I’m getting old. I’m so old I was the sommelier at the Last Supper. Jesus stiffed me, but, then, I had to cut him off, so that might have made him angry. I know later he was cross. Anyway, I thought I’d make myself a bucket list of wine activities I’d like to do before I finally meet my maker, who lives in New York and is named Mark. He’s my Maker Mark Manhattan. Never mind. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to cross all of these off my bucket list in the near future. I can dream, can’t !?
Taste rare old Burgundies with Allen Meadows and Rudy Kurniawan, the Burghound and the Burglar. Which is which? It would be interesting to taste those rare old Ponsots and listen to talk of terroir, history and why the label was done on a computer. I’d learn so much about aged wines even without having aged wines actually present! Do they allow wine tastings in prison?
Drink Drew Barrymore Pinot Grigio from Drew Barrymore. Be her spit bucket of Love. Yeah, I know, sick. But, really, it’s my bucket list, don’t be judgmental.
I want to meet James Suckling just so I can say, “How are Mrs. Suckling and all the little Sucklings?” Well, no, on second thought, I don’t really want to meet the guy. His hair scares me. He looks like a Van de Graaff generator, only stiffer. Though I would want to taste wines with him and beat him to the score. We both taste at the same time, spit, then I’d quickly shout, “94!” The first score always wins, it’s an old Wine Spectator party trick, but then so is he.
If I could afford a pair of every different varietal wine glass made by Riedel, I could crush them with my feet and then place the shards in the driveways of all the pompous shitheads who think Riedel stemware is legit. Alternatively, I could buy them and just wait a few weeks for when they’d all be broken anyway.
Jerk off Jay McInerney with Port tongs.
Rounding up 100 bottles of wine that scored 89 points and tasting them all in the same day would fulfill my lifelong dream of understanding failure. Or I could just read about Crushpad.
Being wine critic for a day at a respected wine publication, or even Wine and Spirits, would be a dream come true. I’d taste just like real wine critics taste—triple-blind. That’s where you don’t know the wine, don’t know the variety and don’t know what you’re doing. I’d assign numerical ratings for at least forty wines that day using the 100 point scale, for which I’d take out a special One-Day Use Permit (it is heavily regulated and only allowed to be used officially by pundits, licensed critics and the criminally insane). My initials would be printed after the score and my succinct, if repetitious, reviews, of which I have two, but I can rearrange the sentences to make it seem like more. Thus:
“Opens with a nose of upfront red and black fruit. Medium to full-bodied on the palate, it speaks to its appellation with some authority. Should make for great drinking over the next 5 to 8 years, except in Canada.”
“Except in Canada, it speaks to the appellation with some authority. Opens with a nose of upfront black and red fruit and should make for great drinking over the next 5 to 8 years. Medium to full-bodied on the palate.”
And what day as a wine critic would be complete without a nasty phone call from a winery owner? Jim Clendenen would be perfect. More scary hair and lots of it. Which is amazing considering his hat size is “Puncheon and ¾.”
Win a James Beard Lifetime Achievement Award for Pomposity. Tough category.
Cultivate noble mold in my pants to put the sac back in Barsac, the d’Yq back in Chateau d’Yquem.
Get paid to write this crap.