Sunday, April 12, 2009

Cremaster Chenin Blanc

Ball sacks!

Sweaty wafting ball sacks just like grandma used to make. Tart kiwi stapled to green bean almondine. A good marrying wine. Not too judgmental on the open, but it gets you later, when you're asleep and dreaming of fire and water and frustration.

Does well on a first date but no fireworks. The arid tannins try to convince you to settle but the bubble pear dripping down your chin strengthens your floppy resolve. There's not that much left to look for in yourself, not enough to justify flitting off to another continent for a semester or two but maybe the crisp, green fruit will do it anyway. Look, it's not really judgmental if (a) they asked & (b) you like them anyway. What's a small boy to do?

Firey spice mingles with furry lice in the hair of the inky depths, the apples, the weight, the darkness. It's not really a light drinking thing but it does hold some important parts together.

Try it in a box with a fox. Try it on a boat with a goat. Try it in a thing with an animal.

For one thing, I don't even know the guy. For another, if I did know him, I wouldn't buy wine from a stranger in an alley no matter what his trenchcoat looks likes. The king has outlawed wine. I have wine. I'm not trying to entrap you or nothing, I just think you look pretty good tonight and want to make sure you have a good time, you know? Like, a good time? You remember good times right, from back in the day? They're good. Shut up.

Marry the wine or marry the person but don't marry yourself. That's how they do it in russia. Come on, what's the hold up. There's a certain something there, even the blackberries on the finish can sense it.

It's a white dress. It's a tuxedo. It's not a ticket to disneyworld. It's not a backstage pass to the bodies exhibit. It's not a cobblestone street and old gold anchors. Brine, brine, brine, a lot of brine.

Quote: What do you mean by that, Willis?
Varietal: Ball sack
Food Pairing: Ball sack

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