Thank You Sir Alex

Perhaps the greatest suckerpunch in our curious little existence, is the singular truth that all things, no matter how great in scope, will come to an end. The finest Bordeaux will lose its fruit as it approaches its century. Empires established bold in blood will one day crumble. All of our great loves and their every embrace will one day be lost and forgotten to time. Entropy is the ultimate motherfucker.



For my part I am sure that the definitive force that propels life forward in the face of entropy is one of the most fascinating and inspiring traits of our kind. Inevitability has got nothing on our drive to make our mark. To leave our legacy. Goddamnit  WE WERE HERE.



For nearly 27 years, my entire life spent in football, Manchester United has known only one man as boss. While ends came crashing in on the hearts and minds of supporters of other clubs for all this time, Sir Alex Ferguson laid his claim on the very thrown of the sport. His record astonishing beyond words, his achievements without peer in the history of sport. Perhaps we were too busy celebrating to consider that this too would come to its end. Easy enough in the gold standard of glory forged by the Great Scot. "Manchester is my Heaven" reads the banner along the Stretford end of Old Trafford, and perhaps there was the fallacy that we were amongst immortals. The Theatre of Dreams is an ideal place to lose oneself.



At 71, having achieved beyond the scope of imagination, Sir Alex Ferguson announced his retirement from football.



This shouldn't surprise any of us. He leaves the game Champions of England. He leaves behind a club, not just a team, that seemingly stands on the shoulders of giants. Which it truly does. What has been built in these decades at Old Trafford is not a singular achievement, but rather the collective culture of the likes of Eric Cantona, Ryan Giggs, Roy Keane, David Beckham, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, Paul Ince, Cristiano Ronaldo, Paul Scholes and right on through to every flash in the Kiki Macheda pan that delivered not trophies, but a fundamental belief that every man wearing the crest of the Red Devil could not be stopped. Its a belief that was built not from nowhere but from the glorious legacy left by a club that decided losing nearly an entire team to the Munich Air Disaster would not keep them from returning to the top of the European stage. There is nothing this club cannot do. Never has been. Sir Alex's greatest achievement lies not in tactics, recruitment, or managing personalities, but instead on building upon the storied heart of Manchester United, and introducing decades of footballers and supporters alike to the relentless BELIEF in this great club.



For me the spark came in 1999. As a Canadian kid with no real roots in football I had no real allegiances (nor any great interest) in the game or this club. Fueled in parts by Beckham-mania and by the great Kung Fu Kick from Eric Cantona I had developed a passing interest in the Red side of Manchester. At best it was a novelty. Then came that most epic of occasions at the Camp Nou in Barcelona. Bayern Munich, those everlasting monsters of European football dominated the Red Devils to a 1-0 lead as 3 minutes of injury time were added to conclude the European Championship. Those final 3 minutes became enshrined in the souls of millions, and came to define the very spirit of the club. 2 corner kicks, 2 goals, the most improbable of comebacks complete with a celebration like no other. I remember that moment as clear as any first kiss. In every moment of darkness since, I remember that day. When I was 6 over par after 6 holes in my playing test to become a CPGA professional, I thought of 2 things. My grandad, hospitalized from a recent stroke, what it would mean to him if I could turn this thing around...and Sir Alex Ferguson and how he had taught me that I ABSOLUTELY COULD turn this thing around. BELIEVE.



Players have come and gone throughout his tenure. Legends allowed to move along, because Sir Alex always had some kids ready to fill the biggest of shoes. This club was never about individuals anyhow. Its whats always seperated us from the free spending Galacticos (or more recently the Billion dollar boondoggle from our noisy neighbours). Mercenarial mentality may win games, but clubs win championships.



A lifelong supporter of the Portugese national side (Simcoe Ontario represent), I was initially delighted by Ronaldo sucking Rooney into an ill-tempered red card in the 2006 World Cup quarter-final. It would set up my the most romantic football match in my life when my 2 all time favourites, Figo and Zidane would square off in their final World Cup campaign against each other in the semi's. But as the moment faded I began to worry. Would this row tear apart the fabric of United, having its 2 great stars locked in controversy? I should have known better. Under Sir Alex the boys would together hoist many more trophies for the adoring faithful of MUFC.



Indeed for every star that United has born under Sir Alex, the satellites have just as much to say about our triumphs. I was filming an incredibly terrible film project (youtube Head Dicks for a puzzling take on the Buddy/cop comedy) in April 2009. While the crew was setting up the set, I insisted upon having the Manchester United v Aston Villa match on the tube. It was a pivotal match down the stretch toward another title run and I simply could not miss it. My heart was heavy as it appeared the match (and perhaps the title) was slipping through our grasp. Cue 17 year old substitute Frederico Macheda and his game winning strike that delivered us a last second win from nowhere. As tears poured down my cheeks the cast and crew looked at me as though I bombed the cookoo's nest. "Trust me this is big" i said laughing and crying at the same time.



It was no different the day I made my first pilgrimage to Old Trafford. It was April 2011. Having arrived at the Seven Oaks in downtown Manchester as some Canadian fellow who travelled across an ocean to see his beloved Manchester United, I was instantly a made man at one of the city's best kept late night secrets. Many dirty pints and mad shenanigans later I still count my friends at the Oaks as family. Matchday arrived and I was taken in by a pair of Irish lads who had flown in that morning from Belfast. There were many many beverages at the steps of Old Trafford and fueled by beer we descended upon the Theatre of Dreams as if we were childhood mates. In many ways we were. We've shared all the same moments for decades. Sir Alex was a grandfather to us all. Everton would prove a prickly foe. David Moyes band of underdogs play heavyweights tough. It was 0-0 going into the final minutes and the tension was like a straightjacket upon 70,000 fans, fearing the title would fall upon this failure. This time it was just another super sub, Javier, Chicharito, Hernandez. The little pea and the biggest of moments. His head to ball into the netting sending to the heavens the loudest noise I have ever experienced. Once again, victory from defeat. Once again, an English title would be ours (the 19th...placing us forever ahead of Liverpool's 18).



