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Coming this Fall, the cable network American wine lovers have been waiting for makes its debut! It’s the long-awaited Premiere Week on the brand new, All Wine network TAINT TV! Finally, a channel devoted exclusively to wine, for wine novices and connoisseurs alike! No crafty beer, no stupid spirits, no distracting food. You know, that boring crap so often lumped together with the miracle of wine. What do they have to do with wine? No matter what “experts” tell you, food and wine don’t go together. Like foreplay and sex! Food and foreplay are just two things you pretend to like in order to get more of what you really want. But not on TAINT TV. No foreplay on your TAINT. Only high quality television about one subject, and one subject only. Wine!

TAINT TV has recruited the greatest names in wine to produce and star in its original programming. Our stars are entertaining, informative, and just plain shitfaced. If you’re a wine lover, you won’t want to miss a single one of our new Fall shows. Here’s a sneak preview of a few of the original programs available exclusively on TAINT TV.

IRON PALATE

The most influential wine writers alive compete for the title Iron Palate. The first match pits favorite James Laube against sleeper Jay McInerney. In this first round battle, it comes right down to the wire, each man able to taste and spit the finest wines of the world without a single clue as to what they’re tasting. Calling upon their supernatural powers of memory and outright guesswork in the face of their withered old taste buds, both men bedazzle the live studio audience with their ability to make the best wines sound amazingly mundane. We don’t want to spoil the ending, but let’s just say there’s a new cult Cabernet in town from a little AVA we like to call Brokeback Mountain. The winner will take on Jancis Robinson, or some other critic who will be doing the work for her.

MADD MONEY with Matt Kramer

Sick of Mothers Against Drunk Driving? Tired of all the stupid warning labels on wine bottles? Here’s what Matt Kramer has to say about that on his new TAINT TV show MADD Money. Contains Sulfites? “It’s the goddamed alcohol that will kill you, moron!” Do not operate heavy machinery. “If I could operate heavy machinery I’d have a job that had some meaning, not the one I have writing pablum for wine dweebs who don’t mind having their intelligence insulted twice a month in Wine Spectator!” Do not drink alcohol when pregnant. “That’s what got you knocked up in the first place, slut!” You won’t want to miss Matt Kramer letting his hair down (it’s an expression, jackass) every week against the forces of prohibitionism. He’s angrier than Natalie MacLean without Cut and Paste.

SOMM FUN

Watch on hidden camera while some of America’s finest sommeliers play pranks on unknowing restaurant customers! Why, here’s a sommelier presenting a wine list to an unsuspecting couple that doesn’t have a single wine under $70. The couple is obviously on a first date, and as he scans the list for something he can afford, well, he’s sweatier than an old bottle of Beaucastel. Another prank involves a sommelier serving a flight of three different Pinot Noirs—only they’re exactly the same wine! Hilarity ensues as the unwitting customer describes each wine differently to his date. And the kicker—it’s not even Pinot Noir, it’s Syrah! And you won’t want to miss the segment where our sommelier informs the customer he can’t order the 2009 Lynch-Bages because the restaurant is out of clean Riedel Bordeaux glasses. When the customer insists, the sommelier announces to the rest of the dining room that, “Mr. Uncouth is drinking his Bordeaux from a Zinfandel glass,” and the customer is humiliated into ordering a glass of Zweigelt instead. You’ve never seen any of this in a restaurant before! Or have you? But it’s the customer who tells the sommelier his wine is corked, only to have the sommelier disagree and never return to his table, that will make you laugh ‘til you cry.

