On the art of wining, whining, winning
cbsreview: Sideways
Alexander Payne, dir.
Rated (R)

Part I: Not about the movie

As I write this I study my inexpensive Gato Negro, a combination Cabernet/Merlot produced and bottled by San Pedro Vina of Molina in Chile, and my twisted tongue confirms its medium body. My nose (or actually half my face) is welled up inside the wine glass and tries to confirm what the bottle tells me: bright and flavourful showing cherry and berry notes that finish on a crisp background.

Singhot-singhot, my nose seems to say.

The reality is this. I enjoy my wine without the hi-falutin wine-description inscribed on the label; my tongue is fast in certain venues but its ability to identify nuances in wine is superslow. It's probably the lack of coordination between my taste buds and brain, with my brain telling my tongue, Hey licker just gulp it down. There's a hint of cherry, alright, the metallic smell is at a minimum, alright, but crisp background? Crisp background my ass!

Maybe the bagoong I had for dinner was fighting for attention. Bagoong: a necessary evil if for dinner you're having boiled talong with sukang paombong. Chopped kamatis and sibuyas floating in soy sauce generically labeled Toyo were part of the entourage, the condiments big participants in that interaction called dinner, not playing second fiddle to the night's stars babyback ribs and ginger blue crabs.

But this specific dinner the red was my specific star, remaining my companion as I type this very word, word. For the truth is I love reds: merlot, cabernet, chianti. Hell, you may give me a glass of tincture of iodine with iron fillings and drops of rubbing alcohol, then tell me, Savor the crisp background of this red, my love, a vintage 1922 Reisling coinciding the year of your birth, my love, find all hints of spice and oak and cinammon and peach and berry and what have you notes on this beauty, my love, for after this you'll drink no more, my love - and I will probably grab the wineglass and take a sip and let that first sip stroll in my tongue to assure that every square millimeter of my lengua prangka is wetted by your nasty concoction, my love, and even if my mouth suddenly froths in different colors and my eyes roll in different directions, my love, I will say, This is great oh Luningning my love, there's a hint of ohk here and taning there and is that beri-beri I note somewhere, and please, Luningning, can you pass me that plate of poisoned mushrooms over there...BLAGG!

Reader, this is the art of the Why, Ning?

(Coming up is Part II, and I promise to follow this rule: If you blog, don't drink!)