As the praise for Sir Alex descends this day, as the Great Flood, I am sure my piece is to be lost in the tides. Lost forever in that endless entropic tide that tugs at us harder than any gravity ever could. But that doesn't stop me from writing it. THAT is Sir Alex Ferguson's great legacy. Futility is nothing next to our spirit. And this is why I do not fear an August without him at the helm of this great club. It has never ever been about one man. It may have taken one great man for us to see this...but the foundation is there, for the next man to lead a club, standing on the shoulders of giants. Moyes, Mourinho, Klopp, hell, ME. It doesn't matter. There is NOTHING we cannot do.



Manchester Is My Heaven.

Thank You Sir Alex.

Battle Kimchi (Or in the words of Eric Cartman, "Simple, Rustic, Yeah?")

Last weeks announcement from Claudio Aprile that he was shutting the doors at Colborne Lane might have one day carried the Siesmic force to unleash a tsunami on the Toronto culinary community. He is after all, one of the most celebrated chefs in the country, and Colborne was the very flagship of his soul. In its prime it was a DEFINITIVE it-spot here in Toronto, and confidently carried the banner of molecular gastronomy over the palates of the rich and hungry.



Instead of a tsunami, it was more of a ripple of displacement. Nothing more than a large man exiting a tub of tepid bathwater.



Its no insult to Chef Aprile, whose Origin franchise has far outshined its ambitious predecessor. More a reflection of an evolution that's happened upon us almost overnight. Molecular gastronomy has died a quiet death at the hands of the proletariat. Peasant food has slayed its elitist oppressor in a quiet revolution. What began with the rise of charcuterie and country pickling, and continued as rustic Italian came into the hearts and minds, came into its stride with Ramen sensation. Before we knew it, the food snobs of Toronto had turned in full embrace toward the peasant foods of the world.



Suddenly the city's hottest chefs came from food trucks. The Top 10 lists no longer were the realm of white linen table tops, relinquishing top spots to the Burger Priest and Porchetta and Co. (much to the chagrin of the traditionalists like Chef Challet at Ici Bistro). Nowadays even that heavy handed Bistro fare has been torn down to simper roots (read the Lobster Roll and Bisque shooter at 416 Snackbar). Lobster Tail has been relegated to a garnish to a Bloody Ceasar at Rock Lobster. Yorkville's elite grab their best burger with a side of BIg Mac sauce at Mark McEwan's ONE. Young executives and Stepford Wives stand side by each in 2 hour cues for tacos served with a side of hip hop. Canada's Best New Restaurant as awarded by MacLean's Magazine, featured the foods of that most maligned culinary attrocity, the British Pub (gasp!).



I am hearing Bob Dylan's "The Times They Are A Changin" in an entirely new light.

Kimchi demonstration by Seung Ah Kim

This past weekend I had the pleasure of being invited to Battle Kimchi, the brainchild of "Seoul Food" maverick Sang Kim, hosted at his new Baldwin Street spot, Yakitori Bar. Kimchi is perhaps the ultimate "peasant food". A Korean culinary tradition passed on almost entirely through oral traditions passed down from mothers to daughters, this is as close as food gets to speaking the very heart of a culture. Sang's event not only featured some of the tastiest food I've enjoyed in some time, but also went to great lengths to speak to the sacred nature this culinary tradition held for his culture.



When I first hatched the idea for The Red Devil Blog you have haphazardly stumbled upon, I sought to host a mother daughter kimchi battle with Scarpeta's Pastry Chef Chloe. Sadly this never materialized. Fortunately Sang came to my rescue a couple years later, transforming his Korean gastro pub into Kitchen Stadium. The Battle Kimchi. 6 Chefs, 2 plates and a title on the line (as well as a place on the next Yakitori Menu).

 

Judges Table

The raw kimchi plates were all simply outstanding. The most innovative coming from Vancouver courtesy of kathy Kim, who was bold in electing to forgo chili pepper, rendering the cabbage and radish fermentation almost unrecognizable. Until the first bite that is. Super cool. Really it was impossible to discern a winner here, save for the best selections being older variants than their competitors.



It was in the applied plates that a curious divide emerged, not unlike what is unfolding in the restaurants of the city. Three of the competitors decided upon plates that while inventive, were entirely reflective of their Korean roots. Korean Story-teller Seung Ah Kim's a traditionalists dream, harmonizing beautifully between, form, function, tradition and taste. It was a perfect dish and by far the highlight of the night. Belle Park, local Caterer featured a dish based around Soba noodles. Perhaps lacking in functionality, it was striking in flavor and entirely rooted in her culture. Host Sang's sushi fusion was in keeping with the Japanese influence on his Korean dishes at Yakitori.

Mr. Park sharing his wife's noodles

On the other side a series of plates, that while tasty, even irresistible, were clear attempts at pandering to North American culture. Rebekka Hutton of Alchemy Pickle wowed many with her Kim-Cheese, a fermented radish grilled cheese bite. Sun Mi Kim, mother and student, fell flat with her Kimchi Pancake. Sure, we like pancakes over here...but lost entirely was anything that makes kimchi such an alluring trip to flavor country.  Kathy Kim's Kimchi Poutine was the talk of the room, but despite its strengths, like each of the other "fusion" dishes, there was a concrete absence of soul.



The next phase of the event was a spoken word concert featuring traditional Korean strings, told by Seung Ah Kim, relating a charming tale of Kimchi's inception as the spirit of a dead mother attempted to reunite her estranged sons. This was followed by an equally captivating demonstration on how to make kimchi yourself. Our bellies overflowing in cabbage, the crowd stood in awe and appreciation, and left with a better understanding of exactly what the kimchi experience is.

The Red Devil rubs shoulders with the Best in Show 

The heart of peasant food is not entirely rooted in taste. Rather in tradition, and more importantly what these traditions mean for the human condition. It is about the coming together of family. It is about living from what the ground gives us. Its funny that while the luddites fear the digital world has robbed us of our sense of community and personal interaction, they seem oblivious to this rise in culinary culture that is rekindling our raw humanity. The more things change, the more they stay the same. From this lens, I see it as an inescapable reaction to our own growth. All is never lost so long as the human spirit shines its light. We should learn to trust ourselves a little more.



Then again, all that food renders one a little light-headed. It might just be all that fermented vege speaking.

Beyond Good and Evil (Or Can we finally have a logical discourse on the Toronto Casino Project)

Toronto, I love you, but you're bringing me down.