THE ONE HUNDRED POINT PYRAMID

Destined to be the most popular new game show on television, The One Hundred Point Pyramid pairs two contestants with celebrity wine critics, both teams competing to get to the bonus round. The contestants, wine dorks chosen for their encyclopedic knowledge of wines that have received 100 point scores, so mostly really lonely men, have to guess the 100 Point wine being described by their celebrity teammate. The celebrity wine critics have 30 seconds to rattle off descriptors of the 100 point wines. Each descriptor subtracts two points from the score. Here’s Steve Heimoff giving clues to contestant Harlan E. State: “Cedar, cassis, ripe blackberries, uh…” “2004 Screaming Eagle!” “No! Um, sweet fruits, marvelous tannins, um, um…” “2006 Cardinale!” Ding ding ding ding ding ding! Easy. So obvious when you’re playing at home. 90 Points! Finally, wine lovers, the fucking points actually matter! The winning contestant goes to the bonus round, where, competing against the clock, he tries to climb the 100 Point Pyramid in 60 seconds, only to find that there actually isn’t any point.

YEAST OF EDEN

TAINT TV’s continuing dramatic series is the story of three dedicated winemakers, one in California, one in Italy and one in France, and their struggles to produce Authentic Wines. Beset by skeptics, and nagging investors who insist on profits, these three winemakers fight heroically in the name of “terroir.” Or, as they call it in California, “any single vineyard wine.” It’s the story of courageous winemakers, and the tiny, really weird, women who love them. In Episode One, “A Week From Fruit Day,” Italian cult winemaker Moe Ripeness catches his wife Lotta in prolonged skin contact with a natural winemaker, lead character Frank Cornholessen. “Don’t worry,” Frank insists, “I never inoculate.” Meanwhile, in California, marketing directors for a major corporate winery concern scheme to put “Authentic” on all their wine labels. “Hell, it worked for Levi’s, and people are just plain stupid.” And in France, our hero Guy Spott, convinces his importer there’s a market in America for his wines. “Sure,” Guy says, “they’re funky. But I just had a famous American woman who loves Authentic wines here. I opened my wines with my handy-dandy corkscrew, sweet-talked her with my usual bullshit, and Alice followed me right down the Rabbit™ hole.”  

DIAL M.W. FOR MURDER--The Wine Ecdysiast

A HOSEMASTER OF WINE™ PULP FICTION CLASSIC

Chapter 11 The Wine Ecdysiast

It must have been a root day for Biola Dynamic. She was urging me to plant my seed, anyway. My office was a mess. I hadn’t had sex on a desk since my last appointment at the DMV. I was confused about Organ Donation. Biola was something of a wildcat. Her claws left scratches on my back that looked like Chinese tasting notes of counterfeit Margaux. Her screams of pleasure set off the smoke alarm. Her sexy lisp saying, “Oh HosthMaster, oh HosthMaster, you’re so thick…” briefly confused me. Then I remembered--I can be sick.

A few hours later when it ended, Biola lay in a puddle on the floor. Damn, I needed to see a urologist for that bladder thing. As she slept, the trace of a smile on all her lips, I sat at my desk and stared guiltily at the photograph of Avril Cadavril. Where was she? And what would she think if she found out I’d buried my testosterone horns in Biola Dynamic? Would she know the truth? That I’d done it for her? I knew that in order to get inside the murders of MW candidates, I had to get inside MW candidates. Judging from Biola, I’d passed the service part of the exam.

It was time to go looking for Tiny. I tossed my coat over Biola to keep her warm while she slept. I’d gotten what I needed from her, a free ride on the sommelier Slip ‘n’ Slide. From what she’d told me, people were out to kill Mallory O’Lactic; and it was probably the same killers who’d put Crystal Geyser in an early recycling bin. Biola would be safe in my office. I locked the door behind me, and headed down the stairs.

When I came to at the bottom of the stairs, having forgotten that my pants were still around my ankles, I tried to figure out where Tiny might have gone after leaving Avril’s office with some of her paperwork. He couldn’t have gone far. Tiny moves about as fast as Lodi Zinfandel by-the-glass, and with the body type of a concrete egg, I knew he’d find a place to stash those mysterious papers as quickly as he could. So I knew that even if I found Tiny, and that wouldn’t be hard, about like finding a haystack in a needle, he probably wouldn’t have Avril’s papers on him. And he’d most certainly lie about it. But Tiny knows just about everything that goes on in the underbelly of Healdsburg. His own underbelly provided shade for six Mexicans on a hot harvest day.

