March Madness
The Burning Bowl Ceremony
We broke in the fire bowl this weekend, setting the patina on the copper with a great little blaze out under the apple tree. And in case you're wondering, the wine we chose to salute the flames was a modest 2000 R.H. Phillips EXP Viaje Syrah. Smacked a bit of sour cherry, as I recall. With over-and-undertones of wood smoke.
I love a good fire, especially outdoors. It's like the hot tub, more enjoyable under the open sky. Although maybe I feel that way because my own fireplace has been rendered nonfunctional and I'm too lazy/cheap to have it fixed. I have two towering chimneys and a beautiful mantle/fireplace from 1910 -- but I've never had the satisfaction of kindling a flame in the hearth. Not in this house.
We had ourselves a regular weinie roast, we did. Okay, feta and chicken sausages, from free-roaming, vegetarian hens. Oh the irony. Stuck the sausages on sharpened sticks and thrust them into the flames. They emerged. . . edible. To make sure they were SAFELY edible, we nuked 'em a bit afterwards. Next time I'll fire up the little charcoal grill alongside the copper bowl, so we can have satisfying flames AND satisfying food.
I'm just grateful we could enjoy an evening outdoors. In February. In Kansas City.
March Madness
Whether I'm sunk in a will-winter-never-end depression, or still stunned by the loss of my baby Brandyn, this past month has just SUCKED for any sort of productivity. Oh, the kitchen is largely painted (still needs the trimwork), and thanks to D. the dead redbud is no longer threatening to take down the north fence -- but I haven't been able to write, not even to blog. I'm as paralyzed as those boxes of clutter in the computer room that just sit there, month after month, defying my glares and groans of helplessness.
There's always wine. Thank the gods (Bacchus?). Which is why, Sunday evening, I prevented Leeser from pouring the entire 2000 Lake Sonoma Cabernet Sauvignon on the 'shrooms (she has a heavy hand with wine when it comes to mushrooms). Turns out this Cab was better than what the birthday girl had selected for our pasta, a 1999 Reserve Chianti Classico from some winery that features a unicorn on the label. The CC was a bit thin, lacking structure. Ah well. Insipidity happens.
Like I had this godawful boss who defined insipidity. And pettiness. And incompetence. The only way to celebrate her nasty life would be with a bottle of White Zinfandel. Across the bow of her sinking ship.
March wine tip: Somebody at Costco rated the 2001 Blackstone Syrah a lousy 83 points. I'd tack some points on that, and recommend it as a good everyday wine. Some cherry, some blackberry, a bit 'o pepper, a splash of oak. And a great nose.
We broke in the fire bowl this weekend, setting the patina on the copper with a great little blaze out under the apple tree. And in case you're wondering, the wine we chose to salute the flames was a modest 2000 R.H. Phillips EXP Viaje Syrah. Smacked a bit of sour cherry, as I recall. With over-and-undertones of wood smoke.
I love a good fire, especially outdoors. It's like the hot tub, more enjoyable under the open sky. Although maybe I feel that way because my own fireplace has been rendered nonfunctional and I'm too lazy/cheap to have it fixed. I have two towering chimneys and a beautiful mantle/fireplace from 1910 -- but I've never had the satisfaction of kindling a flame in the hearth. Not in this house.
We had ourselves a regular weinie roast, we did. Okay, feta and chicken sausages, from free-roaming, vegetarian hens. Oh the irony. Stuck the sausages on sharpened sticks and thrust them into the flames. They emerged. . . edible. To make sure they were SAFELY edible, we nuked 'em a bit afterwards. Next time I'll fire up the little charcoal grill alongside the copper bowl, so we can have satisfying flames AND satisfying food.
I'm just grateful we could enjoy an evening outdoors. In February. In Kansas City.
March Madness
Whether I'm sunk in a will-winter-never-end depression, or still stunned by the loss of my baby Brandyn, this past month has just SUCKED for any sort of productivity. Oh, the kitchen is largely painted (still needs the trimwork), and thanks to D. the dead redbud is no longer threatening to take down the north fence -- but I haven't been able to write, not even to blog. I'm as paralyzed as those boxes of clutter in the computer room that just sit there, month after month, defying my glares and groans of helplessness.
There's always wine. Thank the gods (Bacchus?). Which is why, Sunday evening, I prevented Leeser from pouring the entire 2000 Lake Sonoma Cabernet Sauvignon on the 'shrooms (she has a heavy hand with wine when it comes to mushrooms). Turns out this Cab was better than what the birthday girl had selected for our pasta, a 1999 Reserve Chianti Classico from some winery that features a unicorn on the label. The CC was a bit thin, lacking structure. Ah well. Insipidity happens.
Like I had this godawful boss who defined insipidity. And pettiness. And incompetence. The only way to celebrate her nasty life would be with a bottle of White Zinfandel. Across the bow of her sinking ship.
March wine tip: Somebody at Costco rated the 2001 Blackstone Syrah a lousy 83 points. I'd tack some points on that, and recommend it as a good everyday wine. Some cherry, some blackberry, a bit 'o pepper, a splash of oak. And a great nose.
posted by Winetaster | 9:19 AM
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