I expect this sort of nonsense from the newspapers. Journo's have an obligation to their editors to pander to whatever demographic they feel gives them the best chance at selling adspace to whatever particular furniture store they feel will pony up the largest chunk of change. This, so that the scribes and the editors alike, can cash a paycheque, feed their kids, and allow for whatever indulgence makes their daily grind worth living.



I expect it from the politicians. Those who make their living based upon votes place little value on the rational, idolizing in its stead polling data ahead of vision. Pandering to the least common ballotory denominator. Rhetoric in the place of dialogue. Division in the place of unity.



But you the people...You who championed democracy and social justice, fought true bloody wars against true ruthless tyranny...well LOLZ you are just so mashed up between episodes of the zombie apocalypse and that sexy biker dude Jax and your 60 hour workweek that there just isnt much time to edumacate oneself. Instead we arm ourselves with the analytics of our CP24 Headline culture. We trust in a hollow blanket that a place we assigned ourselves in a political spectrum when we still thought Jagger bombs would find us our one true love. Apathy is one thing. But we lie to ourselves every time we open our mouths and betray the fundamental lack of analytical thinking that once put human beings on the moon. No instead we the people spend all this time telling you exactly what we think about something we spend next to no time thinking about at all.



Toronto at this very moment we sit upon one of the most defining moments our great city. And it sucks. Because the players in this great comedy are clowns at best. Our mayor, the crooked highschool football coach. Mammoliti, our very own blend of Sarah Pallin and Fox Mulder. Vaughan the false idol more interested in the golden calves than the rhetoric which forges their slander. Godfrey the court jester, bumbling about with all the grace of Woody Allen's portrayal of said character in "Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex But Was Afraid to Ask". What a shady cast. Nonetheless...The Casino Toronto Debate is a play that will shape this city for the rest of our lives.



Which brings me to the first and most important point. This is not about a casino. It is about an integrated resort in which a casino takes up 5-10% of square footage. MGM has no interest in dumping a bunch of heartless slot machines in the heart of the city. That's what Woodbine is for. This entre debate got skewed from the start by calling it a Casino Debate. While "no" apologists cling to divided polling data about a casino, polling about the creation of an "integrated resort" has from the outset scored really well here in Toronto. Not that the Toronto Star would make that distinction for you. For convenience sake let me be clear that every reference in this piece is about the importance of this integrated resort. The term "casino" is employed solely for the sake of convenient reference to the topic de jour.



I have spent a great deal of time over this past year exploring this topic with the citizens I call neighbors. Being someone who believes with all my heart that the MGM/Cadillac Fairview Developement project is this city's best chance to reach the next level as a community, I was very interested in those who thought otherwise. I'm that rare asshole who feels that learning about that which you DON'T agree with empowers you to be better equipped to determine what you might actually THINK moving forward.



From the papers and the politicians it was the usual nonsense.



The Toronto Star has been betraying its stance since day one. The same newspaper that established itself as a champion of prohibition in its youth, remains stallwart in its opposition to supposed vice. Their definition of LIBERAL is only as deep as the swaying tide of the political spectrum. With your allegiance in tow, they have no qualms in spreading disinformation toward the same ends that defined their very empire.



Take their frequent attempts at portraying the "grassroots" nature of the "no" campaign. They take glee in depicting the "no" vote as a movement made from 3 Etobicoke housewives fighting the corporate interests, when in fact, the "no" campaign has been funded by Onex, a financial titan, who has vested interests in OLG's casino appearing in markets OUTSIDE of Toronto's downtown core. Onex has hired, in fact, some of the most expensive lobbyists in the business to discredit the downtown Toronto applications.



This is the same newspaper who devotes so much of its ink to pointing out (quite correctly) that this city's development is so skewed toward residential over manufacturing and retail that it is on the verge of becoming an unlivable space. Yet it is willing to wage war over a facility that would create THOUSANDS of permanent jobs because 10% (or less) of the proposed development includes a casino. It's madness.



Which brings us quite smoothly to our subpar politicians. Namely Adam Vaughan. I was once one who bought into Vaughan's hyperbole of maintaining the social conscience that defines this city. That was until he threw himself headlong behind the Mirvish Condo monstrosity proposed for the Theatre District of King Street. Long before he was jumping up and down like a Gorilla in the Mi(d)st of camera crews in rabies like opposition to the casino project, he was golden-handshaking before them same cameras, trying to convince us that what downtown Toronto needs is MORE RESIDENCES, without any infrastructure with which to serve them.



Tragically, it is not the hypocricy of the "no" side on the political front that is most challenging. Sadly, the "yes" side is advocated by a group of donkeys that has no business holding office, let alone be empowered to make such monumental decisions. That's our fault Toronto. The fact that Rob Ford, Mammoliti, and Paul Godfrey hold these pedestals from which they so often embarrass themselves is a reflection on us the voter, not their takes upon what is best for this city. Lets not victimize ourselves further by letting their inadequacies alone decide an issue, rather than the merits of the issue itself. I hate Rob Ford is not a reason to oppose this development. It is a reason to hate Rob Ford. I also hate Rob Ford. But I don't by default hate everything he loves. Otherwise you could 86 football games on Canadian soil from this day forward.



Still, some desperate, grasp at the straws of Dr. David McKeown's report on the Health impact of a casino in Toronto, as negative. It is a laugh where he highlights the pains of shiftwork and irregular hours of casino employment as the basis for his report. Given that 100% of the construction work, and 90% of the operational employment (90% of the MGM proposal is based upon retail, arts and the operation of a world class conference facility) is based upon standard employment conditions, the suggestion that a few dozen card dealers working overnights amounts to a health risk is tantamount to treason. And lets not forget that this is the same Dr. David McKeown who has fought against EVERY Ford administration proposal from inception. To pretend that this is not politcally motivated is to join the Ostrich with your head in the sand. In the words of my own dear uncle, a Toronto City Planner, "There is not a public servant in the city who wouldnt fight a Ford plan on principle alone." Remember Death of a Salesman? "Spite Willy, it is the word of your undoing."



