STEVE!

Longtime readers will notice that I have removed my surname from the title of my blog. I think it's time. I'm a one-name brand in the wine business if there ever was one, like Liza is on Broadway, or Sting in the music world, or Shamu in the world of water and drowning people. When I call upon the finest wineries in California, many of which you won't have heard of, at least not until I write about them in Wine Enthusiast and make their reputations, I usually just say, "It's STEVE!," and that's enough. They know who that is. I often see myself referred to as just plain Steve in my favorite wine blogs. That's always how 1WineDoody refers to me and he's my bbffILF (best blog friend...well, you know the rest). If it's good enough for him, it's good enough for us. So from now on, I'm just STEVE!


I've just learned that I have won the coveted "Best Writing on a Wine Blog" Award. The awards haven't been announced yet officially, but all the balloting has been done and the judges have made their final decisions, so I think it's safe to say that I'm the winner. I don't think my thank you is the least bit premature. What I'd like to do is thank you, my readers, for voting for me and recognizing what I think is ridiculously apparent. STEVE! is the finest writing on a wine blog. And by that I don't mean the most creative, though I am still chuckling at my whimsical parody of "Les Cages Aux Folles" starring Robert Parker and Marvin Shanken--that was clearly inspired. I just mean the best. However, in all fairness, I don't think it's the fault of the other four nominees that they were up against a writer of my ability and stature. It's just bad luck. I admire the work of all four of my fellow nominees, though I've never read any of their blogs. Paul Gregutt and I both write for Wine Enthusiast and I can vouch for the fact that it's not his fault he's assigned to the borderline appellations of our northern neighbors. It's just simple logic. He didn't write an indispensable wine book like "STEVE'S! Indispensable Wine Book: Interviews I Granted California's Finest Winemakers." And none of the other nominees has written a definitive guide like my "STEVE'S! Definitive Guide to the Russian River: The Appellation I Made Famous." I like Paul, I like what he's done with the wines of Washington State and the abilities God gave him. I think he has a bright future in music. I just want to humbly thank everyone who voted for me for the now prestigious Wine Blog Awards.


For those of you who read my blog and think that all it takes is monumental talent to do what I do, a justifiable opinion to be sure, let me just say that it also takes hard work and dedication. Having the most successful and interesting wine blog isn't a matter of luck. My work days revolve around my paying job as wine critic for Wine Enthusiast. This is a very powerful job. Yes, I've heard the jokes going around about the Wine Enthusiast. Which is better, the circulation of the Wine Enthusiast, or the circulation of Dick Cheney? Well, Cheney ain't dead yet. Not that funny. I spend hours every day tasting the wines and assigning them numbers, using a specially designed Magic 8 Ball. It's only after those ratings are done that I am able to think about my award-winning blog STEVE! How do I talk about the burning subjects in the wine world in a way my readers will be able to understand? Will I be able to work in secret messages to my bbffILF? How do I generate comments?


I'll let you in on a little secret. The last question is an easy one for me. Longtime readers who read STEVE! carefully may have noticed that whenever I have a couple of posts in a row that receive a measly amount of comments, I find a new way to talk about one of three subjects guaranteed to generate participation. I churn out another column on the 100 Point Scale. Or I write a piece about the diminishing influence of Robert Parker. Or I can always post about wine bloggers--that's a surefire way to get comments. The genius lies in making each tired old subject seem fresh. It's like squeezing lemon juice on week-old fish. Once my readers swallow it, eventually they'll spit something out. This information might come in handy for the rest of you bloggers. Absolutely no subject generates comments from wine bloggers like wine blogging--they love to talk about themselves because it's the one subject they know. Well, that and the basic emptiness of existence.


I'll be off to give the keynote address at the Wine Bloggers Conference in Walla Walla where I'll also be accepting my "Best Writing on a Wine Blog" award. I'm honored. If you had asked me two years ago if wine blogs would have any impact on the wine industry I'd have said, No, I don't think so. What's changed since then?


STEVE!

