Hedonism in November

It was a wine-off.

I suppose it was because no one was going to try to compete with Leeser in the food department.

It was her housewarming party, and as usual she was working under the "Nothing succeeds like excess" credo. The girl, brought up on a dairy farm, doesn't know how to make a normal amount of food. (I don't know that her outsized cooking is a result of the cows surrounding her childhood home, but SOMETHING about her family background is surely responsible.)

Figure maybe 15 or 20 people invited to her party. Figure a few of them won't show. Figure she had enough food for dozens more: Hummus oozing with olive oil, roasted garlic and peppers. Brie buried under pounds of walnuts and clover honey. An antipasto platter groaning with meats, artichokes, tomatoes and olives. Mango salsa, tomatillo sauce, breads and crackers and chips of every variety. And Rotel burning in a crockpot in the kitchen (not Lisa's fault, or mine, neither the Rotel nor the burning thereof).

All this from a kitchen the size of a car mat.

And there was enough beer stacked on the back porch to satisfy a concert crowd. But enough about beer: I selected a half dozen wines for the party by virtue of their sale price and drinkability - Rosemount reds, for the most part, blends of Cab/Shiraz, Grenache/Shiraz, Cab/Merlot. Perfectly respectable wines for casual drinkers. . . But I had no intention of drinking any of THAT.

For myself and a few select others, I chose the Guenoc North Coast 2001 Petite Syrah, and it was a highly inspired choice: Rich and fruity, balanced and big, it went with EVERYTHING on the overloaded table. Plus it was PRETTY, inky and purply dark. I poured a wee glass for myself, Andie and Lisa, then tucked the bottle carefully behind a stack of cups and plates, from which discreet location it was steadily, happily depleted*.

The next bottle through the door was a Nouveau Beaujolais, always festive in November. Except it was dreadful, according to those unlucky enough to try it. I never expect much from a Nouveau Beaujolais, with reason. So who cares who made it? Not I.

Then Laura arrived, with her own bottle -- not, as I might have expected, the Icon Syrah, which we had camping and which I liked quite a bit and which Laura didn't get much of, on account of she kept knocking over her glass -- and it was (practically) our first bottle -- but with the Sin Zin. A fine name, a fun label, featuring a 17th centry German etching. I'd been wanting to try the Sin Zin, and it was good, warm and spicy/peppery (someone else said it had raspberry-rhubarb notes), although I still preferred the Guenoc P.S. And so did Laura*.

Another guest -- Kathy? Sue? -- brought in a Sangiovese, the Italian Di Majo Norante. It was ruby colored, tasting of plums and earth. I'd had it before, and while it was no Sin Zin or Guenoc Petite Syrah, it was decent. Price breakdown on the featured bottles? About $17 for the Guenoc P.S., about $20 for the Sin Zin, maybe $10 for the Nouveau Beaujolais and the Sangiovese. The Rosemount blends run about $8, the more flavorful single grape bottlings a few dollars more.

I confess a nostalgic fondness for Rosemount wines, as it was the Rosemount Merlot that got me started on my love affair with reds. And oh baby, Rosemount doesn't make solely inexpensive, easy-quaffing wines. Their 2001 GSM, which I believe is a Grenache/Syrah/Mourvedre, racked up 93 points from Wine Spectator and costs less than $30 at GOC (good old Costco). That's considerably less than Lisa spent on the spread for her little housewarming, the leftovers from which fed Andie and me for days.