Worse yet are these desperate attempts to portray the dismal state of affairs in towns like Atlantic City or Windsor as warning signs against the pending casino apocalypse. Apologies for those ignorant of history, but Atlantic City was a corrupt bosom for organized crime long before a casino was errected. And Windsor was an armpit of Detroit long before its desperate underemployed working class was fittering away mortgage payments at a craps table. Yet no one talks about Brantford, a decade removed from its status as the worst downtown in North America, before its downtown casino helped ressurect downtown Brantford lile a Phoenix from the ashes of Alexander Graham Bell. Casinos don't ruin towns. They may not ALWAYS save them. But they provide an opportunity. What a community does with that opportunity is entirely up to them.



What the MGM project means to Toronto is a chance to reclaim it's spot as a world class destination for conferences, employ its growing population, and MOST importantly, PAY for infastructure that is so badly needed. Aside from the obvious problems of building a transit system that we cannot afford, yet so desperately need, there is the growing unspoken elephant in the room of the coming Pan Am Games. The level of spending we need to host this event alone requires an investment MUCH greater than what we have. Never mind the downtown relief lines, we need a way to get the world from our airport to our city. We have a cheque to pay and we best hope our butts can cash it. With the provincial liberals fighting a losing war against the teachers, and in danger of making way for Hudak's common sense revolution v2.0 there is no chance this money is coming from anywhere outside ourselves.



So here we are Toronto. This is our chance. Our chance to in one fell swoop, pay our bills, solve our problems, and in the process create a better Toronto for decades to come. Discretion being the better part of valour, I cannot get into details, but suffice it to say I have been privy to the same development proposal that graced Toronto city council this week. What is on the table is a REVOLUTION of Toronto's waterfront. The opportunity to define us as one of the great destinations in the world. The cost is merely the square footage of a few high end condos opening up to table games (as if these same table games aren't going on under the watchful eye of organized crime *cough* markham). And perhaps the notion that ideology is a higher goal than the greater good. Put aside what you SHOULD think. Dig a little, and discover what you DO think.

The Brady Brunch (Or Ray Lewis Will Eat You For Breakfast)

I essentially have 2 great loves on a Sunday. Watching Tom Brady play football, and brunch. There is a shared excellence that these two seemingly unrelated sources of inspiration share that is undeniable to the well trained eye.

There is a reason that going into last weekend's AFC Championship game, Brady was 67-0 when leading at the half. There is a reason he is a 3 time Super Bowl Champion and passed Montana's record of playoff wins. Its a total commitment to the moment. How easy would it be for Mr. GQ, husband of Brazilian super-model, to coast through life, enjoying the fruits of his talents. Instead the man goes into every season, every game, every practice, demanding nothing short of perfection. Satisfaction is only as lasting as the last snap.

Brunch is a similar beast. Lets call a spade a spade. Merging tasty breakfast and hearty lunch, complete with booze-fueled afternoon bliss would be alot like making babies with Giselle. What sets apart the Golden Griddles from The Black Hoof's, and what seperates the Tom Brady's from the Mark "Butt Fumble" Sanchez's, is that glitter alone does not make gold. Gold is forged, with constant commitment and attention to detail. With equal parts purpose and poise, as well as unquenched thirst to be better.

Championships are no ones birthright. Sometimes the most physical defence in the history of the game, lead by the man-beast that is Ray Lewis will pound you into laying the biggest egg since a Brontosaurus stared down a falling asteroid down the Yucatan.

Fortunately, for the guests at One Restaurant on a weekend afternoon, there are no Dinosaurs, asteroids, or first ballot hall of fame Linebackers in search of their destiny to get in the way of their birthright. The most fantastic brunch since 'Nam.  Merely the incredible cuisine of Chef Matt Beasley, and a barman with attention to the moment.

COURSE ONE

Raspberry Point Oysters and 13th Street Below Zero

It was Kermit Lynch who suggested to me, quite counter-intuitively, that Sauternes made for the most incredible pairing with oysters that one could imagine. Ever since, I've been unleashing Canada's best answer to Sauternes, Icewine blended with Old Vines Riesling, to any guest who orders our oysters. The response has been staggering.

COURSE TWO

Lobster Spoons and The Bloodiest Ceasar

Eat your heart out dim sum spoon. You ain't seen anything like lobster poached in butter and vermouth paired with the Ceasar of Jess Koncz. It's as though a magical boozy cocktail sauce was playing placenta to the birth of Christ. You think I'm exaggerating....

COURSE THREE

Duck Eggs Benedict and The Avacado Margarita

Finesse is not a word associated with this dish. Its richness in its most celebratd form. Like Diddy. Or Donald Trump. We leave the finesse in this round to the cocktail, which strkes an obscene balance between its silky avacado side and its bone-tingling counterparts in lemonade and Tromba tequila.

COURSE FOUR

The Ultimate Burger and Caravan Cabernet

USDA prime beef and Cab. No one is reiventing the wheel here. But whats not broke is not in need of fixing. The fixings are pork belly, fried green tomato, Big Mac sauce and Darioush's second label Cabernet, truly the best value for dollar Cabernet in the Napa Valley. It's Brady to Moss (minus the stupid Eli Manning 2 minute drill that may or may not have lead me to go for a teary walk alone on a beach in Boca Chica DR back in Feb 2008).

COURSE FIVE

Fritters and The Orange County Manhatthan

Deep fried apples, in tribute to the donut. Homer Simpson suddenly stopped chasing his airborne pigroast. Add the single best cocktail I can put in your glass...well suddenly it all makes sense.

Its the type of meal that makes you want to go drop a few thousand dollars in Tiffany's. Fact. I've seen it. Or at the very least make a fallen warrior rise up, dust himself off from the disgrace of defeat, and get ready for that next battle. The Harbaugh Bowl might be a great day, but the Brady Brunch is who we are.

The Sommeliers Guide to the Best Records of 2012

Another year has come in the land of the Red Devil. This past was a particularly special one. There was an energy to it. Something special at every corner. The great untapped potential of the universe seemed to open like a flower before my very own busy bee. Maybe he was one of those zombie bees before, maybe he just didn't come across any orchids. Whose to say? But for at least this spin around the sun, sweet nectar baby.

Not missing a step, the soundtrack followed form, sockhopping (and songpopping) the shit outta this Social. So many killer records. So much so that truly great records from artists like Bruce Springsteen, Action Bronson, Brother Ali, Lamb of God, Cat Power, The Muse and Dispatch aren't even going to crack the list (which I upped to 21...cuz I can...no big deal).

