wine

GARNACHA DE FUEGO—The cure for the End of Days, but not Fluffy

When we bought GARNACHA DE FUEGO (2009), we did so just in time. Some dude was grabbing up all the bottles! Naturally this made us eager to hang on to our treasure and maybe even taunt the guy with the one bottle in our basket.

Ahhhh, the liquor store. The clinking! The tinkling! The samples! The atmosphere! The scent of empties being returned…I don’t accompany my parents there very often because they don’t trust me, but if my mum’s using her big patent leather bag I sometimes jump in just as they’re leaving. On this particular day I wasn’t just lured by the thought of thousands of booze bottles. I wanted to get the hell out of LBHQ. Scarybear had just mentioned that we were approaching Fluffy’s first Halloween in the house.

On this day last year, Granny was very sick, and Fluffy was with her. Far away in Ireland, he sat on a chest of drawers, observing Granny’s last days…waiting.

Fast-forward to today. Granny: dead. Fluffy: haunted by Granny, who didn’t always get along with my mother. Scary: preoccupied with the earth’s overdue magnetic field shift and needing to project his apocalyptic anxiety onto the easiest victim, yours truly.

Scooping that one bottle of GARNACHA DE FUEGO felt like such a score that I forgot about these problems. Spain has been lucky for us lately, $15.99 wasn’t painful, and 14.5% alcohol gets two paws up any day. Situated high in the hills of Calatayud (say that drunk), old vines produce grapes bursting with concentrated sweetness and depth. And when the guy ahead of you in the checkout is buying 15 bottles of the stuff, it’s a strong endorsement.

My dad was afraid of the silly label. True, it’s a little over the top, but at LBHQ we are much more leery of a wine label bearing wombats or chooks than one depicting “Grenache of Fire.” Indeed, the former type is more frightening than Fluffy’s paranormal antics and the great magnetic pole flip put together.

What Scary doesn’t realize in his countdown to December 21, the generally agreed-upon End of Days, is that a magnetic reversal would take tens of centuries to occur. It’s not like planes will fall out of the air or birds will start bonking into each other suddenly. The change will be subtle. Some scientists believe the shift is already in its early stages but is so slow as to be imperceptible.

North is magnetic by virtue of atomic majority rule in the planet’s molten core; more atoms face north than south. As individual atoms flip, eventually the dominant magnetism may shift to south, but a long and middling interval will precede any definitive magnetic south. During this time—and this is the potentially dangerous part—the earth’s magnetic field will weaken as its atoms’ polarities split roughly evenly between north and south orientations, leaving the planet more vulnerable to the solar flares that a strong magnetic field would deflect. In turn the ozone layer will be more susceptible to holes, although, as Scary should know from his other theories about Armageddon, by then we’ll have torched the whole protective layer anyway. We’ll (well, you will, and I if I shave my fur off) be running around with skin like crispy KFC, but not this December 21, people.

Scary is a total dumbass but at least he stayed out of the GARNACHA DE FUEGO. The “fire” may be a reference to the peppery spice that characterizes the wine, especially at rear palate after it’s dealt you much-welcome lashings of rich, earthy fruit with a nice acidic backbone. Considering the reported desolation of the Calatayud region, it makes some kick-ass grapes, which translate into a gorgeously balanced wine with just the right tannic profile. You could drink it with food, but if you’d prefer to get ripped out of your head, enjoy this quaff solo (especially if “solo” means you don’t have to share with Scary, Fluffy, or your dad).

The best thing about having a whole bottle of GARNACHA DE FUEGO to yourself is that you’ll lose all concern for magnetic shifts, tectonic upheavals, solar flares, and the like. But you might still worry about the occult potential of any possessed members of your household, especially on a night like tonight. I hear that when you’re really wrecked you become more susceptible to suggestion, and this was probably the case when I thought I heard Granny asking me if I had any cigarettes. I didn’t (holy shit, my fellow inebriates, I’m too flammable to mess with stuff like that, and where would I keep them—being ever-nude I don’t even have a pocket for a flask), but when I turned toward the voice, all I saw was Fluffy with his vacant eyes.

And how was YOUR Halloween?

3 rules about wine labels, and what happens when you violate them

My Fellow Inebriates,

Last night an animal clawed through our garbage. Presumably it was a raccoon, but it could also have been Scarybear. Or it could have been the neighbors’ cat Cuddles, a monumentally dense animal that refuses to exit our driveway when Dad backs the car out.

One day the kids drew a chalk circle around Cuddles, who stayed within it for the whole afternoon and was still there when Mum called everyone for dinner. Trapped by its magic boundaries, Cuddles seemed indifferent and probably would have loitered all night, but I’m guessing Fluffy tapped into some higher evil realm and released her with his mind while the family was eating. Fluffy may well have empowered Cuddles to ravage the trash as well, although she seems a bit dumpy for that level of exertion. Scary isn’t known for physical feats either, and he doesn’t smell any more garbagey than usual, so it probably was a raccoon.

My dad’s job tonight is to stay awake until the raccoon comes back. If he can catch it in the act, slay it, and skin it, then Mum won’t need to buy stewing meat for the YELLOW TAIL bourguignon she’s planning. A barely touched 2010 Cabernet-Merlot has been languishing at LBHQ since our very good friends brought it over for dinner, unwittingly violating three rules about wine labels:

    • BEWARE OF PRIMARY COLORS

    • BEWARE OF ANIMALS

    • THIS GOES DOUBLE FOR MARSUPIALS

Call my parents snobs (not me! I wanted to drink it) but they avoided consuming YELLOW TAIL even at the cost of remaining sober throughout the evening. They’d better hope our friends don’t read this review, because they slagged that wine. This is what happens when you get picky about wine: it ruins your appreciation of cheap wine and turns you into a pretentious douche who decides to make beef raccoon stew instead of knocking the YELLOW TAIL back with your favorite little bear.

