the corpse of Western civilization, russian river valley seemingly pop wines, an almost ochlophobic felony with Chimay, and other ephemera.
I apologize to those whom I irritate for posting twice in a row on matters of drink. My next post will be of a different, heavier kind. Thank you for your patience.
Your Ochlophobist, having had some occasion this week to think about beer, and, finding the weekend upon him, decided to use the freedom due him as a Christian in the Byzantine order and go to the wine store, on this, a Saturday in Great Lent.
First, I purchased two bottles of Hook & Ladder. My boss told me I should try it, and informed me of the cute story behind the vineyard. It looks trendy, which is not good from an ochlophobic point of view. My boss has never recommended a wine to me before, and in fact he prefaced his recommendation with, "I would normally never recommend a wine label to anyone, because it is cheesy and something that generally only women and [insert crass word for those poor souls whom St. Paul referred to as "men with men working that which is unseemly" (Rom 1:27).] do, but you should really start drinking Hook & Ladder wines." My boss knows that I do not drink expensive wines. Other than a bottle of Saintsbury Pinot Noir which my wife and I get each anniversary because that is what we drank on our honeymoon, I do not spend more than $12 on a bottle of wine, and I usually spend less than $9. I would rather drink good ale than wine 19 out of a score of days. Well, today, I must confess, even as we are right in the middle of Lent, I spent $16 and $13 for these seemingly trendy Russian River Valley Californians. Perhaps those of you who know Californian wine might inform me if my purchase was worth it. A bottle of The Tillerman for when my wife has the baby (she will have a glass or two of wine immediately afterwards with the midwives, as God allows). The name Tillerman reminds me of my paternal great, great, great grandfather's name, Tillman, and so it seems appropriate that my wife drink to my reposed kinsman after, should God allow, bringing another of Tillman's descendants into the land of the breathing. And also a bottle of Gewürztraminer for me and my father to have on Sunday afternoon in celebration of he and my mother's new dwelling place. I don't know if Gewürztraminer is in or out of season and I have no idea what we will be eating tomorrow to go with it, but my father and I are always out of season ourselves, and, really, he and I drinking some slender bottled white wine that looks like it should be served at a modern art exhibition instead of the beloved scotch which is our usual convivial aid when we are in each other's company is an ascetical act which you should all marvel at, though I suppose that in pointing this out I now have my reward. Damn.
Anyway, now that we have the wine trivialities out of the way I can get the serious matter. As you well know, your Ochlophobist is not going to waste a whole post on merely the topic of wine. Nor would I waste a trip to the liquor store just to purchase wine. After my venture into the vast wine area of the store I made my way to the grossly undersized micro and import beer section. I walked, immediately, over to the sinfully small Belgian ale quarter shelf. An unhealthily slight lad of perhaps drug induced skinniness in his early 20s who had on his person a mostly untucked wine store shirt walked up to me. The unfortunate conversation went as follows:
Wine store boy: Hey, man, can I, like, help you find something?
Ochlophobist: (firmly) No.
Wine store boy: Those Chimays are, like, re...
Ochlophobist: (slightly more firmly) I know.
Ochlophobist now reaches, and takes down a bottle of Chimay Cinq Cents.
Intrusively still present Wine store boy: I have Chimay, like, chilled in the cooler over th...
Ochlophobist: (with as much disgust as can be communicated in tone) Dear God!!
Wine store boy: (in an ale expert tone of voice) Well, like, it is supposed to be slightly chilled.
Ochlophobist: (in a voice nearing anger) Please! Belgian Ale is not to be served chilled!
Wine store boy: (slightly shaking his head with the last three syllables) Sorry buddy, like, some people like, cold, beer!!! (Wine store boy's two wine store boy coworker/belligerents snicker)
Ochlophobist: (looking boy straight in the eye, fist wrapped firmly around neck of room temperature Chimay bottle, considering what degree of sinfulness wasting a good full bottle of Chimay would be, if the glass portion of the bottle were to be broken over an incorrigible young man's head) Belgian ale is not a lager, which is what you mean by "beer." Your coolers are kept at 34 to 36 degrees [I know this from past unfortunate experiences], Belgian ale should be served, ideally, at 46 to 60 degrees depending on the specific ale, which is to say that it should be cool, or correctly speaking, cellar temperature, not chilled. It should never, except in cases of emergency, fall under 45 degrees. When the temperature drops below 40 degrees, among other bad consequences, the yeast particles at the bottom of the bottle change their texture in a way that is never fully regained. I love the yeasties. Your chilling of Belgian ale is ignorant and debasing.