This years pairings will be with my favourite cocktails. While the Great Hipster Cocktail Explosion that swallowed West Toronto from King St. to College St. this year, might be inspiring for some, I sort of rally against such massively self-congratulatory trends by instinct. Instead my rebirth in love with the cocktail stems from spending an afternoon learning from Stan Vadrna back in April. Fifteen years behind a bar was re-ignited by this singularly inspiring afternoon workshop, and was really the launching point for the most transformative year in my life. Heavy gear. The cocktail saved my soul.

Note that I never include proportions. I feel strongly that the bar, like the kitchen and the canvas, are forms of expression. Paint by numbers is for kids, but if you want to truly become an artist, find YOUR balance. Play. Paint in the glass. I have mastered these cocktails to my satisfaction (and more often than not, that of my guests), but by doing just that. I want the same for you and yours. 

So that brings us to the 3rd edition of one man's quest in celebrating outstanding vintages.

 1. Kid Koala's 12-Bit Blues
     Pairing: The wines of 13th Street

One has to merely check out my December piece on this record (Click here) to know that there could never be another record in this year's top spot. And I know, this isn't a cocktail. I make the rules, yes? In any event I could not say it better than I already have. The best record of 2012, for your consideration.

Kid Koala - 4-Bit Blues

2. The Alabama Shakes - Boys and Girls
    Pairing: The Manhatthan

This record has really been the soundtrack to the entire year. Bursting out of the annual SXSW hype machine, this was from very early in the year, the leading candidate. The lady absolutely slays every note in a collection of tracks that ooze southern charm. By the time I finally saw them live in the fall, this record had woven its way into my life the way certain records always do. It would be forever associated with a place and time. We don't get those back, but we always have their soundtrack.

The Manhatthan has long been my drink of choice. Only fitting then that 2012 also introduced me to my alltime favourite version. From Shonna Olendy, formerly of The Keg, & Michael's on Simcoe (and presently on mixology hiatus in pursuit of living the dream), comes the most excellent expression of the Mannhathan I have ever enjoyed. Maker's Mark, Grand Marnier, Antica Formula Vermouth, Orange Bitters and Orange zest. You'll never be the same.

The Alabama Shakes - You Ain't Alone

3. Action Bronson - Blue Chips
    Pairing: The Bloody Ceasar

With this mixtape (and 2011's Dr. Lecter) former Chef de Cuisine Action Bronson turned the hip hop world on its head. Curious as restaurants across the continent are switching to hip hop in their dining rooms, along comes Bronson to tie this new marriage together in the most literal sense. Those still talking about his similarities to Ghostface have their glass half empty (and those wanking on Kendrick Lamar & A$AP Rocky never had a glass), but those in the know have been jamming off his hookers-meets-Haut-Brion style of wordplay since the day this record dropped.

Now of course, EVERY Canadian barman makes the best Ceasar. Not unlike in Japan, where every chef's sushi is of course, the best there is. But unlike these guys on either side of me, I'm right. Kettle One Vodka (infuse with some Harbeneros fo some kick), Celery Salt, Celery Bitters, Black Pepper, Shaved Horseradish, Shaved Lime zest, Mott's Clamato Juice, Worchestershire, and Jungle Heat Scorpion Sting. I love adding some pickled vege, though after a recent visit to Rock Lobster on Ossington, I may be adding lobster tails to my masterpiece. Boss.

Action Bronson - Tan Leather

4. The Typical Cats - 3
    Pairing: The Gringo Paloma

So long awaited was this 3rd installment from Chicago's best kept secret, I hopped a plane for Chi City to see the hometown CD Release party live in person. The expectations were as lofty as North Korean rockets launched by their newest Supreme Leader (Sexiest Man Alive according to The Onion and the Daily Communist). And like them commy rockets, the trio delivered. Each MC on form , providing their unique rhymestyles to the blend, but its truly Denizen Kane who emerges as The Poet, and one of hip hops most extreme talents.

My love of tequila and grapefruit come together like a Toni Valencia cross to a Van Persie volley into the back of the net down Stretford. There is no point where I have had enough of these. Never will be. Tromba Blanco, Grapefruit Juice, Grand Marnier, Grapefruit Bitters, Grapefruit zest. Sexy and simple. The fratboys be getting excited.

The Typical Cats - Denizen Walks Away

5. Ceremony - Zoo
    Pairing: The Bloody Cuban

This was the crossover album for Rohnert Park's answer to punk rock revival. Having established a loyal following with 2 records of their Lemmy rocks the garage brand of hardcore, they shoot for the wider audience on this one and defy the odds in creating a more user friendly sound, without alienating their fanbase. As for the live experience they held their own opening before thousands in New York City for The Refused reunion tour. But they shine in the dive bar. Reckless abandon and flying bodies. Raw shit. Fully incredible.

Thus cocktail is a brand new one, inspired by my love of rum, using up ends, and the onset of Blood Orange season. Havana Club 7, 1 whole Blood orange, Squeezed into glass, zest kept for garnish.. Thats it. Absolutely perfect.

Ceremony - Brace Yourself

6. Frank Ocean - Channel Orange
    Pairing: Faux Mimosa

While everyone and their mother was busy vibing on this instant classic R&B jam, I was wondering for months why everyone was suddenly so into Billy Ocean. I'm an idiot, by the time I realized this and got onboard I sincerely wished I had that last 6 months back. SOOOOO sick.

This one was born out of my love of sitting in the sun on July afternoons (and my penchant for tasty brunches). Bored of the same old mimosa. Flip the shit on its head. Gazela Vinho Verde (which IS lightly spritzed) and San Palegrino Blood Orange. Your welcome.

Frank Ocean - Pink Matter

7. Django Django - Django Django
    Pairing: Lamb Chop

Apolgies to Tarentino but his Django was about 45 minutes too long. This ones just right. Following in the vein of the new breed alt rockers obsessed with the synth sounds of the 1980's, these guys deliver the requisite hook and charm to pull it off. Smart and fun. This record is the sleeper of the vintage.

The Lamb Chop is a self styled digestif (though works just as well as a shooter). The name is in tribute to pet name between a father and his daughter. The cocktail is one of considerable character, and is wholly befitting of its namesake. Lavender Infused Bombay Sapphire, Domaine Canton Ginger Liquer, White Vermouth, and Lemon zest.

