cabernet sauvignon

YALUMBA “THE CIGAR” CABERNET SAUVIGNON (2009)—Probably good with bunny

My Fellow Inebriates,

The greenspace near our townhouse is teeming with baby bunnies. On the way to school the kids look out for these distant relatives of the Easter Bunny, hoping to catch a glimpse through the blackberry bushes.

If you pay attention, you can see the occasional cottontail bouncing along, but almost as often you can see them eviscerated by the path. With apologies to my friend Violet, bunnies are some of the dumbest animals that ever lived—they just don’t know how to avoid cats and coyotes. Nor do they look both ways when they cross the road, which means my parents sometimes have to stage a diversion on the way to school so the kids don’t get an eyeful of leporine gore. “Check out those dandelions!” my mum said, for example, while passing a fur-and-blood pancake on 66 Avenue being sampled by a dog whose oblivious owner apparently didn’t mind her animal venturing into traffic.

Sorry, Violet

If bunnies were a little smarter, the Easter Bunny wouldn’t have to do everything each year. He could delegate, the way Santa does, sitting on his ass all year exploiting the elves until his big night. But bunnies are not so bright.

Which is why I haven’t bothered to bug the Easter Bunny for anything. I mean, does the Easter Bunny even have a postal code? I can hit Santa up at H0H 0H0, but where the hell do I send my Easter list? And does the Easter Bunny even care whether I’ve been good or bad? Does the Easter Bunny keep track? Because I get the sense that bunnies are about as smart as a sack of doorknobs.

For instance, when my mum suggested to the kids that they write the Easter Bunny a letter, Miss P said, “Nah, he doesn’t know how to read; he’s a bunny.” It made perfect sense to her that, despite the daunting logistics of delivering eggs to the world’s children, despite the cleverness and stealth required to get them inside houses protected by Alarm Force, and despite his enormous commitment to inducing a global diabetic coma, the Easter Bunny cannot read.

This is precisely the sort of epistemological compartmentalization at which our Fraser Valley demographic excels, which is to say that if we ever let Miss P get into the wrong hands we may find her embracing Noah’s Ark while remarking that the biomass of all known insects on the planet—two of each—would exceed the capacity of the Titanic, and happily allowing the two ideas to coexist.

But who wants to mess with magic? The Easter Bunny is undoubtedly a magical creature—a creature whose activities cannot be specifically disproven. So I thought I’d make a list for him, just in case he’s literate enough to Google his name and read it:

You have to hedge your bets, right?

Or not.

But were we right to shield the kids from the sight of roadkill? They’ve seen lots of dead birds and insects before. Miss V once used a magnifying glass to bash the shit out of a snail at pre-K while the teacher wasn’t looking. They eat animals from time to time… just not car-flattened ones. But there’s something so cute about bunnies…my mum didn’t want them to see a dead one.

For those who don’t mind the sight of a dead bunny—especially one that’s been dealt a glancing blow off the car hood and isn’t flat—why not scoop that dead little critter up? Take it home and make a stew. Wild animals have a favorable nutritional profile: high protein and low fat. And roadkill is free, which means you don’t have to yank out your debit card at Walmart; you just need a good recipe book and an open mind.

Ahhh, you solid food eaters, you have it made if you live in a neighborhood full of stupid bunnies who can’t get to the other side of the road.

Not being a solids fan myself, I’ll leave that to you all. But I have a wine pairing suggestion: YALUMBA MENZIES “THE CIGAR” CABERNET SAUVIGNON (2009). Coonawarra residents refer to the uniquely shaped  strip of terra rossa soil that is home to some of Australia’s most famous vineyards as “the Cigar.” The Menzies Vineyard, founded in 1987, is part of this region and enjoys rich, red soil, limestone, pure artesian water, and a long, cool ripening season.

You may think I’m going to trash THE CIGAR as an offensive accompaniment to possum stew, but I only mention it in connection with roadkill because of the wild kangaroos that pose a driving hazard in Australia, accounting for 71% of animal-related insurance claims (eight times as many as dogs and 14 times as many as wombats). Kangaroos, who are obviously as cognizant of traffic safety as rabbits, pose a serious nuisance—enough to warrant “roo bars” on vehicles driving in the bush. They are well known for wandering onto the road and into a high-protein, low-fat stew.

The reason for "roo bars" on vehicles

While you may have qualms about scraping a rabbit off 66 Avenue and cooking it up, a kangaroo is a much more worthy feast, although, in the hot Australian climate and with all sorts of competing predators, you probably want to harvest the roo from the road while it’s going toward the light and not too long after.

You need wine with depth and earthiness to stand up to wild game, the euphemism you’d probably use if serving roadkill to dinner guests. THE CIGAR, with its distinctive forest-floor earthiness, bursting blackcurrant and tobacco notes, would pair very well with game. It is delightfully balanced with plenty of complexity, good tannins, and a long finish.

Truthfully, I’d advise drinking THE CIGAR by itself, undistracted by other flavors. But—if the Easter Bunny has a mishap this year and ends up on your neighbor’s barbecue, this would be a good wine to show up with.

WOODBRIDGE MERLOT by ROBERT MONDAVI (2010)—You don’t have to tell me to like it

My Fellow Inebriates,

The one time I watched The Big Bang Theory I ended up cowering under the table, finally done in by its relentless laughtrack, desperate to escape the canned exhortations to roar with uncontrollable mirth at see-it-from-a-mile-away comic set-ups that warranted a snicker at best.