There was a time when Tiny was one of the most powerful wine critics in the country. He didn’t talk about it much now. But twenty years ago, a high score from Tiny meant your wine would sell out quickly. As it turned out, Tiny would sell out quickly, too. In his newsletter, The Wine Ecdysiast, Tiny awarded wines from one to five Pasties. Five Pasties guaranteed a wine would become highly collectible. Two Pasties? Well, two Pasties were for boobs. At first, Tiny had been incorruptible. He paid his own way, he was completely independent. He tasted every wine he rated completely blind. He worked sixteen hour days tasting wine—he put the “fat” in indefatigable.

But Tiny got greedy. He was working long hours and not really making that much money. Yet everywhere he went, he’d see people selling wine off his reputation. Pasties were everywhere, but Tiny was still broke. The Wine Ecdysiast began to sell advertising. At first, it was just for wine novelties. Wine gizmos, wine vibrators, wine ben wa balls, wine ticklers, things like that. Then the big boys started advertising in The Wine Ecdysiast. Spending thousands of dollars for full-page ads. A busty woman working the pole with the caption, “We think you’ll like our Treasury chest of wines.” A shot of the night sky over Napa Valley, only the stars were sparkly Pasties, and the caption just read, “Constellation.” And deep in his congestive heart, Tiny must have known that the big boys expected tit for tat.

It wasn’t long before an intrepid investigative reporter working for Juggs uncovered the whole scandal. Tiny was taking money for Pasties. When the news broke, The Wine Ecdysiast was finished as a wine publication. Tiny had a big following, and a loyal fan base. They spent most of their time on Tiny’s chat room, colloquially called eBoob. At first, most of them refused to believe what was apparent to everyone. Tiny was corrupt. Pasties inflation had been growing. More and more wines were getting four, and even five, Pasties. Wines from Constellation. Wines from Treasury. Even Bronco had to change the nickname of their biggest selling wine to “Three Suck Chuck” to honor its Pasties. But Juggs brought Tiny down. He put on weight, and a lot of it. He wasn’t welcome at any winery in the world. He became a figure of scorn. So, normal stuff for a wine critic. It had been twenty years since The Wine Ecdysiast folded. Tiny was bitter and defeated. He still drank wine, but, as far as the business was concerned, he no longer stayed abreast.

It was approaching the dinner hour, so I knew Tiny would be hungry, and probably headed to one of his usual places to eat. I started walking around the Healdsburg Square glancing into all the restaurants to see if I could see Tiny taking up a table for six. Hell, he was a table for six.

When I’d first moved to this wine country town, the restaurant scene was pretty dismal. None of them had any Michelins, though they almost all had skid marks. Now the place was overrun with fancy eateries featuring organic local ingredients, extensive wine lists, sommeliers, and other rodent infestations. I knew Tiny wouldn’t go anywhere near those joints. He couldn’t afford them. He’d be at a more local hangout, or maybe one of those new, trendy Food Wagons. Food wagons. Where I come from, food on wheels is called a dumpster.

Across the square I spotted Tiny. There were four men around him, and they were gesturing frantically, and it appeared angrily. Tiny was just shaking his head. I watched for a few minutes, ready to intervene if the discussion became violent. Just as it seemed the argument was beginning to escalate, a limo pulled up to the group. A woman got out of the limo, her long legs first, a brief flash of panties as she emerged from the limo hurriedly, without the help of the invisible driver. Everything began to move in slow motion, like the service at a Napa Valley tasting room. With my eyes locked on her panties, I almost missed the gun she was holding.  I screamed out a warning. Two shots rang out, a bullet whistled past my ear, and I took off running toward the woman.

She glanced at me as she got back into the limo. She seemed to recognize me. I shouted for her to stop, but the limo was already speeding off. I was momentarily in shock.