Django Django - Life's a Beach

8. Blu & Exile - Give Me My Flowers While I Can Still Smell Them
    Pairing: Kentucky Bluegrass

Its not a summer jam if it ain't Blu. Man has exclusive rights to my jam box on a summer day. Despite exploring some edgier sounds on some recent solo work, Exile returns the focus to the Soul vibe. As always, Il Blu is the Soul Provider.

This was my first award winning cocktail, having earned my face a place on a bottle of Maker's Mark back in 2010. Maker's Mark, Blueberry Syrup, fresh Basil, honey, lemon juice, grilled orange slices for garnish, crushed ice. Alternatively puree the Blueberry and Basil and remove the need for the crushed ice.

Blu & Exile - Ease Your Mind

9. M Ward - A Wasteland Companion
    Pairing: Aperol Spritz

After years of listening to M Ward I am convinced at any given time, you can never be more bummed out than this guy. Someone give the man a hug. Not that this record lacks a toe-tapping side. I Get Ideas, & Primative Girl betrays a sneaky confidence between his sad-sack exterior. But truly he is at his best with the most desperately heartbroken numbers. Crawl After You is about as endearing a song as I've ever known.

Pairing something so downbeat with something as uplifting as the Aperol Spritz seems absurd...but you're talking to a guy who pairs oysters with Sauternes. Fight the war, fuck the norm. Some add soda but some are alcoholics. This ones for the latter. Aperol, Nino Franco Prossecco, Orange and Grapefruit Bitters.

M Ward - Crawl After You

10.. Gary Clark Jr. - Black & Blu
      Pairing: Pimm's Cup

Perhaps the best thing about the world finally catching on to The Black Keys the past few years, is that now a new generation of blues rock is bubbling to the fore. This guy you need to know. Just slays in all the right ways.

The Pimm's Cup is that most noble of UK exports. Celebrate 150 years of the London tube, The queen's Jubilee, or the Olympics (not a bad year across the pond) with this adaptation. Chambord Vodka, Pimm's, Lemon Juice, Sprite, Lemon & Lime zest, cucumbers and strawberries.

Gary Clark Jr. - Bright Lights

11. The Heavy - The Glorious Dead
      Pairing: Mulled Cider

If The Black Keys made sweet love to the more obscure UK outfit, The Broken Keys, you would have The Heavy, and their glorious new record. Inescapably fun, this record is built for start to finish performance. Get into it.

My mulled cider recipe has been warming up the winter for several years now. Getting home from a long day skiing down Blue deserves this kind of finishing touch. Baccardi Oakheart Spiced Rum, Goldschlagger, hot Apple Cider, cinamon stick.Game over.

The Heavy - What Makes a Good Man

12. I Self Devine - The Sound of Low Class Amerika
      Pairing: The General Lee

Rugged and raw, I Self Devine has arrived as another gem from the Rhymesayers family. This thing is yet another testament to Golden Era hip hop ressurecting before our very eyes. And while Nas may have let slip on his new record, you can count on the generation raised on Illmatic to carry the torch.

I love me a bourbon sour. Nothing makes bbq like hot sun and a sour. Mine is a makeover that tips its hat to the greatest of Southern symbols, The Dukes of Hazzard and their chariot of fire. Maker's Mark, Southern Comfort, egg white, Rhubina Syrup, Lemon Juice, Grapefruit Bitters. SHAKE!

I Self Devine - Hold On

13. Jack White - Blunderbuss
      Pairing: The Camper

Michigan's answer to Damon Albarn can be counted on to stay relevant and does so here, capturing the sound of the day (Blues rock overdose much?) with a sincere integrity. Catch, quirky, its oh so Jack White.

The Camper is as simple as a White Stripes chord progression. Grapefruit Juice and Campari. Low alcohol and quenching acidity drives this as a flavorful summer slammer. Cant stop. Wont stop.

Jack White - Trash Tongue Talker

14. Jimmy Cliff - Rebirth
      Pairing: The Mint Julep

This could have been ugly. A long absense from studio recording can be a taxing journey on the elder statesmen of music (read David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, Toots & The Maytals). But Tim Armstrong proved to have a deft touch in bringing to life all that made Jimmy Cliff one of THE names in Jamaican music.

The Mint Julep is a singular tribute to the noble status of the classic cocktail. I'll leave my well-tattoo'd counterparts to barrel age their cocktails so they can be the featured in the next GridTO feature. Me, I'm just gonna stick with what works. Which in this case is Maker's Mark 46, Lime Juice and Fresah Mint. Feel free to play with some syrups to achieve your ideal blend.

Jimmy Cliff - One More

15. The Lumineers - The Lumineers
      Pairing: The Avacado Margarita

Not my fault. That is all.

As for the cocktail, this one was a patio favourite this past summer at One. Tromba Blanco, Agave Nectar, Avacado Lemonade, shaved Lime zest. Crisp and creamy at the same time. Its a mystery, wrapped inside an enigma, stolen Inception style from the dreams of M Night Shyamalan. As is the reason this record is ever played during my extremely manly day to day existence.

The Lumineers - Stubborn Love

16. Plan B - Ill Manors
      Pairing: Irish Coffee

Having returned from his self-styled soul man outing that made Strickland Banks the most dynamic record of 2010, loud mouth Ben Drew gets back to his roots. Grimey UK hip hop. This one dives deep into the perilous state of the Youth Culture in the UK. Without pointing fingers, but rather displaying a deft understanding of the socio political powers that undermine Britain's youth, this is equal parts anthem and condemnation. And its hauntingly beautiful.

One feels a carbomb is more Ben Drew than a coffee. But for me, my weekly dose of UK Culture comes from sucking these down in front of Sky Sports and weekend footy. Jameson and Black Coffee. Goal!

Plan B - Ill Manors

17. Titus Andronicus - Local Business
      Pairing: Maple Mojito

Another instant classic from this outfit not afraid of being themselves amidst the ironically conformist world of punk rock. Smart, fun, clever and cool. Its a rare breed but they have now proven their last gem was no fluke.

