Duking it out with Father Time

They say age is just a number, but I think that whoever said it must have Dick Clark’s genes or a painting that's aging in their attic. Most likely, they're the same people who had clear skin and straight teeth in high school.



Here’s a trick: by looking at a typical woman's credit card purchases, you can more or less tell her age. In my twenties, my MasterCard bill from my local pharmacy would have read something like this: Bic disposable razors, a bar of Dove soap, a bottle of Herbal Essence shampoo and an industrial-size can of Sebastian hair spray (I believe I single-handedly destroyed the ozone). Add to those the usual haircut and manicure. (But not just a plain file and polish, mind you. No, this was the 80s, when "usual" meant five inch, tree-climbing long RED tips applied with crazy glue and gauze....move over, Lee Press-ons Active Wear...these babies featured a
super-glam length, with that lovely curve to give them a "natural" look!) My only other expense was tanning in the winter at the local tanning salon a couple of times a week which would leave me with a sad white circle on my derriere.



Fast forward twenty five years. Now, my credit card print-out reads like a laundry list. You know the Verizon commercial that has all the employees standing behind the person using his cell phone? Well, if I were to recreate that commercial for myself, my back-up squad would consist of my hairdresser, my colorist (remember the good ol' days when the same person who dyed your hair also cut it?), surgeon, dermatologist, vein doctor, facialist, orthodontist (yes, I had braces in my 40s), optometrist, manicure/pedicure technician, and my newest partner in crime, my eyelash guru. What for, you ask? For my eyelash extensions! Basically, I'm the bionic woman.

It's funny how things that were considered taboo in one generation are now commonplace. In my mother's day, no one dared to admit that they colored their hair! In fact, in the early 19th century, only a “woman of ill repute” manipulated her crown and glory. (What was the question from Gone With the Wind that Mammy asked Scarlett?..."Do you know a dyed haired woman?") Today, things are, thankfully, more relaxed. We feel totally comfortable asking a complete stranger, “Who did your highlights?” With beauty fixes becoming more common, I predict that it won’t be long before we start asking questions like, “Who did your eyes?"




Remember the TV show, Maude? That show was so ahead of its time. Anyway, one of my favorite lines is from a scene where Maude bumps into a childhood friend. The friend is amazed at how good Maude looks and asks her straight out, “Did you have a facelift?” Maude responds with an indigent NO. The friend then asks, “How did you manage to stay so youthful?” Maude says plainly, "By lying about my facelift."



( Maude Pre-facelift)

I remember once sitting in my colorist’s chair, discussing my options. About ten minutes into our conversation, I said to him that I wished I could be one of those women who wears flannel shirts, jeans, no make-up and couldn’t care less about dying her hair. His response: “They're called lesbians.”

Another hallmark of turning the big 5-0h! is that I can't help but look back on birthdays past, especially the ones where wine was the highlight of the party. One of my best wine birthdays was eight years ago. My late husband Steven arranged it for me at our restaurant Veritas. Almost all of the wines were from my birth year, and although I remember most of them as if it were yesterday, the one that was my favorite, the one that stood out from all the others that day (although all the bottles opened that day were stellar wines), the absolute star of the show, was a jeroboam of 1986 DRC Montrachet .



Time out for some trivia questions:

1-DRC stands for which one of the following?

a-Initials for a soft drink
b-Don't Run Cross-eyed
c-Domaine Romanee Conti

2-Which year did Domaine de la Romanée-Conti take ownership of the vineyard ?

a-1966
b-1988
c-1999

3-How old is the vineyard of Romanee Conti?

a-100 years old
b-250 years old
c-700 years old

4- How many cases of Montrachet DRC are produced per year?

a-2500
b-250
c-25

5-True or False; Montrachet DRC is considered by almost all wine critics to be the greatest white burgundy in the world?