Labyrinth of Poodles

Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself.--Jorge Luis Borges


It's the other one, HoseMaster, that everything happens to. I love books, Northern Rhone wines, baseball, the aroma of wet dog in someone else's bottle of wine, the prose of Jerry Lewis, and limp celery. And he, Hosemaster, loves the same, only in a creepy way, a way that demeans while pretending to celebrate, like an award for a cretinous, self-published blog. I wouldn't say that I hate him, that might be hyperbole, but I live so that he can create, so that he can aim his broadsides at the fools who give points, are pointless, point at themselves ad nauseum. And more and more I become him, that loathsome creature. I confess that he has written a funny piece now and then, managed to heap scorn on the right people, people with astonishing amounts of hubris who certainly do not own mirrors or they would notice they all look the same in the mirror's reflection. Is that Laube reflected in that circus mirror, or Parker, though it looks like Tanzer, and might be a Heimoff if only it were much smaller, and I don't mean in height, I mean in significance. They are all one and know it, but must not surrender to the illusion that they are individuals or they might cease to exist. That is, if they exist at all. If being a wine critic can be defined as existence, which most would say it cannot. More and more I am subsumed by HoseMaster and little by little I can no longer be saved by his works. His works are not mine, and not his, but are owned by the Internet, that Truthslayer, and consumed by thankless automatons with only electronic lives. They are nothing without FaceBook. The word is apt. It is not FacesBook. They have but one Face, and it's pretty hopeless and ugly. It's the Face of the Internet, it is God's Face. It is the face of loneliness. For what is real loneliness but to be surrounded by imaginary friends? Friends who all have the same Face. Your Face.


In my dreams now I am him all the time. The separation I feel from him in my waking hours does not exist. I am him in my dreams. I do not exist in my own dreams. In his dreams we are being pursued by poodles. More poodles than one can count. Everywhere we turn there are poodles. They seem threatening, but are not. The poodles are different colors, relentlessly white, chronically black, and all kinds of sizes, though they are mostly toys, and they are all toothless. We run and we run, HoseMaster and I, though it is only him in my dreams and I am forced to will myself into his dream mind, which he forbids, though it is I who is asleep. Wherever we turn there are more and more toothless poodles. The poodles bark as ferociously as they can, which is a kind of chorus of canine yawns, but it is still inexplicably frightening. Even more horrifying is the way they urinate everywhere, marking each other, leaving each other messages that only have meaning for them and no one intelligent or sane. When one poodle disappears, another one takes its place almost immediately. They reproduce without procreation. The poodles are a many-headed Cerberus of inanity. He is surrounded by the comically scary poodles and when he runs, and as I struggle to keep up with him, with myself, HoseMaster is caught in a labyrinth to which there is no end, and in which every turn leads to a post, a post on which each poodle has left a bladder-inspired message. Here is the post about Wine Tasting Wednesday, a frightening puddle of stupidity beneath it. Around the labyrinth's next corner is the Parker post. Or is it the Laube post? Doesn't it seem like the Vaynerchuk post? Does it matter if they are all the same? No. But to imagine it the Vaynerchuk post, does that make it more pleasant to micturate against? But save some, there is another post around the corner. Or are they all just the same post, the same post that every poodle visits and revisits and from which there is no escape? If you read them, they are the same posts excreted by different poodles, who believe they are different, but are, in fact, very much the same.


Most nights the poodles have human faces. The males are all castrated, powerless and toothless. The bitches parade around, tails up, but they are clearly unsatisfied. The human faces when they appear to the HoseMaster are also toothless. Saliva pours from the canineless canines. This passes for thought among the poodles. If they stop barking they vanish. HoseMaster, using me as his vessel, his portal into this dreamworld we all live in, hopelessly tries to get them to be quiet. He looks at their human faces and knows what to do.


HoseMaster and I run into the labyrinth once again, only now the walls of the labyrinth are covered in mirrors. He knows not to look into any mirror. I know never to look into a mirror in his dreams. The mirror will reveal him to himself as another poodle. But the poodles don't know this. The poodles pursue HoseMaster into the mirrored labyrinth. They bark toothlessly at their own reflections. The castrated boys lift their legs and piss on themselves, thinking they are leaving an intelligent message for others to read. The bitches just stare at their reflections and seem confused. Only one poodle, neither dog nor bitch, stares back at each of them. Everywhere they turn it is the same poodle, drooling. The poodles are silenced, and they vanish.


But we always wake up.

One

One year ago I revived the ol' HoseMaster and started my wine blog over again. On the anniversary of that first post, I wanted to step out from behind the curtain and say a few things. It has been a very interesting year, minus a three week hiatus, filled with bombast, tomfoolery, raillery, pantagruel, persiflage, mockery and buffoonery. And very little regard for human decency. My kind of year.