Let’s hope Cuddles doesn’t encounter the raccoon. Come to think of it, we haven’t seen Cuddles for a few days…

If my dad succeeds in catching the raccoon, justice will be served in more than one way. Not only will he punish it for strewing our trash all over the street and causing the garbage dudes to reject it (which means we have to guard it from raccoons for a further week), but he’ll punish raccoons as a species for shredding the swimming pool in the back yard of the very neighbors who brought us the YELLOW TAIL!

I don’t know what sort of weapons my dad will use against the raccoon. I don’t like thinking of its furry bandit face getting brained by a shovel or choked by a length of Monster Cable. Let’s hope he does it quickly so the animal doesn’t suffer. Dad probably doesn’t want it caterwauling in our driveway at 3:00 a.m. either, especially since we’re new to the neighborhood.

He’ll have to bleed it out properly so the meat doesn’t get ruined. Whether this is a family-friendly activity remains to be seen, but I’m guessing the kids will wake up and want to be part of it.

As for your humble bear, I will be nowhere near this action. I don’t eat stew. I sympathize with animals. I want to drink the YELLOW TAIL CABERNET MERLOT. Yes, it has a schoolhouse grape-juiciness, lacks any depth at all, clouts you over the head with tannins, and features a stylized kangaroo leaping beneath a crayon-blue banner. All these characteristics say to me easy drinking, fun, approachable, chill-out wine. To my mother they say (beef) bourguignon.

So it’ll be a big surprise for her when Dad emerges from his dead-of-night scuffle with a reeking freegan trophy. She’ll swoon when he plunks it on the counter for her to butcher. And she can tell our good friends with a wink, “That YELLOW TAIL did not go to waste.”

ASTROLIQUOR for October 19-25—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, friends seek you out this week for physical and mental help. Be careful not to overtax yourself; your reserves of both are limited. Who will help you when you’ve strained every muscle and lost your mind? Maybe a Libra, but then again maybe not. Most likely you’ll dive into the gin, civilizing your bender with Cointreau, Campari, and bitters over ice. Your stomach and bowels will not like this!

Taurus, you are gradually establishing your goals and learning about your own nature. Weeks of introspection and self-analysis are teaching you who you really are. We astrologers like to call this “narcissism.” Enjoy it until December, when work issues pull you out of your navel-gazing. Do not buy a new cellphone! You need that money for vodka, peach schnapps, melon liqueur, and raspberry liqueur.

You’re talented at dodging unpleasant tasks, Gemini, but this week the stars effectively clamp a toilet brush in your hand. Get to work so you can be done quickly. Mindless jobs are a great opportunity to think, and afterwards you can have a cookie (or liquid facsimile):

  • 2 oz Bailey’s
  • 2 oz butterscotch liqueur
  • 2 oz cinnamon schnapps

Cancer, your natural cheer is misconstrued by a horny friend. As fun as this sounds, it will not end well if you pursue it. By December your horny friend will show actual horns, and you may need a restraining order. OMG! Flirting is so much fun; how can you restrain yourself? You’re just too charming, and you have the self-control of a chimp. You need other measures. Start by eschewing showers for a while. Load up on amaretto and peach schnapps. Lose your toothbrush indefinitely. That should chase away your friend before any of this shit goes down.

Leo, you face an age-old conflict between mind and emotions that will carry on through January. You’ll become tiresome telling  friends about this amazing hemispheric brain schism that prevents you from exercising common sense and allows you to behave like a douchebag. You waste piles of money on therapy. Does your therapist know your brain cells are marinating in triple sec? You should mention it.

The stars call for a charmed week, Virgo. Big problems will seem negligible, and small problems will vanish. You’ll sort out past issues and ponder intellectual matters. So confident are you that you become overly acquisitive, straining your bank account. Do you need a new leather couch? You could just purchase a bottle of Stolichnaya and still get that rush from hitting the “buy” button.

Libra, you feel shy this week, which makes you seem sensitive. This attracts people to you, which makes you more self-conscious. Your gut instinct is to hide at home drinking creme de menthe, but it’s a mistake—your carpet can’t take any more green barf. Go out with some friends. They like you, they really like you.

Your feelings fluctuate this week, Scorpio, and friends wonder about you. A paranoid Scorpio with a Cointreau-pickled brain is not a thing to mess with. Someone tells you a secret. You start to think they think you’ll divulge it. You think they’re going to hurt you for divulging it. Freaky stuff, Scorpio, get a grip! Your friend knows you won’t tell. That’s why he/she told you.

Sagittarius, your thoughts continue in a futuristic vein, with November looking promising. Try to interview for jobs on either the 10th or the 25th so you can be sure to nail something. In between you can break out the Grey Goose all day long. Your liver is surprisingly robust this month, so make it work!

Your sensitivity skyrockets this week, Capricorn. Who’s talking about you?! Who’s talking about your partner?! Do they like you? Do they hate you? Your brain overloads with paranoid thoughts. This sort of synaptic noise is the bane of our society. Lashings of whiskey with Grand Marnier should take care of it.

Aquarius, you have a power week ahead as long as you involve other people and resist being a cowboy. Privately and professionally you’ll make gains, although you’ll forget to hit the gym. The stars encourage you to frequent bars; you’ll meet nice people who’ll buy rounds of lemony cocktails.

Pisces, you have a brawl with a colleague this week over something you said. Tactfully, he/she tries to clarify, and you throw a punch! Wow, Pisces, way to get a holiday! You’ll have a lovely week at home in bed, alternating between strawberry cream liqueur and sambuca, and drinking wine when you need to rehydrate. This is what you’ve always wanted.