review

A probing review of ARC DU RHONE

My Fellow Inebriates,

Occasionally I get asked to weigh in on subjects like the Shroud of Turin, sustainable agriculture, NAFTA, Vatican II, etc., so when Emily of The Waiting mentioned colonoscopies, or rather, #colonoscopies, I promised I’d write about that topic next. You’d be amazed how many people are tweeting about this ass-invading medical procedure. Rectums are twitching, stomachs are growling, and people are talking about their conditions in succinct little <140-character offerings.

Ketchup allowed for what??!! OMG!!

If you’ve been following, you know I don’t have a hole (at least not yet), so I haven’t had the pleasure of a colonoscopy, but my parents should be hitting the right age any day, if they haven’t already, at which time we’ll certainly post graphic, personal pictures, especially of my dad.

I had no idea preparing for a colonoscopy was as involved as it is. For three days you go on clear liquids, which I read as “gin.” One day before the procedure you flush everything out with laxatives and fluids, the goal being to “clear the colon of solid matter.”

You have to get special training if you want to perform colonoscopies.

Before the endoscope goes on its dark voyage and unless you live in a non-sedating country like Norway, you might score some fentanyl and laughing gas. Depending how anaesthetized you are, you might then watch the instrument toilet-snaking its way through your anus and on to even more exotic internal locales.

Wait, you say. How big is the endoscope? I’m not sure I wish to have any sizable instruments probing my ass.

By the looks of the scopes advertised on 1800ENDOSCOPE.com, which buys and sells endoscopes, they are pretty big-ass devices with an alarming length of tubing, a worrisome nozzle-like terminus, and of course a waterproof camera.

You wouldn’t want just anybody snapping on gloves, digitally probing your sphincter, then urging that thing through the rectum into your colon. You’d want somebody with medical talent, and you’d probably want them sober. You wouldn’t want them to have just finished a bottle of ARC DU RHONE (2010). Even the bottle says to “savour responsibly”—i.e., not right before performing a colonoscopy.

Vinified from Grenache Noir, Syrah, and Carignan Noir, ARC DU RHONE is unoaked and bursts with fresh berry aromas. Soft and luscious on the palate, this wine is a gorgeous, full-bodied exemplar of southern Rhone Valley wine. Weighty and boasting a substantial 14% alcohol, ARC DU RHONE promises and delivers ripe fruit, subtle black pepper, and smooth tannins. The finish is lingering and delightful.

Unfortunately, if you are booked for a colonoscopy within the next three days, you’ll have to pass this one up. Gloriously opaque, it would probably darken your colon and mess with that little camera’s imaging.

As for your talented medic, he/she could certainly enjoy ARC DU RHONE—just not before scrubbing in. It would make a good thank-you gift if the doc is gentle (and if not, keep it for yourself).

Best of all, this bottle is only $14.99, so you won’t feel like the liquor store is ass-raping you—just your doctor.

ω

PASO CREEK ZINFANDEL (2010)—Restoring you after, if not during, that playdate

My Fellow Inebriates,

Miss P has a friend (A) over for a playdate, so we animals are mimicking that famous ET scene and playing statues. This might be overkill; at 6 years old, she and her friend would probably eschew stuffies anyway in favor of some vapid online game whose object is to “make the nerdy girl pretty.”

My mum doesn’t know how this evil game came to P’s attention, although she suspects a particular classmate, friend B—the one who introduced Justin Bieber (“Beaver”) and who wants P to join her after-school cheerleading and beauty pageantry groups. This is the reason friend A has been invited over but not (“never!”) friend B.

OMG! OMFG!!!

My parents are realizing, though, that whatever control you exert over your kids’ friend choices when they’re tiny drops precipitously with the onset of school. As soon as you start doing drop-off playdates—and unless you’re a saint you know you want to—you consign your kid for several hours at a time to the unknown. Who knows what the hell those crazy people are feeding your kid, telling your kid, asking your kid, showing your kid, saying in front of your kid…

And that, no doubt, is what friend A’s mother is asking herself after dropping her child at our messy house, with its yardful of random unidentifiables, its imposing kluge stereo which, for all she knows, could have live wires sticking out everywhere, and my mother answering the door with an apology for not having vacuumed because V won’t let her (for a month—is that even credible?). Never mind the wild bears playing statues on the bookshelves, our hairy asses blocking her from reading worrisome titles.