When I began HoseMaster of Wine, I knew that it would take me more than a year to get my tired old comedy writing muscles back into fighting shape. The HoseMaster, as I call him on this blog, is an old and familiar voice to me, one I've shaped and been shaped by since I was a teenager. I am not the HoseMaster, and he is not I. In the course of writing this blog I have encountered lots of people in the real world who are surprised that this is the case. The HoseMaster exists to channel that part of my brain that thinks all of life is a comedy, and that there is no target that cannot be insulted, demeaned, leveled and disemboweled. As a longtime student of comedy and satire, I am in love with its traditions as much as I am in love with wine, maybe more so. But when I look back at my earlier posts I see how much of a struggle I've had to find that familiar voice, that voice that haunts my waking life, that evil Jiminy Cricket that whispers jokes into my ear. So thank you for putting up with me. I'm still not there yet.


It's been a year of Vornography and 1WineDoody and Mis(s) Feiring--hell, at least one of them took it in the spirit with which it was written. And I've managed to insult many wine bloggers with far less talent--Harlots, chicks with Brix, chicks in caftans, chronic people of color, and so many others. The HoseMaster expresses my genuine horror at the vapidness of the Internet, the sheer collective stupidity it displays, the sorrowful replacement of quality with quantity, the debasement of authority and experience, the very death of truth. Yet I hope it comes out funny. There are very few days it's funny to me.


It was also a year of M.S. Conspiracy and Grape Guides and my misguided attempts at literary parodies, Saramago and Castaneda. I love the silliness of comedy as much as I love aggressive satire. Wine is the great creator of silliness and truth, so it seems a fitting way to honor it. The genuine joy of doing HoseMaster is discovering for myself what the next post brings. In the past year I think I've made myself laugh about four times. This is probably your experience as well. And it's the stupidest stuff that makes me laugh. The coroner's name in M.S. Conspiracy, Avril Cadavril, still makes me laugh out loud. In my life I have spent countless hours, an unbelievable number of hours, writing jokes, alone, in a quiet room, on a pad of paper, on a typewriter, and now on a computer screen. I have always believed the well would one day run dry. Many would argue that if Timmy fell in my well Lassie wouldn't have to worry about him drowning. Sadly for so many people, I've never suffered writer's block. Ideas fill my head from when I wake up in the morning until I fall into a drunken stupor, around noon. I assure you, it is the purest from of ecstasy I know to sit down and take dictation from the HoseMaster and have it end up like "BLANDNESS." It is for those moments I sit down twice a week and channel the HoseMaster. He's my Comedy Channel. But he's a pain to live with. I hate the guy.


I have had a very long romance with wine. Wine ripped me from the arms of comedy writing as a profession and seduced me into a lifelong affair. At least I wear protection. I know a lot about wine, I think of myself as a skilled taster, but I also know enough about wine to know that I know very little. During the past year I've also flirted with reviewing wines, with the Million Point Scale, with What's the HoseMaster Drinking. But wine reviews mean very little if you don't know the person reviewing the wines, if you haven't tasted with them, understand their background and biases. So I just decided to stop. No one, and I mean no one, cares what I think about wines. And, frankly, I see wine after crappy wine touted on wine blogs that I wouldn't serve to Glenn Beck's prostate. One of the truisms about wine is that you cannot be an adequate judge of wines, assign them numbers or smiley faces or idiotic songs, if you haven't tasted the greatest wines on the planet. You simply cannot know how high the bar is set, you have no frame of reference. Your opinion is as worthless as the blog it's written on. It's the blind judging a beauty pageant. And while every wine blogger has the right to express his opinion, only an idiot would listen to it. What wineries who send wines to wine reviewing bloggers believe is that there are mostly idiots out there. They may be right.


To my surprise, the HoseMaster has become instantly recognizable, a presence in the insignificant world of wine blogs. I am amazed. I am Tweeted about, FaceBooked, speculated about, and both admired and abhorred. I see HoseMaster popping up all over the place, in comments and posts, mentioned with the understanding that most everyone will know who he is. I'm beginning to be recognized at wine tastings, the curse of having an uncommon surname. It seems to have even become something of a badge of honor for the HoseMaster to satirize or insult a wine blogger, though someone might mention that to Alice Feiring. It's alternately flattering and scary. But I do take it as a compliment, and I'm not especially good at taking compliments. It speaks to the strength of the HoseMaster's voice, something I am only nominally responsible for. Enough people identify with his brand of outrage that he's become a real character in people's lives. That is the scary part.


