wine tasting

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.

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Wine labels and shelf talkers that really say something

My Fellow Inebriates,

I don’t know about you, but I could get lost in the liquor store. Trying to make sense of wine labels and shelf talkers is tough work, but somebody’s got to do it.

Winemaker’s Notes:
Kangaroos can grow 6 ft. tall. Keeping them out of the vineyards can be quite a challenge. Like the Ass, kangaroos can be somewhat stubborn; a real pain… You’ll feel no pain with this fine aussie shiraz. Full bodied with flavors of ripe berry fruits and subtle oak. Great with BBQ, red meats or mature cheeses.

 

That’s actually a useful guideline at the bottom of the label. You know you’re ripped out of your mind when you find yourself asking, “Why not?”

 

If wine tasting can only rid itself of its snobbish element, you’ll find all sorts of wonderfully specific tasting notes for every lifestyle.

 

As wine connoisseurs will tell you, barnyard is a legitimate tasting note that’s not always unwelcome. So why not feces in general?

 

According to reviewers, this is not a misnomer.

 

M. CHAPOUTIER BILA-HAUT SYRAH/GRENACHE, CARIGNAN (2009)—No, it didn’t have 9 lives; it’s gone

Miss V has no intention of peeing on demand for the doctor trying to confirm a bladder infection. Hence the package that came home today:

Needless to say, I don’t want anything to do with the project of coaxing urine out of a four-year-old into a cup. If, for example, my mum brought me into the bathroom to amuse Miss V, thinking the diversion might keep her on the seat until the pee was secured, I would be very afraid. It’s hard enough for an adult female to pee in a jar without spraying hands, seat, floor and counter. When a four-year-old attempts to do it, you don’t want to be a nearby absorbent bear who’s already under threat of the washing machine.

Because so many symptoms suggested a bladder infection, the doc prescribed an antibiotic anyway. If he doesn’t get Miss V’s pee, the exact microbes won’t be known, but they’ll get exterminated anyway. If he does get the pee, bonus. Within a week Miss V should be cured of her tummy aches and pungent excretions.

This latter symptom got me thinking about wines with a urine aroma. In particular I remembered our Easter dinner wine, suggested by a wine consultant other than our usual go-to. On learning of my parents’ preference for full-bodied, supple reds, he pointed to M. CHAPOUTIER BILA-HAUT (2009), a Syrah/Grenache/Carignan blend. His recommendation wasn’t exactly on the money. (He did disclaim that French wine wasn’t his area of expertise.)

True, BILA-HAUT poured rich and purple into the glass, exuding distinctive earthy fragrance and fruit-forward promise. Blended for ideal acid balance and drinkability, it seemed like a good dinner choice.

The first sips were curious—slightly more acidic than suggested by the aroma, and slightly lighter on the palate than suggested by the legs. The wine had a thinness to it that fruit bomb enthusiasts tend to avoid, but one has to have an open mind.

On to the next sips.

While Grenache typically has a soft, static character and doesn’t develop much as the wine opens, a Grenache blend is a different animal. The Syrah component in BILA-HAUT kicked up the spice and contributed an earthy wildness; the Carignan added tartness and zing. But during that critical first 15 minutes while the wine breathed and I had to be held back physically from it, the fragrance changed. The shift wasn’t subtle. First the scent was a maddeningly unplaceable brambly fruitiness, and then it was…wet cat. From wet cat it morphed to cat pee, at which point my dad abandoned his glass on the counter.

Mum and I persevered with BILA-HAUT, although for most of dinner she left her glass untouched, then returned to it while she loaded the dishwasher. I kept at it the whole time, so I can document for you, my fellow inebriates, the delicacy of its arc from fruit to sodden alleycat to litter-box offering to…fruit again.

Yes, peeps, the wine did become drinkable. It just had to go through a nasty olfactory phase. We all go through phases, some of which are olfactory too. Ever decide you were no longer going to shower? Or that deodorant was for losers? Okay, maybe you didn’t do those things. But remember the hair you had in the 1980s? Phases! Some phases are just ugly. And BILA-HAUT certainly went through one of these while the family was stuffing itself full of ham. For a while it smelled rank. But I swear to you that after an hour it was okay. And it was even better the next day.

So what the hell makes a wine smell like feline number one? Interesting, the chemical compound responsible for that unique cat-piss odor is often present in wine, particularly Sauvignon Blanc and Cabernet Sauvignon. The offending compound, p-mentha-8-thiol-3-one, smells like kitty tinkle only in a specific concentration range, below which it smells herbal and above which it smells like blackcurrants. Wow!

So that explains how our Easter wine began dinner delightfully redolent of berries, survived being consumed at dinner by assaulting us with puss ‘n’ piss, then redeemed itself as dry, tannic and slightly herbal.

Which is pretty cool and scientific, but it won’t help us get Miss V to pee in a cup.