Fat Bastard

Ok, I'm a beer drinker. Rich, hoppy beers with a bite to them. I will even drink a Budweiser, if that's what you have on hand. I don't do "lite." Period. I can tell you where the beer is going to hit your palate. What the finish is going to be like. I know the beers that I like and will drink them two or three nights a week at my local.

My Dad, on the other hand, drinks wine. He's the kind of guy that will shop every liquor store for 30 miles around to save a dollar on a case of wine. He knows what he likes, and he drinks it by the case. So, due to his influence, I've decided to take a "step up in the world." You know, polish up the image. Be a little more...sophisticated.

So, as I shop for my grass fed beef steak (pan fried with shallots, butter, and a little fresh ground pepper), my green beans for steaming, and an idaho for baking, I decide to branch out and have some wine with my steak. So after picking up a loaf of chewy Russian black bread I squeak on over to the wine aisle. I'm always squeaking in the grocery as I always get the one buggy with the one wheel that only turns one revolution to every six of the other three wheels.

So, here I am squeaking over to the wine aisle. I know I like red wine. Probably a Merlot or Shiraz, because I've had them at Dad's house and have actually liked them. Now, I have to decide where the wine is going to come from. Beer is put on the shelves in alpahbetical order with the froo-froo beer being on the one end and the domestic swill being on the other. Not so with wine. Wine is divided by country, by region, and by grape. Whoo-boy. Ok, let's try the Australian thing. Dad drinks the Australian thing. And I find it and it's twelve dollars a bottle. Unnhhh. No wonder he buys it by the case. Ok, maybe not. Find a little table wine. I found out that that's what they call the "less expensive" wines. Ok, at least it's not the Ripple or Richards Wild Irish that we're all familiar with from high school. It's segregated in it's own little gulag out in the center. Where everyone can see you buying the cheap stuff. So I squeak on over to the cheap wine island over next to the Luscious In-House All Vegan Salad Bar and start perusing my options. Let's see. There's Chateau Neuf de Bob. There's Fred's Hand Picked and Bottled Table Wine. And then I hit it. You must understand that one of my all time favorite beers is called Fat Tire Amber Ale. I just like the name. It's a full flavored "cult beer." It has enough hops to cut down on that malty goodness and keep it from tasting like a fresh baked dinner roll. But here, right here, in the cheap wine gulag archipelago is a name I can get my teeth into. Fat Bastard Merlot. The little placard reads thus:

Tasting notes: Intense dark ruby color, aromas of stone-fruit like plums and cherries, combine smoothly with cedar and toasty aromas. On the palate its generous, round and juicy tannins are well integrated bringing harmony and complexity.

Well, I like the idea of an intense toasty tasting wine and the name has won my heart. There cannot be any pretension of grandeur in a wine named "Fat Bastard." So I wheel on home, butter up the idaho and throw it in the oven (@425 for 50 minutes, don't forget to pierce the skin with a fork half-way through to let the steam out) and proceed to decork the wine. You know, to let it breathe a little in the bottle. (That's what my friend Mike the bartender told me to do. You don't need to decant it if it's like less than a few weeks, errr, years old.) Well, wouldn't you know it. They don't even bother to put a real cork in it. Ok, this has my name written all over it. Because everytime I use my swiss army knife corkscrew on a bottle of wine the damn cork breaks. And then you're forced to push it down the neck of the bottle and pick pieces of cork out of your teeth for the rest of the night. Of course you can always pass it off as sesame seeds from the crackers and cheese you served while waiting for the idaho to get done. It's a lovely dark red color. Swish, shwish, sha-wish. Yeah, it's pretty intense. Taste's pretty bold. Why, yes, I believe that will do nicely.

You must understand, when I bought wineglasses they actually should have been labeled wine buckets. I mean they are big. Koi would have no problem calling them home. By the time I get that little steak cooking, the beans are steaming, I'm on my second glass of Fat Bastard Merlot.

And I am now hammered.

And here's the secret of wine drinking. You get hammered very quickly on something that is 14% alcohol by volume. If you sit there and take good, strong swallows as you would with, say a good amber ale. You are hammered by your second glass.

Flashback.

10th grade health class where the Alcohol Safety And Prevention guy is giving you the lowdown on how 1 beer equals a shot of liquor or an 8 oz. glass of wine. Remember my koi pond glasses? They can comfortably hold 12 oz. of fluid. And in this case, it was that bold toasty goodness of Fat Bastard Merlot.

Cheers. Fat Bastard Wine New Belgium Beer