wrap her head around paying more than three bucks for a tooth that P ripped out of her head in one agonizing, blood-spurting effort.

Moreover, the tooth fairy can’t get her shit together to go back into the kids’ room and somehow retrieve the tooth. See, that’s what she’d make Dad do if he weren’t on a business trip right now. Dad isn’t a pussy about making noise or rearranging the kids and their covers once they’re asleep. He doesn’t freak out when they stir and half-open their eyes in that Exorcist way. My mum sucks at being the tooth fairy.

But my dad sucks too, because he’s emailing photos like this one.

 Stag's Leap

We were pretty happy with our $13 bottle of wine, and here’s dad sending pics of a $37 bottle bought by some suck-up supplier. Not that we begrudge him…it’s freaking cold in Ontario and he deserves a little happiness. It’s just that we really needed him to be the tooth fairy and get that tooth.

ASTROLIQUOR for March 1–6—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, an insurance issue will require your full attention. Make sure you read the small print—preferably before you go on a Yellow Chartreuse bender. In any case, your coverage will probably screw you over, leaving you to wonder why you bothered buying insurance at all. The good news is it doesn’t involve driving and/or your car. Give yourself a pat on the back for confining your drinking to your home and public transit. Take the money you’ve been wasting on premiums and buy a present for a Scorpio. Maybe a bottle of Yellow Chartreuse.

Taurus, you’re brooding over old issues. Colleagues wonder why you haven’t gotten over ancient slights, but Taurus personalities are excellent at balling up those hostile emotions until they explode. Release them before you go critical. Remember: booze will free you of your inhibitions. Use anything…cognac, Cointreau, Yellow Chartreuse… Are you drunk yet? Good. Now go talk to your boss.

You think you know yourself so well, Gemini, but others actually know you better. In fact, you can’t even remember the last five years. You’ve been awash the whole time in Southern Comfort. Little do you know, your consciousness is about to explode, providing new insights between now and May. You’ll also experience some diarrhea.

Cancer, you’ll start a drunken fight at work this week. You can’t help it; your colleagues are idiots who refuse to do their jobs. Privately you’ll feel ashamed for your outburst, but then you’ll gradually start to like your new bad-ass self. You’ll rationalize your nutbag workplace freakouts and bolster them with a flask of gin. Have a cardboard box ready.

Leo, pay more attention to your family. Don’t just listen to them; try to understand what makes them tick. What weird-ass genes influence them? What crazy relatives brought them up? Meanwhile you’ll find yourself in the doghouse with a significant other; it seems your inability to function without a headful of Bacardi 151 is a relationship dealbreaker. Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone new at the liquor store in April.

Virgo, your month is outstripping your paycheque and causing you big financial worries. Consider getting rid of your car. You never drive it anyway because you are always pissed on Malibu. You could buy discount rotting fruit and vegetables to save a few coins, or maybe even give up solid foods altogether. Or you could just wait for a raise. The stars say “maybe.”

Stop mailing your hate letters immediately, Libra. The “send” button is far too tempting for you, and you’re dissing people who are much smarter (and probably more sober) than you. If you, for instance, email the stupidest inbox in the blogosphere, you will get skewered. It’s okay to have an opinion, but try not to formulate it after marinating your neurons in vodka, whisky, gin, and a dash of tabasco sauce. That shit’ll make you mean.

The stars may be messing with you, Scorpio, but they’re suggesting you make an elaborate dinner for friends. They’ll be surprised at what a gourmand you are, and a flirtation may even ensue with a Leo or Pisces. The resultant public display of affection will probably appall your guests and scare them off, but for your superbly stocked bar. White rum, dark rum, and elderflower cordial? You’ve got it going on. And now you’ve got an orgy in your dining room.

Sagittarius, you’re hurting financially. You made some serious dents with your ATM card back in December, and you can’t even remember what you purchased. That’s what happens when you go shopping during a drunken blackout. Who knows what you bought—check and see if there’s a Prada purse under your bed. Better yet, see what’s in your bar. Let’s hope you stocked up on Tia Maria and Amaretto.

You don’t have any spare cash, Capricorn, but who cares? You’re feeling down and your house could use some new furniture. Your partner will be so surprised to see a new living room suite and a zero balance. Smooth over any arguments with this yummy drink:

  • 1 cup vodka
  • 1/2 cup cranberry juice
  • 1/2 cup mango juice
  • 1/2 cup orange juice
  • 1 cup ice cream

Blend it all up with ice…unless you have to sell the blender.