6- How many liters is in a jeroboam of wine?
a-1
b-2
c-3


ANS.
1-Domain Romanee Conti
2-1988
3-700 years old
4-250 cases per year
5-true
6-3 liters, which is = to 4 (750 ml/each) bottles of wine

In everyone's “wine life,” there are special moments. There is the moment when you experience your “launch wine,” or as I like to think of it, your “marriage wine.” It's the wine that seduces you into this world and makes you declare, I DO! The wine that got me to tie the knot was the 1985 Margaux.

If you're lucky, there is another wine that comes along during your Juice Journey, a wine that far exceeds your launch wine, more than you even thought possible. Perhaps another way to describe it, and quite possibly a better way at that, is to call it the wine that would make you want to not just cheat but leave ...it's your soul-mate wine. The 1961 Petrus is my soul mate wine. Think Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston: she would have been his 1985 Margaux, but Angelina is his 1961 Petrus (and even if they split up, I'm sure she'll forever haunt his heart).

Hostess with the Mostess!

For me, the question of What to Do for New Year’s always has a weird sort of angst to it, although I'd never admit it. When December rolls around, I start to think, “Ugh – here comes New Year’s…” as opposed to, “YEA! It's almost New Year’s! What should I do?” Maybe it has to do with the great expectations placed upon the evening, not in a Dickensian way, but more in a social pressure kinda way. I even received a FB message from a friend which said, "HAPPY NEW YEAR, LOVER! Have a blast tonight! I know you'll be doing something fabulous! xo!" So was it fabulous, you ask? Well, let me first share some memorable Eves Past (keeping with the Charlie D tone).


My first noteworthy New Year’s was in the land of "what happens here stays here.” I must say, if you're up for a night of crrrrrazy and crazies, Viva Las Vegas is the place to be on New Year’s Eve, especially if you're pre-kids. The best part about it is that no reservations are required in order to have fun. Almost every lobby features a live band and dancing, you're allowed to coast from casino to casino (drink in hand!), and at 12AM, the entire town walks onto the Strip to watch the over-the-top display of fireworks, compliments of the hotels. Fun, Fun, Fun with a capital F! (For the record, dinner on that New Year's Eve was not at a 3 star restaurant but rather a burger joint. I had the best burger I've eaten thus far in my beef-eating life, betta than DB Bistro's Burger, which was pretty darn good when they first opened. This simple feast was had at the Burger Bar. So, in case you find yourself in "Sin City" and are cravin' the patty of patties, you'll find it at the Mandalay Bay Hotel!)

Another New Year’s experience was much more laid back. It was with my boys at the Tanque Verde Ranch in Tuscon, AZ. At 9PM, the Ranch hosts a party for the guests in one of their large banquet rooms.
They have a DJ and – wait for it – B-I-N-G-OOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Bingo and bowling are two things that can make you chuckle when you play them, but only if they’re not staples of your typical Saturday night.














Then there was Times Square – bar none, one of my favorite New Year’s Eves ever! The best kept New Year’s Eve secret in NYC is Tony's of Times Square. You don't go to Tony’s for the food (although it's not bad – it's just not Babbo, or my latest and most favorite Italian restaurant in NYC, L'artusi), but food isn’t the draw on New Year’s – action is! And, if you have a bit of wine snobbery in you the way I do, Tony will even allow you to BYOB, which is a great way to ensure that the juice you'll be drinking will be primo.


What really makes Tony’s a hot ticket on New Year’s Eve is the entertainment. Tony hires Broadway performers
to dazzle the audience for two hours, then, at 11:45, everyone is escorted to the middle of Times Square, right smack where the million-plus others are standing to watch the ball drop and the confetti float down. Since 2005, the crowd finishes
the moment by singing John Lennon’s “Imagine” (something to be a part of once in your life...it's also one of those moments that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside). My year, we kept the party going by heading over to the W NY on Lexington. We hung out in the lounge where a hottie DJ turned the lobby into the nightclub of nightclubs, drank champagne and laughed until the wee hours! The extra bonus was it was only an elevator ride home.