Finally, I am so grateful for all that the HoseMaster of Wine has brought to my life in the past year. 130 posts later I still can't believe how lucky I've been, how much I value this little community--the people who frequently comment, and all of the rest of you who don't want to. I don't know about other wine bloggers, but for me, HoseMaster of Wine is an end in itself. I'm not looking for free trips or free wine or a book deal or an award or adulation. As crazy as it seems, I do this for the sheer joy of creation. Nothing has come of it, nothing will come of it. After my first post of this past year, "I'm Baaaaack," an anonymous commenter said that instead of insulting everyone and making fun of the wine world I should use my talents to contribute to the conversation. I like to think I have.

The HoseMaster's Honest Guide to Grapes Volume 5

What is it that the average wine lover wants from a glossary of grape varieties? Now ask yourself, what does a below average wine lover want from a guide to grapes? Considering my audience, I've chosen to answer the latter question. He wants short sentences and easy to understand words, he wants opinions disguised as facts, he wants simpleminded opinions he can memorize and pretend are his own--in other words, he wants to be an average American. Well, friends, let's not aim too high. Let's speak to the Lowest Common Denominator. Let's aim at wine bloggers, the great democratizers of wine, the voice of the people, or, truly, the voice of the poodle, those truly generous souls who give of their copious free time, time that they would not have had they any actual friends or lives, to speak to us of their great love, their undying love, the love they cannot stop speaking of no matter how hard we wish they'd stop, their love for God's greatest gift. Themselves. Themselves in Wine and Music, themselves in ghastly photos, themselves in caftans, themselves in almighty Wordpress, holy Blogger, Not my Typepress. The HoseMaster's Guide to Grapes is dedicated to all of them. Volume Five returns to the land of white grape varieties. I'll speak slowly.


GEWURZTRAMINER

Gewurztraminer is the wine nobody reaches for when having a nice meal. Gewurztraminer is the first choice of sommeliers everywhere to be left off the by-the-glass list. Sure, we've got Gruner Veltliner, we've got Roussanne, we've got Arneis by the glass, but Gewurztraminer? Nah, that's for sissies. It smells like your grandmother's perfume if your grandmother was a hooker for SnoopDogg, or Hugh Grant. The most common descriptor for Gewurztraminer is "lychee," even though the vast majority of people using that adjective have never tasted lychee and think it's related to Tai Chi and smells like old Chinese people sweating. The only Gewurztraminer that sells is Navarro's Gewurztraminer from Mendocino and that's because it's actually Snapple not wine. But Gewurztraminer is considered to be a Noble Grape in Alsace, a region with notoriously low standards. Think of Alsace like the Wine Blog Awards, and then think of Gewurztraminer as the blog Bigger Than Your Head, and you get the idea. It's just the best they can do. Sure it sucks, but, hey, it's better than nothing. Gewurztraminer is like other people's personal lives--you don't mind sticking your nose in it, but you're sure as hell not taking it home with you.

Interesting facts about Gewurztraminer:

It's easy to pass a Breathalyzer test if you're drunk on Gewurztraminer, the machine thinks you're wearing too much after shave. The bad news? You have to get drunk on Gewurztraminer.

Gewurztraminer means "spicy meatball" in German. In Italy, it's simply called Traminer, which means "I surrender."

Gewurztraminer is often the suggested pairing with Asian cuisines. Which makes sense if you think it's a good idea to pour oil on fire.

Other names for Gewurztraminer:

VicWertztraminer
The G-Spot
Old Spice


SEMILLON

Pronounced "semi-yawn," in actuality, it's a total yawn. In California, Semillon is often found in Sauvignon Blanc, as though it were a gerbil. In Bordeaux, it is one of the three white varieties allowed, making it one of the Three Muscadelles. It is also widely planted in Australia where it makes wines that are uniquely capable of embarrassing Australians, something even Olivia Newton-John had a hard time doing until she starred in "Grease." But it is in Sauternes where Semillon does its finest work. When it's covered in mold. Sort of like the great Chilean writer Roberto Bolano who gained most of his fame after he was dead. In Sauternes, Semillon is harvested covered with botrytis cinerea, nicknamed the Noble Mold because it was originally discovered between Ann Noble's toes. Semillon makes up about 80% of the blend in the amazing dessert wine of Chateau d'Yquem, the other 20% is the Euro. So here's the key to enjoying Semillion in a simple rhyme: If there's no rot/Drink it/NOT!