Wine store boy: (indignantly) Well, sir, like,...
Ochlophobist: I did not come here to hear the retorts of the malt stupid. If you want to help your customers, then know the products you sell (walks to counter, shaking head and sighing).
As you, dear and sensible reader, can well understand, I have been in a slightly irritated mood all day. That is until recently when I began to drink my Chimay, which was probably in the upper 60 degrees (better over than under, as any lover of Trappist drink will tell you) when I poured. There appear to be plenty of yeasties in the bottom of the bottle to feast on.
There are little pockets, little glimpses, little tastes of the auld civilization of Christendom here and there. They are always under the threat of ruin by those for whom Chimay is just a form of weird tasting Bud which is purchased by those who want to show off their money. This makes for fragile moments and perilous times for those of us who labor for a modest living which allows for one bottle of Belgian every two or three weeks. It is an increasingly lonely life to love the honest things, like an ale that is, honestly, a real ale. Perhaps you think me another whining Elijah. What can I do but insist that I believe that God has left Himself "seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed him"? There are still some real things in this world which we would make a Mcworld or a Macworld or a Walworld. Cherish them when you find them. My next post will deal with one specific form of such cherishing of the real.
Cheers to you all!
Your Ochlophobist, having had some occasion this week to think about beer, and, finding the weekend upon him, decided to use the freedom due him as a Christian in the Byzantine order and go to the wine store, on this, a Saturday in Great Lent.
First, I purchased two bottles of Hook & Ladder. My boss told me I should try it, and informed me of the cute story behind the vineyard. It looks trendy, which is not good from an ochlophobic point of view. My boss has never recommended a wine to me before, and in fact he prefaced his recommendation with, "I would normally never recommend a wine label to anyone, because it is cheesy and something that generally only women and [insert crass word for those poor souls whom St. Paul referred to as "men with men working that which is unseemly" (Rom 1:27).] do, but you should really start drinking Hook & Ladder wines." My boss knows that I do not drink expensive wines. Other than a bottle of Saintsbury Pinot Noir which my wife and I get each anniversary because that is what we drank on our honeymoon, I do not spend more than $12 on a bottle of wine, and I usually spend less than $9. I would rather drink good ale than wine 19 out of a score of days. Well, today, I must confess, even as we are right in the middle of Lent, I spent $16 and $13 for these seemingly trendy Russian River Valley Californians. Perhaps those of you who know Californian wine might inform me if my purchase was worth it. A bottle of The Tillerman for when my wife has the baby (she will have a glass or two of wine immediately afterwards with the midwives, as God allows). The name Tillerman reminds me of my paternal great, great, great grandfather's name, Tillman, and so it seems appropriate that my wife drink to my reposed kinsman after, should God allow, bringing another of Tillman's descendants into the land of the breathing. And also a bottle of Gewürztraminer for me and my father to have on Sunday afternoon in celebration of he and my mother's new dwelling place. I don't know if Gewürztraminer is in or out of season and I have no idea what we will be eating tomorrow to go with it, but my father and I are always out of season ourselves, and, really, he and I drinking some slender bottled white wine that looks like it should be served at a modern art exhibition instead of the beloved scotch which is our usual convivial aid when we are in each other's company is an ascetical act which you should all marvel at, though I suppose that in pointing this out I now have my reward. Damn.
Anyway, now that we have the wine trivialities out of the way I can get the serious matter. As you well know, your Ochlophobist is not going to waste a whole post on merely the topic of wine. Nor would I waste a trip to the liquor store just to purchase wine. After my venture into the vast wine area of the store I made my way to the grossly undersized micro and import beer section. I walked, immediately, over to the sinfully small Belgian ale quarter shelf. An unhealthily slight lad of perhaps drug induced skinniness in his early 20s who had on his person a mostly untucked wine store shirt walked up to me. The unfortunate conversation went as follows:
Wine store boy: Hey, man, can I, like, help you find something?
Ochlophobist: (firmly) No.
Wine store boy: Those Chimays are, like, re...
Ochlophobist: (slightly more firmly) I know.
Ochlophobist now reaches, and takes down a bottle of Chimay Cinq Cents.
Intrusively still present Wine store boy: I have Chimay, like, chilled in the cooler over th...
Ochlophobist: (with as much disgust as can be communicated in tone) Dear God!!
Wine store boy: (in an ale expert tone of voice) Well, like, it is supposed to be slightly chilled.
Ochlophobist: (in a voice nearing anger) Please! Belgian Ale is not to be served chilled!