(Quick history lesson: Dropping the ball in Times Square has been taking place since 12/31/1907, and the ball itself is made of Waterford Crystal. The original name of Times Square was Longacre Square; however, the New York Times headquarters was located at One Longacre Square – now One Times Square – which, in 1904, was the second tallest building in Manhattan. The powers that be at the paper convinced the city to rename the triangular "square" after their publication. In1904, they were granted their request, and to celebrate, the paper’s owner decided to shoot off fireworks from the roof on December 31, 1904, with 200,000 people in attendance. By 1907, the ball was added to draw more attention to the newly named landmark, and a tradition was born!)



This New Year’s was low-key. I was invited to my WFF (wine food friend) Marilice's home. Hands down, she wins the award for being the Hostess with the Mostess! Cleverly, she brought together a great mix of people, which is always the main ingredient for a successful party. Then, of course, there's the food and wine. Not having a sit down dinner was also the way to go, but what I loved even more was that she asked her guests, including yours truly, to bring their favorite dish. It was an evening of non-stop tasty goodies…

Here is where I need to take a brief pause. You know how I rave about my meatballs, and how the only other meata-balls I’ve ever liked were Joanie Menachell's mom's? (For those of you who are new to my blog, Joanie is my childhood friend from the Island of Staten.) Well, Debbie-Marilice's buddy - made her meatballs for Marilice's shindig ...I ATE TWO! TWO! I then nonchalantly asked her what was in those marvelous meatballs that threatened my title of The Greatest Meatball-Maker of Them All. It was obvious that she had had quite a bit of the Rosé Billicart-Salmon that I brought, because she divulged her recipe in a snap. I struggled, however, to understand the exact measurements of most of the ingredients. For the record, my lack of comprehension had nothing to do with auditory malfunctioning on my part; instead, her speech seemed to be impaired. (I’m kidding…she wasn't slurring. At least, not so much that anyone else noticed ;-0!)

Since it was unseasonably warm, Wayne, Marilice's husband (and a great man in his own right) barbecued shrimp, lamb and beef skewers. For the third time in 2011, I opened the 2008 Chateau Ducru-Beaucaillou, and it showed just as great as it had the first time. (Btw, it was a nice accompaniment to the beef skewers, and will be the last time I have it for a while as I am curious to see how it will cellar/age over the next five years.) One of Wayne’s friends created a smorgasbord of caviar, salmon, prosciutto and hummus along with a bunch of other wonderful fixins too numerous to recall.
Since I'm dieting, I made my favorite salad with apples, endive, celery, cucumber, etc., all mixed together with an olive oil agave dressing. Feeling a bit playful, I brought my popcorn popper to make truffle popcorn, and, last but not least, a 1970 Taylor Port with dark chocolate for dessert…for me, there is no better end to a meal than a glass of port and a piece of chocolate.

We played pool, ate, drank, talked movies and theater and told jokes. Then, as many American households do, we gathered around the TV (or in this case, flat screen), and watched the ball drop. Not as magical as being there, but very special in its own right... thank you, Wayne and Marilice, for inviting me to your fabulous home, and for giving me a truly special and memorable New Year’s Eve to add to my list of The Greats.

Xmas 2011 – Ebenezers Unite!

As much as I tried this year to be jolly and bright, I couldn't even muster up one Ho-ho-ho. I had carefully planned what I thought would be one of the best Christmases ever, but “Bah, humbugger,” it was a bust.





I booked rooms for us at the W NY Hotel, one of the best places to stay in NYC. We were in midtown, which means we were moments away from most of the holiday season action.

On the 24th, my son Grant and I woke late morning, had breakfast and then were off to get festive. We window-shopped and sang carols as we strolled down Fifth Avenue, watched the skaters at Rockefeller Center, got haircuts (okay, that's not holidayish, but it sure is a treat), visited Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and bought presents.



While out looking for "Christmas," we stumbled upon the French restaurant, La Grenouille. What a find La Grenouille is. (Btw, grenouille means "frogs legs.") It's incredibly elegant, with a dining room that has all the beauty, warmth and charm of French restaurants from years past. Turns out that La Grenouille is the last of the greats. Remember Lutèce, La Côte Basque and Lespinasse? Well, La Grenouille was part of that same Frenchpack cuisine and just happened to open the same year I was born...destiny!


