I am the Generalissimo!

I like White Zinfandel. It’s easy to drink, goes well with just about anything, and is hard to screw up.

And so it goes with our current test subject. Vendange’s White Zinfandel came in a 500ml container, rated at 11% alcohol. It had no year listed, so its vintage is up for grabs. The packaging was small, which was good, because it was easier to fit in my fridge than any other wine I’ve purchased. It was also cheap ($6).

“Tell them about the legs!” the Generalissimo insisted.

“What legs?”

“The legs! You have to do the swirly thingy with the glass, then you look at the legs!”

I swirled the glass. “I don’t see anything.”

“You’re doing it wrong!” He snatched the glass from my hand and gave it a swirl, spilling large quantities of wine on my carpet. Again.

“Did you see any legs?” I asked.

“No! It is an amputee!”

“Did you take the right pill this morning?”

“Yes! Several!”

The box said that their White Zinfandel “is delicately fruity with crisp notes of strawberry.” And for once, I actually tasted something on the box. Hurray! I tasted strawberries! Very sour, very old strawberries! Amazing. My only real annoyance: the aftertaste was a little bitter, which is out of character for a White Zin. Like I know what the hell I’m talking about or something.

“It is from California, that state of oenological significance and erudite introspection!”

“Huh?”

“It tastes like butter!”

“It does not.”

“Does too!”

“Are you supposed to drink alcohol with those pills?”

“What pills?!”

“The ones you took this morning.”

“I can’t feel my lips!”

I sighed. This had happened before. “I’ll call the Generalissima. Maybe she can give you a lift to the ER.”

“No! She will be most displeased! I promised to take her tasting this time, but I forgot!”

“Blame me.”

He damn near cried. “Do you…do you really mean it?”

“Of course. What’s the worst thing she could do to me?”

“Would you like the whole list?”

“Tell me while I finish off this box of wine.”

“But you have not given it a grade!” He was back in his yelling groove. Goody.

I shrugged. “Two thumbs up?”

“And a pair of mustaches! And a partridge in a pear tree!”

Yeah, what he said.

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 11th, 2009 at 06:13 and is filed under boxed wine. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.