Also not afraid of doing things different, this became my summer thing. I like mojitos. And what is more Canadian than Maple Syrup? Somewhere in Quebec, Martin Picard just smiled. As will you blending Bacardi 8 Year, Maple Syrup, Mint, Lime, Lime Juice and Soda.

Titus Andronicus - In a Big City

18. Murs & 9th Wonder - The Final Adventure
      Pairing: The Oxley Martini

Not the first time a rapper has claimed to putting out a final record, but there is something to the integrity of these 2 hip hop heavyweights that suggests the Final Adventure will be a farewell for the dynamic duo. A fitting conclusion then, delivering the expected dose of awesome that this collaboration has come to define over the past decade.

Proof that stellar ingredients, left to sing on their own, will do just that. Oxley is a unique and fantastic small batch gin that is truly heads and shoulders above its peers. Oxley Gin, Grapefruit Bitters and Grapefruit zest. Bumpin.

Murs and 9th Wonder - Get Together

19. Cloud Nothings - Attack On Memory
      Pairing: The French Quarter

The critical darling of the Indie Rock scene this is every bit worth the praise. As well crafted a rock album as I've seen in years. Alluring, aggressive and daring. Would love to catch this live.

My entry into this years Grey Goose Pour Masters. A twist on the French 75, this one captures the spirit of the drink, while standing on its own. If you're going to switch on a classic, be sure everything has its purpose. Grey Goose Citron, Champagne, Lemon Juice, and an Orange wheel, soaked in Hennessey VSOP.

Cloud Nothings - Wasted Days

20. DZ Deathrays - Bloodstreams
      Pairing: Negroni

Such a hip debut from these kids. Famed roadie/protester/cultural icon Adam Wordsworth Nobody put me onto this band during festival season here in Toronto. It was months later the record came out. Nobody knows what he's talking about.

If I had a buck for every barrel-aged Negroni on a Toronto cocktail list this year, The Red Devil Wine bar would be opening next month. Assuming I don't know more than well paid master distillers, I simply buy good gear and get into the glass. Bombay Sapphire Gin, Antica Formula Vermouth, Campari & Sliced orange. You fancy, huh?

DZ Deathrays - Cops Capacity

21. Wu Block - Wu Block
      Pairing: Pear Lychee Martini

Ghostface. That is all.

Another One classic. Grey Goose Pear, Soho Liquer, Lime Juice, and fresh lyuhee fruit. Candy.

Wu Block - Been Robbed

Rum Ham and Wildcard Weekend



It is an inescapable fact that men have an unquenchable fascination with large chunks of meat. This is not meant as some social commentary rather a simple empiricle statement of fact. Its the driving force behind such uniquely manly endeavours such as big game hunting, deep sea fishing, bear hugs, T-bone steaks, Mideval Times & occasionally a go round of a Stranger (define THAT and stay fashionable).

Take for your consideration my recent fascination with weekend roasts. It began 3 weeks ago when I decided to braise a rather large brisket, enjoy a tasty dinner, and then live on the leftovers for a week to follow. In addition to the glorious fatness of a braised beef dinner, the resulting days of experimentation lead to the most gangster Bucatini Brisket. Then it was the holidays so it was only natural I find nearly 20 pounds of bird, brine that turkey, and unleash an unfinishable feast upon my family and friends. Like your Chem teacher with a bunson burner, I mad scientist'd my way into a firey, turkey club kafta.

Cue this weekend, and the launch of that other, oh so manly of activities, NFL playoff football. This was a next level. A simple piece of meat would no longer suffice. Bigger. Better. Faster. Stronger. I am flexing even as I type this.

And thus (with a little bit of assistance from "Its Always Sunny In Philadelphia") Rum Ham was born. Started things off with a sexy, skin on, bone-in, pork shoulder roast. Brined that bad boy in rosemary, sage, thyme, peppercorns, garlic, onion, sugar and salt. Timing required a 30 hour brine, so i busted out the pen and the pad and math'd my way into a lower seasoning-to-water ratio that kept everything in balance. How I came to having notes on all my previous brines is not important and should be ignored by the concerned reader. Fired up the oven to 450 and with the skin face up, docked the beast for 30 minutes of searing heat and removed to cool it down to 325. Its a key step in getting that eventual crackle into that just right state of crispy perfection. the next 5 hours were a slow bath in a baste of Havana Club 7 and pineapple juice.

And we weren't done there. Braised apples were to make that special side (which doubled as sauce). And with the braised apples being simmered in riesling, the final, most epic piece of the puzzle came to light. The guests assembled, the Seahawks spotted the Skins a 14 point lead, and I guided them through a 6 wine flight pitting the best of Niagara Rieslings vs 3 German counterparts.

We began with a 2011 Estate Riesling from Thirty Bench. Sous Chef and world traveller, Sir Alex Guido began right away calling out the distinct petrol notes jumping from the glass. Its a varietal signature I feel is central to the experience of Rieslings from both Niagara as well as Alsace. But those crazy krouts love their fruit-forward Rieslings and with our next glass we could see how these off-dry gob-monsters need some time to really show their stuff.

While super tasty, the 2011 St Urban Hof Kabinett riesling was mad young, and all that ripe fruit and residual sugar just masked what could be only assumed lied beneath.

Next up was the Vineland Estates St Urban Vineyard 2011 Riesling. This seemed to tie the best of both previous wines incredibly well and was instantly the crowd favourite. Oddly enough the one guest who didnt like the wine, was someone who I tasted this same wine with 2 months ago over a tasty lunch at Vineland Estates and found it one of that days bests. Its proof that there is no science to this. Wine is like our lovers. Some days we love them, others we loathe them. In wine as in romance, the best we get is something we always want to go back home to.

I cannot sum up wine 4 any better than Sir Alex Guido.

"Does anyone else find this wine reminds them of weed brownies?"

Best.Wine.Descriptor.Ever.

While I couldnt quite wrap my twisted brain around that number, the crowd built the bridge, bringing to light a buttery, baked goods side, that wrapped in the unctious fruit, gave birth to a momentous fan favourite. The 2007 Dr Herman Riesling Spatlese was as demonstrative as some old bearded deity parting the Red Sea for the Isrealites. There is no shame in fruit driven rieslings. In their youth they cannot hold a candle to the leaner, acid-driven styles of Niagara and Alsace, but give them time and something special can happen.