Whoever she was, she had a beard.

Somm In Your Pants™!

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Something Fishy About the HoseMaster

I love zoos and aquariums. (Yes, I know, that should be aquaria, but, really, we’re already wine snobs, let’s not be grammar whores.) I always have. When we were kids, my siblings and I could always choose where we wanted to go for our birthdays. My brother and sister always chose Disneyland, or Knott’s Berry Farm, or the local drunk tank. I wanted to go to the San Diego Zoo. As a kid, every Sunday morning I watched “Zoorama,” hosted by a San Diego TV reporter named Bob Dale, which was filmed entirely at the San Diego Zoo. (I can still hear the theme song in my head. Great, now I’ll be hearing that all day.) So I knew lots of the animals from watching “Zoorama,” and I wanted to visit them.

All this to say that if I lived anywhere near New York City, I would be attending Sip For The Sea on Thursday, September 12^th. At the Central Park Zoo! How cool is that? A wine and food event at the zoo?  I’d insist they feed me from a plastic bucket like they do the sea lions. And I just might fling my feces at folks who annoy me. Well, there goes my invite.

 

	Thursday, September 12, 2013 6:00 - 9:00 p.m. 6:00 p.m. Grand Taster admission 7:00 p.m. General admission Central Park Zoo Fifth Avenue at 64th Street New York City Festive Attire 21 and Over only
The Wildlife Conservation Society hosts its first SIP FOR THE SEA benefit to support the New York Aquarium as it recovers from Hurricane Sandy. SIP FOR THE SEA features pairings of sustainable wines from The Hess Collection with sustainable seafood and other special offerings from some of New York's top restaurants. This signature event will be a festive evening and an opportunity to learn about the importance of marine conservation in the waters around New York.

I’ve never plugged an event on HoseMaster of Wine™, and I suspect I won’t again. But when my friend Jim Caudill (he’s a big shot at Hess Collection, responsible for hospitality and squeegeeing the artwork) asked if I’d help a bit to get the word out for this event, I instantly agreed.

Sip for the Sea is a benefit to raise money for the New York Aquarium, which was badly damaged by Hurricane Sandy (oh, man, that takes me back—I once dated a girl I called Hurricane Sandy cuz she blew me at the beach). The event is built around sustainable food and sustainable wines. Don’t get me started. That crap gives me a sustainable headache. Tickets start at $200, but, hell, that’s not even lunch at a decent New York restaurant, which isn’t tax deductible either. And, I have no doubt, that Jim and his sustainable friends will be serving the top drawer wines from the Hess portfolio, and those are damned impressive wines. Paired with food from some great New York restaurants, served in the setting of the historic Central Park Zoo! Man, I wanna go, I wanna go.

There are thousands of worthy causes. We support the ones that speak to us. Zoos and aquaria gave me great pleasure as a child, and the work they do on behalf of the other creatures we share this big blue planet with is laudable and necessary. Sip For The Sea sounds like a blast. Just go. And, please, forward this to anyone in the New York City area who loves fine wine, zoos and the New York Aquarium. If you can't go, maybe you know someone who would. I'd take it as a personal favor.

And when you see Jim at the event, tell him the HoseMaster sent you. You'll get a much bigger pour.

PURCHASE TICKETS HERE 

Making Sense of Matt Kramer

The first Monday of September honors the American work force as part of the Endangered Species Act. But the first Monday also means the HoseMaster is in England at Tim Atkin's award-winning website. This month, inspired by a comment from Tim, I've written a tribute to Wine Spectator's Matt Kramer. One of my favorite blurbs in the wine business is Wine Spectator referring to Kramer as "irreverent." He's about as irreverent as Velveeta. I don't know about you, but, to me, he reads like a cross between Dear Abby and HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey.

As always, please feel free to be a common tater over at Tim Atkin, or leave your thoughts here in a paper bag you've set on fire.

MAKING SENSE OF MATT KRAMER