We hit one snag: this is a formal dining space and we were not appropriately dressed. But as luck would have it, this worked to our advantage. Why? Because we had to dine upstairs, which is really where you want to be after a morning of shopping and singing. Talk about a drop-dead-gorgeous space! I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.





Before La Grenouille became a restaurant, it was a stable and, according to our server, housed the carriage for the Vanderbilts when they lived in what is now the Cartier Mansion.

Upstairs also has quite the story: the space was once the home of the French artist Bernard Lamotte. This atelier was nicknamed Le Bocal (the fishbowl) since many bohemian artists and French expats would hang out there with him and his wife. The Lamottes also entertained some of the top A-Listers of the day: Greta Garbo, Charlie Chaplin and Marlene Dietrich, just to name a few. And, three of his paintings still adorn the walls!

As we sipped our 2009 Puligny-Montrachet ( tasting note: if you're looking for a fruit forward white don't look to the 09 Puligny-Montrachet why? because this wine is all about the mineralty) and ate frogs legs (after all, how could you not order the frogs legs) things were beginning to look a lot more like Christmas. Sadly it didn't last...



After our wonderful experience at La Grenouille, we did a little more shopping, and then headed back to our hotel to dress for the evening’s affairs. At four o’clock, we went for a nosh at db Bistro Moderne located across the street from Lincoln Center. We ordered the Charcuteries thinking, "What a perfect bite to have before the show, and more importantly, how can anyone mess up cold cuts?” To answer that question, the cured meats were fine; however, I wish I could say the same for the pȃtés. If I had only one word to describe them, it wouldn't be an actual word but rather a syllable: Uck!



We had one glass of wine, which I won’t bother mentioning, as it, too, was a disappointment. At that point, I was starting to feel like Debbie Downer, so I quickly tried to switch gears by suggesting we go next door for hot cocoa and cappuccinos. Sadly, the mood there was not much better: the staff was annoyed by having to work on Christmas Eve, and the patrons were grumpy because the store was crowded. Oy vey already! Time to move on! I had hoped that things would improve once we crossed the avenue in the warm December air. Wait – maybe that was it! It's December, and it feels more like March. No, that's silly, isn’t it? How could the weather be the culprit for this Ebenezer’s Eve that has taken the skip out of our step and replaced it with a Quasimodo drag?

Whether it was the weird temperatures or not, I was determined to drum up some spirit and was relying on Hansel and Gretel at the Met to "bring it!" Seeing this opera on Xmas Eve has been on my "To Be Experienced” list for a long time, the same way going to the Macy's Parade on Thanksgiving and spending New Year’s Eve in Times Square used to be. Supposedly, it's the opera to see before all other operas, as it will leave such a wonderful impression on you that you'll be encouraged to see others. Think of it as your Launch Opera.


Some trivia: the German composer Engelbert Humperdinck (no relation to the pop singer, whose real name is Arnold Dorsey...so how did he end up with Jerry as a first name? His friends would call him Jerry because he often imitated comedian Jerry Lewis, and like most nicknames, it stuck) wrote Hansel and Gretel, and it was first performed on December 23, 1893, in Weimar, Germany. Even though its first performance in America was in October 1895, the opera became synonymous with Christmas. Perhaps its holiday association is due to it being the first complete opera broadcast from the Met on Christmas Day, 1931.





Arriving at the Met is always special. The fountain was lit (btw, every time I see the fountain, I flashback to the scene from the movie Moonstruck. You know, when Cher is rendezvousing with Nicholas Cage to see La Boheme?), and everyone was dressed so nicely. We arrived early enough to leisurely find our seats just as the starburst crystal chandeliers began ascending to the ceiling. The orchestra began playing, the curtain rose and the singing started. Yes, it was in English, but that didn’t mean we were able to understand what they were saying...




Halfway into Act One, it was clear that my guests were bored. I tried to make light during intermission by suggesting we operatically sing our conversations for the rest of the evening.
I started by singing that we indulge in a glass of champagne! We're at the Met, it's Xmas Eve, let’s be festive and have something that sparkles! Great idea, right? WRONG. Complete fail. I'm thinking at $18 a glass, it should be okay. It was UNdrinkable, which killed me. Why not at least serve Korbel? After all, it's the MET, not Lou's Playhouse! Serve something decent! Sheesh.