Ken’s not playing statues; he wants you to see his junk.

But at least we’re not drunk. True, it’s only 4:00pm, but in some households (and if I had my druthers) we’d be throwing up already. With hard-thrumming rain like today’s, a nice hearty zin like PASO CREEK (2010) would be perfect. I don’t know if friend A is used to her parents breaking out the booze immediately after school, but who knows? You just never know with playdate kids. Maybe it would make her feel at home if we pulled the cork right now. At 15% alcohol, this Zinfandel has “playdate” written all over it—or at least recovery from same.

The label features a freaky-looking little owl, the kind that can do a 360° head spin. This is a boozy wine with a bold nose. You might want to decant it to give that owl a chance to settle down, if you can delay gratification while being overcome by earthy redolence. Swish this deep garnet liquid around and you get berries, plums, and black pepper. Waiting half an hour does pay off with this wine; the flavors are deeply concentrated and need a bit of oxygen to fully strut their stuff.

By the time you finally sip PASO CREEK you may well be having conniptions, what with three little girls screaming around the house playing dress-up and this voluptuous wine seducing you from the decanter. The sip is big and robust, delivering lush berries and plums while maintaining good balance. Weighty and palate-coating, PASO CREEK has a lengthy finish, much the way little girls’ happy shrieks echo in your ears after they’ve gone to bed. It’s boozy, yummy, and worth the $18.

OLD SPECKLED HEN—For select animals

My Fellow Inebriates,

After consuming a product like HELL’S GATE GENUINE PALE ALE, a gustatory reset is in order. While our tastebuds haven’t been entirely traumatized, they are certainly casting about for respite. Thankfully my dad didn’t stock our house full of HELL’S GATE; he had the sense to limit himself to a six-pack and look around for something else just in case.

What he found was OLD SPECKLED HEN, an English nitro-can pale ale endorsed (at least on British TV) by a beer-drinking fox.

I didn’t know foxes enjoyed beer, but I suppose if slugs can enjoy it then it’s not completely absurd. Just this morning Miss V found a nasty-looking slug sliming its way across the sidewalk. She studied it for a while and poked it with a stick, then asked how we could lure slugs into our yard. My mother offered to pour some HELL’S GATE into a dish—if only V would wait until late afternoon so she (my mum) could justifiably finish the remainder. At LBHQ our tastebuds have to be pretty damn offended for us to waste beer.

It’s a good thing we have the HELL’S GATE because we certainly won’t be pouring any OLD SPECKLED HEN for the slugs. Lovely clear amber with a well-behaved light beige head, this ale exudes malty complexity: fragrant honey, toffee, and unplaceable herbs. Despite these sweet notes it’s smooth and well-balanced with a satisfyingly bitter finish.

The only mistake in going from HELL’S GATE to OLD SPECKLED HEN is the expectation of fizz the former sets up. HELL’S GATE demands a Pop Rocks–type distraction to acquit itself, but OLD SPECKLED HEN is nitro-carbonated, which makes for fewer fireworks on the palate and a much more transparent presentation of the goods. What you taste is what you get, and with an ale as sophisticated as this one, extreme carbonation would get in the way. Of course Canadian beer is mostly uber-carbonated, so we tend to expect and even long for some snappiness. It might take you two or even several nitro cans to divorce yourself from fizzy expectations and appreciate OLD SPECKLED HEN’s moderately carbonated charm (i.e., Dad, you should have bought more).

Of course you probably know all this, my fellow inebriates. You know there’s a time and place for punk-ass items like HELL’S GATE, whereas OLD SPECKLED HEN belongs in book-lined drawing rooms, leathery English pubs, and the headquarters of blogging bears.

Thus there won’t be any beer challenge weigh-in from slugs, because they’re getting nothing but HELL’S GATE. Poor gastropods—who knows what V has planned for them. No sense in getting their hopes up with OLD SPECKLED HEN. They’d just think it was some sort of pre-execution last supper.

One word to the wise: nitro-can beer makes you fart powerfully, so ventilate your setting properly, unless, as beerbecue recently suggested, like James Joyce, you’d rather not.