I wanted to like The Big Bang Theory. Several respected (if not respectable) friends had recommended it. Multiple awards commend the show. The geek/physicist characters couldn’t be more lovable in concept. The Big Bang Theory doesn’t even seem to be a guilty pleasure for its following—fans openly and wholeheartedly recommend it to friends as one of television’s rare gems.

But instead of happily joining the bandwagon I found myself cringing, paws to ears, so distracted by frantic machine-generated pseudolaughter that I could barely follow the plot. True, I was drunk, and, also true, bears have very sensitive ears. But the laughtrack problem went beyond those issues. It made me want to run away.

Thing is, I didn’t mind the show. It was kind of quirky and fun, and I could imagine getting to know the characters. But I couldn’t stand the obnoxious cues to laugh. It was like having a jackboot on my larynx—Laugh! Laugh, you piece of shit! Laugh! Don’t you know it’s funny?!

I think it was actually less funny because of the laughtrack.

There are plenty of TV shows that fly without a laughtrack: The Office, 30 Rock, Entourage, Family Guy—you name it. They use musical cues to emphasize comic timing, plus they’re funny. They’re actually funny, and you can tell because you’re not being hammered into submission by that unceasing, slider-controlled background noise.

Being told to laugh is sort of like being told by a shelf talker that a wine is worth 88 points. Only it’s a screamingly loud shelf talker that doesn’t understand you’ve already decided to buy the wine and are prepared to enjoy it—it needs to keep yelling at you that it’s great, Robert Parker swilled it for five seconds and pronounced it worthy, it’s awesome, it’s great, it’s an 88, 88, 88, 88, eighty-eight, eighty-plus-eight, four-score-and-eight…arggghhhh!

I have no idea whether Robert Parker has reviewed ROBERT MONDAVI WOODBRIDGE MERLOT (2010), but that was the wine that got me drunk the night I watched Big Bang Theory. Shared among four glasses (each of which I visited repeatedly) rather than decanted, the dark ruby merlot sheeted smoothly on the Reidel stemless ware and then formed long legs. Cherries, plums and raisins were the frontline aromas, with a subtle hint of spice.

On the tongue the merlot delivered on its dried-fruit olfactory promise, supple and juicy yet dry. Not overly tannic, the wine boasted concentrated flavors and a decent finish. It was ideal for a social occasion featuring distracting conversation and pre-K kids under the dinner table—not so complex that it demanded undivided attention, but satisfying as a table wine and a meal accompaniment for those who like to eat solids.

MONDAVI WOODBRIDGE MERLOT certainly didn’t require any cheerleading to be enjoyed. At $13.99 and 13.5% alcohol it fit the evening nicely, and hey—a shelf talker didn’t tell us to buy it. Too bad for us we followed it with a bottle of MONT GRAS SOLEUS, but even that was a windfall for me, because I got to finish what others wouldn’t.

And that’s why I was drunk for Big Bang Theory.

MONT GRAS SOLEUS Cabernet Sauvignon (2009)—Not art, but that’s okay because I HAVE art

“LB! Wake up, LB!”

It was the six-year-old. I figured she had a frilly dress ready for me—as good a reason as any to yank me out of bed. I had a crashing hangover thanks to my parents’ wine snobbery, but more on that later. I went submissively with Miss P.

She carried me to the kitchen table, on which sat an envelope, addressed to LB (!). And inside….

Yes, yes, YES! A replica of Dan Lacey’s Obama Unicorn Nude Baby Jesus Manger Christmas Card Art Painting, kindly autographed by the artist.

I am so happy.

My joy almost negates the ill-effects of drinking the lion’s share of the Chilean cab we had last night. I was excited when I saw the bottle of MONT GRAS SOLEUS Cabernet Sauvignon (2009)—every Mont Gras product I’ve tried previously has been top-notch for the price point. Organically grown grapes seemed a further plus. The Los Guindos vineyards were planted between 1998 and 1999 about 50km from Santiago and managed organically from the get-go. SOLEUS is made from 100% hand-picked organic grapes and goes for $13.99 at our local booze shop.

A lucky string of excellent sub-$15 red wine finds (reviews to come) over the holidays had perhaps jacked up my expectations, as well as those of my parents. We don’t typically let wine languish in this house, but when the SOLEUS was poured…it sat.

Why?

The color is ruby red and enticing. In the glass the wine sheets, with legs quickly forming. From three feet away it induces salivation.

Three inches’ distance is another matter. Intensely aromatic, SOLEUS has an unfortunate petrol-like topnote with chicken-coop accents. These oddities—fortunately—are caught up in a dried-fruit onslaught, a heavy abundance of ripe red berries with lashings of tobacco and vanilla. The effect is disconcerting and palate-bothering. If you can get past the initial aroma, the front sip is quite acceptable, followed by a confusing mid-palate jockeying of flavors and a borderline-offensive ending.

Which was super for me, because my parents quietly abandoned their glasses, leaving the wine for me to finish. I got freaking wasted, my fellow inebriates. I have no idea what time they carried me to the bed I share with three other bears (who were probably relieved that I was too insensate to grind up against them).

All in all it was an awesome evening. The hangover was par for the course, and it was ameliorated wonderfully today by the contemplation of art.