So let’s sum things up... I have three guests who were served food that was barely edible, drank less than average wine, are now bored out of their minds and can’t even get a decent glass of bubbly. It's got to get better, no? The bells rang to announce that intermission was over, so we made our way back to our seats. Things picked up with the arrival of the big heads. (That's also around the same time my ADD kicked in...all I kept thinking about during the scene with the big heads were the people inside those costumes – how hard they must have worked, all the money they spent on singing lessons, how they must have suffered for the love of their art, perhaps even sacrificed romance, lived meagerly, ate cereal for dinner, but how it was all worth it to follow their passion, their dream, knowing in their heart of hearts that their big break would eventually come! Then one day, the phone rings and it's their agent on the other end of the line announcing that they landed a role AT THE MET in a production of one of the most famous operas in musical history! Imagine their joy at that moment, only to be dashed by another moment five seconds later when they learn that they'll be playing the part of the third big head on the right in Act Two.





I would love to tell you how, after the performance, it started to snow as we headed to have a late dinner at Artisanal Fromagerie, Bistro and Wine Bar, and that the wine and food were delightful and the service incomparable, but I would be lying. It was understaffed, obnoxiously crowded and they were out of the Christmas goose. We officially became the Three Scrooges, even though there were four of us!

Conclusion: Next year I will look for Christmas at the Beach!

Cats and Women

"Women are cats," to quote my Mommy Dearest...if you knew my mom, you might understand her attitude towards her own sex.








She was a very shy beauty of the 40s. My father said she looked like silver screen actress Hedy Lamarr. Mom’s timorous behavior was misinterpreted as conceit, making her easy prey to vicious verbal attacks by female coworkers.






According to my mother, her one and only friend, Pauline, "stole" Danny, Mom’s first real love,who, at the time, was an officer in the Army.
(Side note: Who doesn't love a man in uniform?)
Since therapy wasn't in vogue back then, she came to her own conclusion that the breakup wasn’t a result of Danny losing interest, but happened because her best bud was a feline disguised in a pencil skirt and padded shoulders.

This betrayal sealed the deal for Mom. From that moment on, she was steadfast in her belief that ALL women were cats. She would forever warn my sisters and me to be wary of them. Her story of betrayal was told – and retold – whenever I had a hurtful experience with a friend. Mom would immediately begin sharing her tale of woe as if it happened yesterday: how she could have married Danny, the tall, blonde, blue-eyed officer, had it not been for Pauline, the Jezebel who sunk her claws into him and stole him away!



How did her opinion of our gender affect me? For the longest time, I preferred the company of men over women, minus my grammar school friends. How was it that they escaped my dread?
Well, for starters, my interest in boys was almost nil before the famous preteen hormones kicked in. After all, pettiness doesn’t usually rear its ugly head until middle school, and luckily, there were never any incidents prior.
I was able to escape Mom's torch song rendition of "Danny and Pauline" until I hit the 6th grade.


It seems that when most girls turn 12, they suddenly start caring about material things, asking questions like, “What kind of a car does your dad drive?” They also become preoccupied with labels. (Really? You're 12, and you're making fun of me because my shirt doesn't have a polo player on it? Really? Of course, the fashion of the 70s went more like, "It's not a Huckapoo?" Remember those?)

This shallow female behavior only reinforced Mom's negative view of those who walked the earth with XX chromosomes. As a result, I steered clear of them. That’s not to say that I didn't have chick friends – I did, but they were my same friends from grammar school, and were thankfully a lot more down-to-earth than those competitive, label-conscious girls. Translation: they didn't care if their Huckapoo got dirty, or if they broke a nail while playing paddleball.


It wasn't until I turned 40 that I was able to really appreciate and enjoy the company of women. Don't get me wrong – I’ve met and known some women who are as petty as they come, and if they were in my life, Mom would be preaching away. Fortunately, I've quickly weeded them out, leaving those in my life who are non-judgmental, inspirational and extremely supportive.