Interesting facts about Semillon:

It's often confused with Sensimilla, but only by those who smoke and inhale.

In double blind tastings, Semillon is often confused with the bottled water.

Australia is famous for its "Bottle Aged Semillons," so named because no one buys them. Except Olivia Newton-John.

Other names for Semillon:

S'Nores
Earwax
Chateau Ygack


ROUSSANNE

Most people believe Roussanne is the big, fat, ugly comedienne once married to big, fat, ugly Tom Arnold. Easy mistake to make. Both the grape and the comedienne are highly susceptible to powdery mildew and rot. But Roussanne is the big, fat, ugly grape of the Rhone Valley and was once married to John Alban, another tragic mistake. Actually, wines made from Roussanne tend to be rather delicate and elegant, like Elton John, only Roussanne ages well. Randall Grahm was one of the first to plant Roussanne in California, only it was Viognier that was in the witness protection program. Grahm finally admitted he'd been Condrieued. Roussanne has become a trendy white wine grape in California because it is difficult to grow and makes wines that other winemakers admire. The public hates it, which also makes it a popular choice for snooty winemakers. Roussanne is among the most ageworthy of white wines and dominates the cellars of people who want to leave worthless wines to their heirs.

Interesting facts about Roussanne:

The name is thought to derive from the French word "roux" which means "russet" and refers to the way the variety is about as interesting as potatoes.

In the Savoie region of France Roussanne is called Bergeron because it is about as interesting as Dan Berger, who is starchier than potatoes and as thin-skinned.

Roussanne in California is predominantly planted in the Central Coast where the powdery mildew leaves it alone in favor of the hicks who live in Paso Robles.

Other names for Roussanne:

Grahm is Crackers
Rosie O'Donnell
Roosanus (Australia)

Congratulations 2010 Poodle Nominees!

I like to think I'm funny. But wine blogs are rampant with delusional people. In fact, without the delusion that people care what other people think there wouldn't even be any wine blogs. Wouldn't that be nice! But I had quite the epiphany today. I thought I was funny, I thought I knew how to write great satire. I was pretty proud of some of my work here at HoseMaster of Wine. But I have been humbled. Truly and completely humbled. I feel like Donald Trump just fired me. I feel like James Laube just gave me 75 points. I feel like Rand Paul called me a genius. I'm humiliated. I'm not nearly as funny, I don't have a whisper of the satirical gift, as the folks at the Wine Blog Awards. Their nominees for their Annual Poodles are brilliantly satirical. I tip my Hose to them. I merely aspire to that kind of comedic brilliance, I have never achieved it. I simply can't stop laughing. Bravo!


Every great satire begins with a brilliant premise. The nominations for the Poodles is no exception. Here's the premise: a completely irrelevant and useless consortium recruits eleven unqualified judges, pretends they have the credentials, no, the authority to hand out wine awards, convinces the by-definition criminally vain wine bloggers that their awards have merit, and thereby creates a buzz about their meaningless and powerless group! It's sheer genius. Now, first off, you have to make the Poodles Judges anonymous. Anonymity conveys power and authority. This is why terrorists wear masks when they behead journalists. Unveil them and they're recognizable as powerless cowards. Anonymity makes them seem scary and omniscient, a sort of God come to life, like either a vengeful Zeus, or Tom Wark. So when the Poodles are awarded, remember it's just the terrorists winning; and when the masks are removed the Magnificent Eleven will be revealed, IF they are revealed, as the misfits and outcasts and trolls you expect. Meanwhile, it's satire worthy of Paddy Chayevsky. You Poodle nominees will have to Google him.


But the premise of the satire isn't the payoff. The payoff is in the details, and, well, I am still giggling at the details, the nominees themselves. It is an astonishing achievement, and one I shamefully confess I envy, to be able to insult not just wine bloggers in general, but professional wine writers as well! It isn't easy to take them both down a peg, I know, I try all the time. But the WBA folks accomplished it with their Poodle nominees. My congratulations to them. It takes pure genius to nominate a published, professional wine writer of Steve Heimoff's stature (let it pass, let it pass) alongside ChronicNegress in the Best Writing Category. Who should be more insulted? The ChronicNegress or the Chronic? Oh God, I shouldn't cheerlead, but, please, please, please let the Negress win. I went to visit ChronicNegress and, well, then the true brilliance of the satire became apparent. This is a woman writing about herself in the third person! Wow. It's like Rickey Henderson in drag writing a wine blog competing against the California Wine Critic for Wine Enthusiast. AND, AND, AND, the Washington State Wine Critic for the Wine Enthusiast. Dammit, why didn't I think of that?! It's positively Swiftian. And I call myself funny.