Wine store boy: (slightly shaking his head with the last three syllables) Sorry buddy, like, some people like, cold, beer!!! (Wine store boy's two wine store boy coworker/belligerents snicker)
Ochlophobist: (looking boy straight in the eye, fist wrapped firmly around neck of room temperature Chimay bottle, considering what degree of sinfulness wasting a good full bottle of Chimay would be, if the glass portion of the bottle were to be broken over an incorrigible young man's head) Belgian ale is not a lager, which is what you mean by "beer." Your coolers are kept at 34 to 36 degrees [I know this from past unfortunate experiences], Belgian ale should be served, ideally, at 46 to 60 degrees depending on the specific ale, which is to say that it should be cool, or correctly speaking, cellar temperature, not chilled. It should never, except in cases of emergency, fall under 45 degrees. When the temperature drops below 40 degrees, among other bad consequences, the yeast particles at the bottom of the bottle change their texture in a way that is never fully regained. I love the yeasties. Your chilling of Belgian ale is ignorant and debasing.
Wine store boy: (indignantly) Well, sir, like,...
Ochlophobist: I did not come here to hear the retorts of the malt stupid. If you want to help your customers, then know the products you sell (walks to counter, shaking head and sighing).
As you, dear and sensible reader, can well understand, I have been in a slightly irritated mood all day. That is until recently when I began to drink my Chimay, which was probably in the upper 60 degrees (better over than under, as any lover of Trappist drink will tell you) when I poured. There appear to be plenty of yeasties in the bottom of the bottle to feast on.
There are little pockets, little glimpses, little tastes of the auld civilization of Christendom here and there. They are always under the threat of ruin by those for whom Chimay is just a form of weird tasting Bud which is purchased by those who want to show off their money. This makes for fragile moments and perilous times for those of us who labor for a modest living which allows for one bottle of Belgian every two or three weeks. It is an increasingly lonely life to love the honest things, like an ale that is, honestly, a real ale. Perhaps you think me another whining Elijah. What can I do but insist that I believe that God has left Himself "seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed him"? There are still some real things in this world which we would make a Mcworld or a Macworld or a Walworld. Cherish them when you find them. My next post will deal with one specific form of such cherishing of the real.
Cheers to you all!
posted by The Ochlophobist at 6:37 PM
13 Comments:
Picky, picky, our dear Ochlophobist.
I am but a mere simple Irishman. I have Natural Light in the refrigerator for when I'm just thirsty. When I want beer it's Guinness Extra Stout. The BEST beer I have ever had was some homemade stuff on a kayaking weekend in Ohio. The only wine I am fond of is when I have gotten some homemade stuff from time to time that has been strong.
When I want to feel what I'm drinking it's JD on the rocks, or when I feel rich it's aged single malt (which I would never pollute with ice). With guests it's margaritas. Like I said, I'm a simple Irishman.
The best one-liner involving alcohol was at my former Greek parish in Pittsburgh; a new convert was standing outside slightly tipsy at an event with alcohol present. He had whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other and stated, "Man, it's great not being a Baptist."
Don Bradley
"I would normally never recommend a wine label to anyone, because it is cheesy and something that generally only women and [insert crass word for those poor souls whom St. Paul referred to as 'men with men working that which is unseemly' (Rom 1:27).] do, but you should really start drinking Hook & Ladder wines."
Allow me to thumb my nose at your boss. My house is never without at least two bottles of red wine, one bottle of white, and one bottle of port or jerez. The worst part of the Fast for me is coming home for dinner during weekdays and having to see my non-Orthodox father sit at dinner with a glass full of Marques de Riscal or Sangre de Toro while I must drink... apple juice. It is enough to make a grown man cry.
Of course, I have a bias towards Spanish grapes and Spanish or Portuguese sellers, but I will take something Chilean or Argentinean if I need to. Australian Shiraz like Jacob's Creek or Yellowtail is cheap and pretty good for what it costs. My absolute favorite has to be Coronas:
http://www.coronas100.com/
Save me a glass!
-Julio
Oh, one more thing, you should become well acquainted with this little guy:
http://www.in-spain.info/top20/tempranillo.htm
It is *THE* grape as far as I'm concerned.