Recently, I cleaned out my closet. It was time for lots of reasons: first, I want a new wardrobe, including shoes, for my upcoming birthday, and second, those size zeroes and 2s will not be draping this body again. So it got me thinking: Wouldn't it be fun to host a wine tasting/clothing auction? I invited many of the really great women I know, and told them to bring a friend who has not yet discovered the wonders of delicious cheeses and pasta, nor the side effects of eating them on a regular basis.
I can’t begin to tell you how much we laughed and carried on as we shared stories, tried on outfits, and tasted wines from around the globe.



The top three favorite wines of the tasting were; 2009 Joh. Jos. Prum, 2006 Ceuso, and 2009 William Fevre . Joanie, my childhood friend's mom (who, by the way, makes a hell of a meata-ball) had never tasted German wine before. What was her reaction to this slightly sweet yet crisp Riesling? Love at first sip. Moments like this can’t help but make me smile. For some, wine may be just another beverage, but for me, it's a whole world. To be able to share my world, especially with some of my favorite women, is truly a pleasure.

( Germany, Sicilia, and France)

BTW: Women drink more wine than men - 60% to 40%; however, men collect more wine than women, but that's for another blog…stay tuned!

Sometimes Wine Makes Me Yawn

Why doesn't everyone drink wine?
Well, I'll tell ya, pilgrim. It’s because most people still equate wine with the elite. Not that that’s entirely wrong…I mean, rarely, if at all, do you see someone at the local bowling alley swirling a glass of 2005 Chateau Lafite or 1962 Musigny as they wait patiently for their gutter ball’s return. But why shouldn’t wine be consumed by everyone, including those in a league sporting shirts with pins on the breast pocket?! Granted, some may not be able to afford first growth Bordeaux, but they can still enjoy a glass of Beaujolais with the rest of us.

Why are we, the American peeps, so intimated by the juice? Like a lot of other wine enthusiasts, I blame it on prohibition! So now that we’ve solved that, let’s move on and start enjoying "the nectar of the Gods" in the same way that our founding fathers did. Remember Thomas Jefferson, our 3rd “Presidente” and principal author of our Declaration of Independence? He was a huge fan of the juice, especially French wine.

(Side note: There was an incident that occurred within the wine industry not long ago, and things have not been the same since. In 1985, a bottle of 1787 Chateau Lafite was sold at a Christie's auction in London. The bottle supposedly belonged to Thomas Jefferson, and it fetched a price tag to the tune of $156,450! Malcolm Forbes was the "lucky" buyer. A few years later, a lawsuit was filed by billionaire Bill Koch, and a book titled The Billionaire's Vinegar was published. Seems that in 1988, Mr. William Koch bought 4 of these bottle for $500,000, and then proceeded to research their authenticity. The results? Counterfeit! Aside from the rule, “Always try to verify an old label’s provenance,” what have we learned from this? That drama occurs among the stiff shirts just as much as it does Hollywood ...take that, Kim, and your five minute marriage!)

Another reason I believe that the atmosphere at wine tastings has taken on such pomp and circumstance is the British Invasion. It certainly didn’t come from my Italian grandfather, who drank his Chianti from a glass jelly jar. As far as cultures go, I'm of the opinion that the Brits have the most starch in their collars, and their approach to wine has certainly confirmed that for me. Hello, Christie’s and Sotheby's.

Which lends itself to the next question; Why are most wine tastings/events so boring to the average bear?





Let me set the stage of what it’s like to attend the average wine tasting. The first thing you’ll see is a large table which seats 8 to 10 people, sometimes as many as 15, with three to four wine glasses on the right hand side of the dinner plate. As you enter the room, a fluted glass of champagne is served to "open the palate.” Within 30 minutes, attendees are asked to be seated so that the tasting can begin. The first flight of wine is poured, and the sommelier usually announces each wine as the course is served.