The HoseMaster went to the WBA site to see the nominees for the 2010 Poodles and the HoseMaster was stumped. The HoseMaster was sure that the Terrorist judges would recognize the writing talent of Alfonso Cevola and Samantha Dugan. But the HoseMaster was disappointed. They were not there. Then it dawned on the HoseMaster. The HoseMaster isn't the only one writing satire! The Poodles are all about satire. A satire of awards, the HoseMaster realized, it's a sendup of awards! HoseMaster almost fell for it. Now HoseMaster can't stop laughing.


I guess "demonstrate a command of the English language" means you write about yourself in the third person. Or you write eloquently about your own importance to the wine business in the first person. Or you're a conglomerate of marketing people writing a blog together to promote your business and educate people about how important it is to use Social Media, which you sell, to promote the wines of, well, the wines of your clients (Catavino?! Fucking hilarious. Marketing propaganda as literature--I am so pissed I didn't, sorry--HoseMaster is so pissed HoseMaster didn't think of that.) Toss in the Aussie guy to make it an International category, though, really, after a Negress, that's sort of overdoing it, but, hey, satire is all about going over the top.


An Aussie and a Negress go into a wine bar. The Aussie says, "Hey, are you Maori?" "No," she replies, "the Negress is single. Is that a shrimp on the Barbie or are you just happy to see me?"


And just when my sides are beginning to feel normal again, I get to the Best New Wine Blog Poodle. Here the setup conveys the comedy, "Should present a credible appearance as a new entry in the realm of wine blogging, based on graphics, title, depth of posts, etc." That's just classic! The priorities are just right. First comes graphics. What's more important to the culture of wine and writing than graphics! Well, the title of course! Swirl, Smell, Slurp, the oral sex blog! Now we're talking depth of posts. Sheesh, it's like "The Karate Kid" for people who think movies are for brainiacs. It should be against the law for married couples to write blogs together--it just encourages bulimia. DrinkNectar is here too! The little kid with head trauma has a wine blog with great graphics (come on, did Mom help?) and a cool title. Hey, look NectarDrinker, that girl over at Swirl, Smell, Swallow is cute. Go ahead, don't be shy, tell her she's purty! You know more about wine than her pathetic husband--go for it! These are just two of the nominees for prettiest site and coolest title. A Long Pour, well, true, more than a paragraph with this guy is really, really long. There's in depth and then there's, look at me, I'm an Alder Yarrow impersonator. You know, the Poodle folks could have gone the easy route and actually nominated some interesting new blogs (can't think of any), but, no, they sustained the satire, no mean feat, with these graphically striking sites. I know, let's give Best New Actress to the one with the biggest tits! As long as her name is cute too.


Best Overall Wine Blogs. Oh, man, not sure HoseMaster can get through this with a straight face. Well, there's 1WineDude, who has shitty graphics and can't write, but he gets a lot of hits so let's nominate him. Frankly, he gets the most free junkets and free wine and free stuff, so we need to give him a Poodle for being the Ideal Blogger. It's why we give Kevin Costner awards--it ain't easy being successful with so little talent. Dr. Vino? He's the CNN crawl on your homepage, but with complimentary adjectives! And for the cheap comic laugh, which every satire has to go for every once in a while, what's funnier that The New York Cork Report? I'm still laughing at that. Best Overall Wine Blog! It's clearly written by a cadaver. Man, that's funny. And just when the tears clear from my eyes I'm blindsided by the hilarity of PalatePress. Yup, the site that takes all the second rate bloggers who don't even get a mention for a Poodle, molds them together into one big overbaked blob, and, voila, the Domino's Pizza of wine blogs. You know what you get when you order from PalatePress--it's bland, it's flavorless, it's nothing but filler, but at least it's cheap. And then there's the Cellarist, the SF Chronicle's Jon Bonne, the guy who thinks wine blogs are over, a guy who openly hates wine blogs. Cool. A satire needs an ending.


The Awards that guarantee the meaninglessness of Wine Blog Awards gives an award to the guy who proclaims the meaninglessness of wine blogs. It's brilliant and it's perfect.


You can't make this stuff up.