Were there really men over forty-years-old dancing in my family room to Eraserhead? (Or was it Tortoise Head or maybe even the more discerning, Porpoise Head?) Eddie’s CD collection from the eighties strewn across every available counter top? Middle-aged women discussing random acts of body piercing in my kitchen? An impromptu lecture on getting really deep into a root canal?
At the height of the party, somewhere past midnight, when there was more water bottles left over than wine, someone turned up the music more than a notch and started the cheer, “Damn the C——-!” (This was a particular neighbor, obviously not in attendance, that had kept us awake at least twice a year with their own loud parties.)
No, this was not the wine tasting party I had envisioned. It was far better. And as one neighbor was quick to report back to me the following day, in hushed tones, “Eve, I don’t think you realize this but people are going to be talking about this party for a long time.”
In looking over old columns that could be resurrected during my vacation, I found the above. It’s the first paragraph telling of a wine tasting in my home for my neighbors. And it’s been 7 years since that party…and I haven’t had one exactly like it since.
(If you’ve been reading this Wine 101 blog for awhile you’ve learned that not every blog for wine lover’s has to A. Picture a reviewed bottle on every post or B. Talk over your head. I’m filling a void. Albeit a wine 101 void. A Santa Clarita Wine 101 void. But it’s mine to fill. I take suggestions, photos, guests posts, praise and almost never, criticism. And even though I say it’s mine, it’s not. It’s your blog. Fill it if you like.)
So, tonight is yet another wine tasting in my home. But it’s my nephew and his gal pal coming. And as we’ve let them make their own choices since they turned 21 a few years ago, we’re tired of waiting for them to grow up and into wine. Tonight Ed is making a decadent meal anchored by his infamous Steak Oscar (Filet Mignon, then comes crab meat, then asparagus, finally topped with Bearnaise sauce.) It’s crying for a great Napa Cab or (and for us) a Bordeaux.
We will give them a lesson in tasting that will surely include their rapt attention to the swirling, smelling and tasting. We may seek what their senses are picking up. Show them how to hold their wine glass by the stem or base and not the bowl. We will make them hold the taste in their mouths…
But, my fear is, that I will be watching these two saunter out, at my 10pm bedtime, to go home to dance to their iPods. That my daughter will be bored with it all and be reduced to putting yet another temporary tattoo on any open space between elbow and forearm.
And that the C’s will be just getting started on their party down the street, while the latest generation of the Bushman’s play on. And the older generation waits for an older generation to party on with next time.
