I am a pig.

OK. I admit it. I am a pig.

Is that enough? No?

Well, I went with a couple of friends to an afternoon tasting the other day of Michael Skurnik wines—mostly Champagnes, so I was right in my wheelhouse and I was loving it.  I was taking notes, trying to be all professional.  The Champagnes were upstairs at the TriBeCa Grill and I was perfectly content to stay up there and work my way through the 120 odd bottlings.  After all, champagne is my opium….

Ahhh….

While I was up there, though, I chatted up someone who was a wine rep and, as it turns out, a cyclist. Given the name of this little blog, I was intrigued, and I started asking questions. She was upstairs trying to get her Champers on (get in line, sister!) in between her shifts downstairs where she was peddling her Italian wine.  I let her know in no uncertain terms that I was not a fan of Italian wines, particularly the whites. I guess it is closer to the truth that I really don’t understand Italian wines (and I have not consistently found wines that are good and I can afford).  She seemed a bit surprised, but also saw it as a challenge to turn my negative opinion around (I may have said: “Italian Wine? Is that an oxymoron?”—We all know I am a bit of a jackass). She insisted that I find my way downstairs to try out her company’s portfolio and she saw it as her mission to change my view on Italian wines (you go girl!).

I agreed that I would, and after I had come close to having my fill of champagne (fyi, I will never have my ‘fill’ of champagne), I made my way down to the Italian wines of doom (that is entirely my moniker, and I am thinking of having it trademarked).

An Indigenous Wines Selection

As Mollie from Indigenous Wines was pouring her portfolio for me, my two partners in crime had come downstairs and quickly found me (it is hard to hide when you are 6’4”-ish). I convinced them to try Mollie’s wines with me (I have to state that a couple were good—especially the Barolo—but aren’t most Barolos good?—and they all cost about $823/bottle).  While we were sampling the Indigenous Wines portfolio, we noticed across the room someone who was pouring at another table.

‘Noticed’ might be the wrong word: she was wearing a dress that barely concealed her rather, um, ‘healthy’, um, well, you know.  Let’s just say it was rather revealing. Being guys, we made several comments about her attire–specifically the neck line of her dress (that went down to about her navel). I do not remember exactly what we said, but suffice it to say that after countless glasses of champagne (even though I was spitting!), we made several remarks about the appropriateness of her chosen attire. Full disclosure: we were not complaining at all, just, well, remarking….

After trading a few witty barbs with my mates, I altered the angle of my gaze and looked up a few degrees.

Oh my goodness! I knew her! I felt like a complete and total schmuck. She was the representative of a Pinot producer and I had no idea that anyone from their winery would be there (after all, it was billed as ‘Champagne and Italian Wines’ or something like that). Their Pinot is really top notch, so I had to go over to say hello (and have some of their fabulous wine).  My partners in crime didn’t believe me for a second that I knew her, but I had no doubt who she was. I went over to get a pour and she said, without skipping a beat, “Oh, Hi, Jeff!” (which I must say surprised me quite a bit and was rather impressive since we had only met once). We chatted for a bit and she really is such a nice person.

So I am a pig. I admit it. I felt bad for a few moments for having objectifying her (I guess), but the wine was oh so good, so I quickly forgot.