wine

Raise a glass

When I refer to my parents I of course mean my adoptive parents. I mean, look at me—I don’t have 23 sets of chromosomes; I have 37 sets. I’m a bear, not a human. So, no, my parents didn’t conceive me, which is a great comfort given what a visual creature I am.

They picked me out during a heavy pre-Christmas liquor-buying foray. I practically leapt into their cart, so loaded up was it with booze. They were feeling celebratory because they had a houseful of people. My mum was nine months pregnant and, since she couldn’t partake in the drinking, she was at least vicariously enjoying stocking up.

But I have to give partial credit for my purchase (i.e., the purchasing of me) to a third member of the shopping party. You see, I wouldn’t have jumped so readily into my parents’ shopping cart had it not been so loaded up. And it was my mum’s mother—my Granny—who tipped the scales in that direction. Let me explain…

She was excited. Granny had just arrived in Canada for the birth of her first grandchild. Jetlagged and emotional, this frail little woman, who could have used a post-flight nap, was instead heaving bottles into the cart, jubilant at the prospect of a Christmas party that would bring the whole family together, including a new baby.

I watched, my eyes glassy, as Granny hefted a magnum of sparkling wine into the cart, insisting on buying it for everyone (well, haha, not my rotund mum) to share. My heart melted, and I knew I wanted to join this family that obviously equated copious alcohol consumption with happiness.

And so I took the leap and went home with these people.

It was a calculated risk. Based on the excess of hooch they purchased that day, I thought my new family would keep me gooned forever. And though, sadly, the shopping spree was just for Christmas, and everyone returned to average imbibing levels afterwards, I have since been satisfied with my new home.

I was sad to see Granny fly home that new year. There’s a long-running tradition of talking to bears in her family, and she was no exception. She and I had plenty of white-wine-fueled discussions, and she told me about the bear that had lived in her home since she was small—a bear her mother used to consult whenever a decision needed to be made, and who had multiple pairs of wellingtons. I thought he sounded a bit dry and crusty and that he could use a drink, which Granny said she would consider.

The best part about Granny was that she was always willing to split a bottle with me. While the rest of the house was swilling reds, she’d have her chardonnay, and there I’d be, helping her out. She didn’t need much help, really, as she could put it away, but she didn’t mind my company. She’d had a long history with white wine, sometimes relying on it during hard times, and didn’t always feel welcome to partake among people who knew that about her. She needed someone to say it was okay, that she’d had a difficult life and it was okay. And no one ever did.

Last Saturday Granny, a lifelong smoker, died of lung cancer. When I heard about it, it sobered me for a moment. Granny was a kind person who did her best to be happy, even though it was sometimes very hard for her.

I always figured I’d see her again, and maybe share a glass.

Instead I raise a glass to Granny by myself. Because she’s gone from life but not from mind. And because she was the sort of person who talked to bears.

ESCORIHUELA 1884 RESERVADO SYRAH (2009)

The house was feeling downright funereal, and wine seemed in order. One of my visitors had urged an Argentine malbec upon me recently. No objections here, so I hustled my mum out the door to fetch one.

She really took her bloody time. I had to distract myself by reading the news, which filled me with paranoia and dread—especially this item, http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2011/11/05/MN3V1LOKC9.DTL, about an asteroid that will barely (bearly) miss us next Tuesday. If only I’d been able to contact my miserable parent to exhort her to get three or four bottles so we could have a properly apocalyptic evening.

Unfortunately restraint ruled the day, and she returned with one wine bottle, and not a malbec (she was not to be, seemingly, commanded by a 7-inch ursine alcoholic) but a syrah, albeit from Argentina as per my instructions. Fair enough.

Scientists tell us very casually that asteroids skirt our atmosphere by mere hundreds of thousands of miles every decade or so. OMG, people. I had no idea. I thought the main threats to my life were young children bent on torture. I thought I might get accidentally beheaded one day maybe, or lose an eye. But here we have massive rocks the size of city blocks careening toward us with a frequency I couldn’t have imagined.

I asked my friend Scarybear if he knew about such things. He told me to chill out and added that I am a “retard.”

So when the wine came back I was relieved. I just had to endure some DTs throughout dinner/bedtime and we were on.

The 1884 RESERVADO syrah (2009) had a real cork, something I hadn’t seen in a while, and of course yet another reminder of my limitations vis a vis dexterity.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of this wine was that it was perfect out of the gate. No need to decant—my tremors bowed instantly to this supple, intensely violet, complex syrah.

As the wine opened up it revealed ripe black fruit, hints of mocha and vanilla, and lovely, balanced tannins. Aged in French and American oak for eight months, this wine lingers on the tongue with an unforgettable intensity.

And at $16.99 it’s an absolute steal: the sort of wine I RECOMMEND buying by the case—the sort of wine I’ll be hitting Santa up for this Christmas.

By the time we finished this bottle I didn’t even care about that stupid asteroid. But I’m still preoccupied with my thumblessness. Find me an invention so I can open bottles, people, and I’ll be yours forever.

RAVENSWOOD Belloni Zinfandel 2009

My Fellow Inebriates,

Last night, ever so secretly, my parents opened a bottle of wine without me. As I lay innocently sleeping off a Malibu bender, they violated what I consider a tacit agreement to share all alcoholic beverages with the resident alcoholic bear, who has proven himself by starting his own blog and filling it with 30 articles demonstrating boozer status and general authority on liquor.

But the bastards got out the corkscrew and guzzled down a bottle of RAVENSWOOD Belloni Zinfandel (2009). Without me. Did I mention…without me???

So I rely upon their tasting notes. This apparently was a big, succulent zinfandel redolent of berries, nice tannins and almost as long a finish as my selfish parents would have liked. The wine developed in the glass as it sat, starting pleasantly and ending superbly.

The dregs were lovely, I must say. The few molecules I managed to scavenge of this lovely zin hinted at black cherry, raspberry and mocha.

My mum had an itching fit immediately after drinking it, but that’s her problem. I highly RECOMMEND securing a bottle of this soon as it was a limited run of 600 bottles.