Aquarius, it’s time to take someone to dinner—maybe an old friend, maybe someone you meet in the brandy aisle at the liquor store. You’ll hit it off in a big way and end up naked. The next morning while you’re lounging around in an ill-fitting thong with your new friend, Jehovah’s Witnesses will come to your door. Invite them in. You must have some brandy left, and the conversation will be fun.

Pisces, you have a very deviant sex life, but it’s not satisfying you these days. Could you be looking for true love? The stars have lots of options for you (Capricorn, Pisces, Cancer), but they’re not all into your kinks. They don’t like that bit involving peanut butter and the dog, and they draw the line at letting your relatives watch. Cheer up, you can still pour the Hypnotiq, Malibu, and vodka, and there’ll be no hard feelings.

PETER LEHMANN BAROSSA BRUNETTE (2008)—Don’t be a tool

My Fellow Inebriates,

Sixteen bucks in our local booze shop and we had ourselves a bottle of PETER LEHMANN BAROSSA BRUNETTE (2008). We’d had some luck with Peter Lehmann wines before, mostly because they’re competently made and easy to drink, and we held this one to the same expectations. How did it measure up?

peter lehmann barossa brunetteIn fairness to Peter Lehmann, his BAROSSA BRUNETTE was upstaged by an Argentine Malbec we enjoyed immediately before it (review to follow). Although we have friends who would debate this, the LBHQ policy is to have the lesser wine first, moving from good to better (we can’t afford “best”). It’s very pleasant to savor one wine only to have it topped by another. This way you get to enjoy both wines—the first in ignorance of the second. If you have the better wine first, whatever follows is going to seem like relative crap.

Well, yes and no. Sometimes it’s just a shock to the palate. Sometimes that second wine isn’t necessarily lesser—just different. You have to let those taste buds shift gears and adjust. If the second wine is decent, this usually occurs within one glass. However, if the wine is relative crap, you end up bitching about it until it’s gone, wishing it were like the first.

This may have been what happened with PETER LEHMANN BAROSSA BRUNETTE. Following a Malbec that overdelivered with complexity and ripe fruit, the Lehmann offering came across as one-notish, industrial swill. Which probably wasn’t a fair judgment. So let’s address it on its own merits.

To do this we have to dismiss our impressions of the first glass. All of us (bears, parents, our friend R) were getting pleasantly pissed when we opened the BAROSSA BRUNETTE. Almost pissed enough to enter the basement for Guitar Hero embarrassment.

We will ignore the first glass. A Guitar Hero interval…

Just what we needed to absorb the first wine. The second glass is fair game.

Okay, so LBHQ (and guest) impressions were as follows:

Dad:

Barnyardy…one-notish…mass-production…couldn’t get past the barnyard note

R:

Industrial/standard…thin…turpentine/petroleum…ish. Didn’t really quite work…

Mum:

Mass-market swill but not objectionable; I’m having more.

Me:

You guys really don’t have to finish it; I’ll take care of it.

The stuff is pretty standard and typical for its price range—certainly not a “find.” A 75:25 blend of Grenache and Shiraz and ringing in at 14.5% alcohol, BAROSSA BRUNETTE is earthy and dry with unexpectedly assertive tannins yet a surprisingly short finish. As much as we’ve been happy with previous Peter Lehmann buys, this one reeks of mass production and even has the sense of being constituted of leftovers. As R said, it doesn’t really quite work.

But there our criticism ended. We had alcohol to ingest and “Bulls on Parade” cued up. My dad kicked my mum’s ass; she is really never going to improve at Guitar Hero, but at least she has thumbs and can make the attempt. Between songs we dissed Peter Lehmann’s marketing team for the following ad copy about Peter Lehmann, the man himself:

Peter Lehmann logo

This wine is a testament to the man and his bravery to dream.

Even when you write your marketing copy in the third person, everyone who reads it knows you signed off on it. Or at least you should have, especially if you’re saying your product is representative of you and your bravery to dream.

I’d like to believe Peter Lehmann himself is blissfully unaware of the douchebag copywriting being done on his behalf. After all, the guy is 82 years old. If I were 82 I’d be hanging by the pool, and if I owned a vineyard I’d be wrecked all the time—too wrecked to care what anybody wrote about me.

Let’s hope that’s the case. But for any of you out there, let’s just say: Even if you write your ad copy in the third person, everyone who reads it suspects you signed off on it. So if you say you’re a “gifted innovator,” a “visionary,” or a “thought leader,” we generally read it as “dickhead.”

Note to anyone with a marketing bio: It wouldn’t hurt to self-deprecate a bit. Your work stands as its own testament, does it not? Don’t be a tool.