-Julio
Part of the problem is that America doesn't have much of a wine culture anymore. Prohibition destroyed what there was and pretty much destroyed the beer/ale/other culture, as well. It seems fairly natural for any foreigner to nonchalantly drink wine as if it were a natural part of everyday life because it probably is. In America, we just aren't there yet, and we're probably about $3/bottle away from it. The domestic market is rapidly expanding and prices are going down, but there's still the sense that wine consumption is for the rich, foreigners, and posers (either posing as rich or foreign, perhaps "cultured"). What I definitely don't like is how some are attempting to overcome that hurdle by cheap marketing: making wine look friendly, hip, and kitschy (ie, for those your boss referred to) instead of following traditional conventions for labelling and selling wine. Le sigh. It all just makes me want to take a drink.
Le groan. Damn protestants. Sola scripturions should know by chapter and verse that wine gladdens a man's heart.
Your post smells of affectation. I hope you really didn't treat the clerk this way. Perhaps it's the Chimay talking.
G.Z.T.,
I totally agree with you. I do believe there is something kind of fishy and just a bit too fruity about the way many upper middle class Americans treat wine. Anyone who swishes around the precious liquid and spits it out just to comment on how it is reminiscent of "pears and oak" or some other foolish thing deserves to get kicked in the stomach.
But that isn't the way I think of it. Wine is wine- it is good, so... drink it. One time when all my wine glasses were in the washing machine after having guests over, I just took some in a ceramic mug. My father usually drinks it in a small glass tumbler, not a traditional wine glass. The image most people have of wine tasting parties, of "experts" debating what the wine *really* tastes like, and other sorts of nonsense simply doesn't reflect my experience.
Like you said, we drink wine like it is "a natural part of everyday life". In my own experience, it helps you digest food better, and if one happens to take more than what one should (it happens) the effects it has are more pleasant than beer or liquor. I don't know if it is the tannins or what, but that nice drowsiness that soothes without leaving one too dizzy is a much better effect than the head-splitting pain of hard liquor or the bloated, "piss every 5 minutes" effect of beer.
The Lord couldn't have chosen a more noble substance to transform into His own Blood.
I think it's the proportion of alcohol to fluid, mostly, that causes the differences. It makes it easier to overdose by far too much on liquor and causes excessive micturition when you have far too much beer. For some reason it's possible to drink more beer than any other fluid, I'm sure it's a scientific mystery. But if you're going to compare overdosing on alcohol, it's hard to drink enough beer to make oneself ill on a full stomach, but it's abundantly possible with wine. The results, I imagine, are not pleasant. Wine also has, I am told, the worst hangovers. But I think wine itself encourages moderation, it's not the sort of beverage one wants too much of at once. I submit that perhaps the point at which one notices that one has had "too much" wine is a point where one has consumed less alcohol than for hard liquor or beer.
Och -- Your post reminds me of the time that I went into a local bar and ordered a Guinness draft, and received it in a frosted pilsner glass. When I objected, both to the glass and to its Arctic condition, the barhelp's response was such that you would have thought I'd maligned her character.
Don -- I had an experience myself like the one you describe at your Greek parish. At my first parish picnic as an Orthodox, after having been raised Baptist then A/G, I remember when the coolers were opened and I noticed amongst the Pepsi and Coke products the various adult beverages; I said to the folks standing around, one of which was my priest's wife, "Beer at the church picnic! I think I picked the right religion!"
Thank you for defending the purity of our beloved Chimay.
Dear Och, you are what my three-year-old son would call a “rascal.”
As for wines, I’m afraid I know nothing about the label in question. I can tell you, however, that if it was a Russian River wine, then the grapes were nurtured on the dark soils not too far downriver from my parental homestead. The Russian River can be seen from my parents’ deck, though they technically live in the Alexander Valley viticultural region.
I love wine, though I’m not a connoiseur. I can’t afford to be. My wife and I have split a bottle each Saturday of Lent so far, but we almost never spend more than 8 bucks. We did recently splurge however, and buy a $13 bottle of zinfandel. At the risk of being labelled a “woman” or worse, let me recommend it to you: Ravenswood, Old Vine Zinfandel (http://www.ravenswood-wine.com/home.htm). It’s also grown and produced in my parents’ neighborhood. I had always avoided zins. I thought they were foofy. But I have learned to eat my words, or drink them as the case may be.
Gladdens the heart of this man, I can tell.
Um, final line should read:
"Gladdens the heart of this man, I can tell you."
I have this RC penchant for treating the demands of ordinary life as my primary ascesis. My drinking regimen, if it can be called that, is a good example. I used to be a wine snob, and still would be if I could afford to be. At this point I hardly ever spend over ten bucks for a bottle, and I buy wine only when there's something specific to celebrate, which there rarely is.
During Lent, I drink less beer.
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