The table is obnoxiously quiet (unless I'm there ;-0). Next comes the process of examining the glass by tilting it upon the white table cloth or holding it up to the light for signs of its condition, followed by The Swirl... some hold the glass in the air (for the record, I find this the most painfully hoity-toity way of swirling), while most leave the glass on the table, hold onto the base of the stem and move the glass in a tight, circular clockwise motion, approximately three times. This releases the aromas of the wine and allows for the most crucial part of the tasting to commence – The Sniffing. I like to say, The Nose Knows! (It's really all about the nose, so if your honker is clogged, you might as well stay home since you will not be able to enjoy anything, including food, with a broken beak.) Then finally, The Taste... just a small amount to circulate around the mouth, and, if you're really good, you’ll suck air simultaneously into your mouth while the wine remains pooled below your tongue. At this point there are two options: expectorate (yes, spit) or swallow.

This process of three/four wines per course will generally continue for the next 2 to 3 hours, but I've been to tastings where the wine and food kept coming from what seemed like an endless supply. Honestly, by the fourth flight of wines, they could have served Turning Leaf, and even the most astute palate wouldn’t have known the difference. What really kills me is not the bounty of dishes and flights, but that they usually serve the best wines last... sigh.


In between the food and wine there may be some conversation, but what I find most curious is the lack of opinions shared on the wine. Rarely do people speak up (unless they're at my table ;-0)!
Truth is, everyone has something to say; they're just afraid they'll be wrong. That’s just plain CRAZY, since wine, like art, or even dating, is subjective. Take George Clooney (get in line, ladies). Not everyone thinks he’s hot, right? Okay, most do, but certainly not all. Anyway, bottom line about most wine tastings is that if you're not up to sitting for a long time next to strangers who may not even talk to you the entire evening, all while consuming large quantities of wine and high caloric dishes, I suggest you take a pass.



What about wine events? Okay here's the lowdown on what it's like to attend a typical wine event. Sometimes, but not always, qualified sommeliers will be the ones pouring the wine behind each of the stations. They will rattle off a bunch of information that you’ll more than likely forget as soon as it leaves their lips, including how to pronounce the names of most French, Italian and especially German wines.

Depending on the cost of the event, the wines are usually donated by distributors trying to promote their products. Problem is, most do not represent themselves with their best wines but rather with their more affordable ones. Outcome? Lots of expectorating! This now lends the question, "How do I enjoy myself at a wine event?" For starters, bring friends, because even though you would think a wine event is the perfect venue to meet people, it's really not. Why? Again, it goes back to most people keeping to themselves. Also, before you commit to the event, you may want to do some research on the wines being offered. The price is not always a true indicator, as there are lots of very affordable events where the juice is actually quite tasty.



I was attending so many of these serious wine events that I was inspired to create the type of tastings and events that I would want to attend myself: ones where the atmosphere was social, lively and engaging; where the sommelier’s nose wasn’t stuck in the clouds as he spoke of the various aromas of a typical Pinot Noir; and where playful wine games were used to help educate curious tasters.



As a matter of fact, I just hosted a small wine event in Hoboken (insert plug here) featuring a selection of bubblies (you may want to skip this part, as I'm about to unabashedly toot my own horn, just like I do about my meatballs). I create fun, interactive wine events and wine tastings where people laugh, relax and get to know each other as they experience wines they may never had thought to try. My hope is that they walk away less intimated by wine than when they first arrived, and better yet, end the night having made a new friend or two. To me, that’s what wine is all about - enjoyment on every level!



(This past wine event took place at the W New York hotel on Lexington.)

P.S.: Don't get me wrong I also enjoy traditional wine tastings. It just depends on who is hosting it. As a matter of fact, I recently returned from Chicago where Hart Davis Hart held a Leroy (pronounced "Le-wha") tasting at RIA, the fabulous restaurant located in the lovely Elysian Hotel. Afterwards, Marc Smoler, HDH's MM, took a bunch of us for a Wiener Circle run where he brought a mag of Muga for us to enjoy with our Chi-dog! ...
Go Marc!
For the record, NO chocolate milk shakes were ordered. ; )