The other week, I bought a couple bottles of wine for the husband and I to toast in a lazy weekend. Between the two of us, a measly three glasses were imbibed. It was even a bottle of Wente. Wente Vineyards! From the pretentious, rolling, golfcoursed hills of Livermore Valley, California. Yet, an entire half bottle of crisp chardonnay lies fermenting in the fridge.
|This sight used to excite me. What happened, wine?!|
Same story for the mixed blend red I bought just for my red-graped palate. Three days of nursing that sucker and I still had to dump a couple ounces down the sink. Blasphemy! It’s perplexing; shouldn’t tolerance for alcohol increase with age…especially after marriage?
During days of courtship in Madrid, my diet was composed of equal parts red wine, vodka, Coca-cola and Iberican cheese. An occasional cafe con leche in the morning or cervecita for lunch, then red wine with tapas, red wine followed by some vodka cocktail in the evenings. And I was skinny. OK, skinnier. Happier. Tipsier? Obliviouser? Europeaner.
Now, I crave one wee glass of wine, if any. Do the sorrows of the world no longer need drowning?
Or, worse, am I secure with my sober self enough not to feel the need to drink to relax? What a tragedy. I quite liked tipsy Staci, she was good for a laugh, a dancing night out and the occasional tangential conversation in Spanish.
|Madrid version of beer goggles. Cause they don’t make wine ones.|
The one who loses out when the wine stops flowing is Alex. That guy is stuck with serious and uptight Staci. Serious Staci is a bore. Her mind is always fretting over this assignment or that research paper; she is constantly pouting about dirty dishes.
Worse yet, serious Staci feels so comfortable in this little newlywed life of itsy apartment 8 that she will wander about, raccoon-eyed from mascara smudges and hair unwashed and unstyled for what feels like weeks. So much for impressing the husband, we’re locked in to this now. Inhibition is for the noncommittal weak.
And, so, in the spirit of Friday and my new, sad lack of alcohol tolerance, tonight I make a toast to Julian Child. I’ve been listening to this catchy video incessantly as I do homework and it just struck me: Julia Child was known to drink wine while cooking. Cook while drinking wine? No matter, wine was there, food was there, she was happy. She makes chocolate truffles. Wine must be a motivator.
Starting tonight, I will complement dinner preparation with a glass of wine. My cooking may not improve but my blood iron levels might. And morning headaches. And teeth stains. A small price to pay for tipsytastic domestication.
That said…anyone know if any wines go well with tonight’s tacos? I may need to rethink this week’s dinner menu to include only foods that pair with Two Buck Chucks at Trader Joe’s. After all, this is an exercise based in love and tolerance, not sommelier-ing.