Pride and Rancid Grape Juice

In the kitchen, when opening a bottle of wine do you

A. Keep the cork because you may need it for the unfinished bottle.
B. Keep the cork because you may need it for a shitty craft project.
C. Smell the cork and throw it away.

If you answered C to this question I would like to cook for you.

Are you a sipper, or a quaffer?

I’m proud to be of the less sophisticated variety. I guess it’s strange to be proud of being either but it’s strange to be proud of anything, isn’t it? When people are proud it’s usually of someone they know, or to be from somewhere they’re from, or to like some team who cares only for their money. People are proud in order to flatter themselves. Parents of their children excepted — this is their life’s work — of course they are proud. And if I were up for a Grammy I’d like to think I’d be forgiven for the cut of my jib. I like the New Orleans Saints but I also like the taste of bacon. Why am I proud of one and not the other? Being proud of liking salty strips of pig flesh is absurd, why is wearing a Saints jersey and jumping around like an idiot when they win the Superbowl considered acceptable behavior? People are walking contradictions.

We are who we are — being proud of it or ashamed is equally absurd. I fucking hate mayonnaise for example. I can no easier contemplate plunging a french-fry into mayonnaise than I can a spoon into the back of a beetle. There are people in the country where I used to live who eat par-boiled fish sperm with their soba noodles. But there are people in the country where I was born who poison themselves daily with food made in laboratories and wash it down with carbonated sugar water.

One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.

Wine is old and rises from the dirt. But while some discriminate and sing praises to vintage and terroir the paramount thing for me has always been the infinite okayness of je ne sais drunk. I feel the same way about beer. Who wouldn’t swallow rotten sock swill if it made existence existable? When I choose a bottle of wine in a restaurant it is always the second least expensive. Life is too short for cheap wine. But it is also too long for pretention.

Victor Hugo
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