Something special was happening inside the glass tubes of my terribly antiquated television set too. Russel Wilson and the Seahawks were doing that thing that makes playoff football so incredible. They were playing for their lives (insofar as death is an early trip to the golf course and a possible ticket to the Pro Bowl in Hawaii).

As we rolled into round 5 we were most definitely burned out under an avalanche of pig fat and riesling. Pity then it was the round that showcased, MY pick of wine of the night with the 2010 Old Vines Riesling from 13th Street. I once made the comment that this wine reminds me of a 2001 Ostertag Heissenberg Riesling I recently enjoyed (read the last article for proof). The nose truly delivers this old school, Alsatian vibe, that I can only compare to listening to old Beach Boys records. while waxing ones 57 Chevy, upon returning from exploring the grimey wine caves of the Loire Valley. Cool beans.

We finished the flight with a 2005 Spatlese from Bollig-Lehnert. Not the best wine of the night, but the most fitting conclusion in the demonstration. Another off dry heavyweight, its most advanced age, really showed us what Riesling can do in time. Everyone is in such a hurry to age their Cabernet and Grenache that they forget whites like Riesling and Chenin Blanc are every bit worthy of that MILF treatment.

Behind the wine, the big game finally turned, a stubborn coach risking his clearly ailing franchise QB, leading to a collapse rivalled only by the kneee of Robert Griffin III. Those rugged upstart Seahawks gave birth to a new playoff legend. While Wade Davis and Jared Diamond warn us of the perils in the extinction of oral history through vanishing ancient language, a new digital history is being created before our eyes. New legends for a new world, telling that same story. That ongoing struggle in rising above our enemies and setbacks in salute to defiance and victory.

I'm thumping my chest. Believe that.

The Sommelier's Guide to the 12-Bit Blues

You can't stroll through Niagara wine country these days without hearing some beaming winemaker absolutely effervescent over the fruits of the 2012 vintage. Coming off the heels of spectacular runs in 2010 and 2011 it seems absurd that we could enjoy something even better, but the fact remains that  in just about every varietal grown in Niagara, 2012 bestowed an as yet unseen level of excellence.

The same can be said about the world of underground hip hop. There has been a magical run of records from the likes of Action Bronson, Ghostface, Blueprint, Brother Ali, The Typical Cats, J-Live, Jay Electronica, Saigon, Murs & 9th Wonder, The Roots, Common, Phonte, Blu and Exile, I Self Devine, Lupe Fiasco, Pharoah Monche & countless others that have been complete game changers. Its enough for even this hardcase old soul to grant that we might be at the cusp of a new Golden Era.

And that's when I dropped the new Kid Koala record.

My jaw dropped through the floor like an acidic bathtub in Breaking Bad. The 7th Trumpet had sounded and suddenly I knew the Mayans knew what they were doing with their Calender. This record is "Deadringer" for a new generation. I remember when I first heard Bronson, we hatched the phrase "There is no longer music, only Action Bronson." Apologies to the Chef De Cuisine, but after "12-Bit Blues" there is no longer a planet Earth. Game Over (insert coins for credit).

Inspired so by this magical tidal wave of awesome that surfed so excellently upon my earwax, I am compelled to dedicate a "Sommelier's Guide" piece not to the best records of the year...but one solitary piecee of musical magic.

"5-Bit Blues" - Kid Koala - you'll want this clicked for mood from here on out.

And what better way to celebrate this Canadian excellence on the turntable, but with my most recent Canadian wine obsession. My mind was similarly blown over a recent visit to 13th Street Winery. Our most righteous host guided us through their little slice of Olympus pie, taking us from their garagiste roots, to the world class evolution they are now enjoying. So gangster. They are literally the underground MC, shying away from the mass production world of spinning rims and songs about SHOTS, to deliver hand crafted wine of the soul.

It would appear as though someone is reconsidering their choice of beverage 

This record, and these wines are a match made in Red Devil Hell.

Without further adieu...I give you my 12 course pairing program.

"1-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2010 Old Vines Riesling, 13th Street

"The Kid is in rare form" is heard kicking off the track, and without a doubt the term "classic" resonates throughout. Thus I go with this wine that exudes classic. I at once compared it to a 2001 Heissenberg Riesling I so enjoyed. The nose explodes with that oily/terpine quality that is quintessential riesling. Music and mood for the old soul.

"2-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2008 Premier Cuvee, 13th Street

This is the kind of toe-tapping dancehall crasher that commands you to get on the floor. What's cooler than being cool? Ice Cold. Nothing says party like this zesty fresh sparkler that brings the bubbles. Rick James might just call it a celebration.

"3-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 Gamay, 13th Street

Suddenly, things turn grimey. With the grit of a blues bar in a neighborhood you dont want to visit, you are suddenly staring down the dark heart of the soul. And you are loving every minute. Thus there is no better pairing for the adventurous spirit within, than the wild child that is this Gamay. More wild child Syrah than bubblegum Beaujolais, this is a wine for those who love that wild, gamey, bacon-fat, leesy underworld of wine. GANGSTER.

"4-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 Below Zero Riesling, 13th Street

Blues can be so smooth and so rugged in the same glorious note. This song captures that magic with an ease that's hard to wrap my head around. Meet the Below Zero. Blended icewine and old vine riesling, there is a smooth mystique wrapped in a dangerous acidity that elevates this thing into something that you need to taste to believe.

"5-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2010 Cabernet Merlot, 13th Street

The kind of blues that pours itself into a bottle because that is the only escape from the pain of a broken heart. The kind of blues  that defines why we have the blues. This is that bottle you want to get lost in. Pour your heart out into its rich dark complexity...and grieve brother.

"6-Bit Blus"
Pairing: 2010 Sauvignon Blanc, 13th Street

This is the soundtrack to being alone at some desserted way-station in the sweltering wastelands, awaiting a coach that just aint coming. Your companion on the journey is this thirst quenching number that screams of French Sauvignon blanc. Its hot in this hell, quench that thirst.

"7-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 13 Red, 13th Street

This is blues for the rebellious heart. The renegade of funk. The bitches bastard. Bring then this wine that takes no heed to the dogma that value-priced Niagara reds cannot be serious wines. This wine plays by no such rules, and changes the game.

"8-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 13 Pinot Noir, 13th Street

Back to the gritty, grimey heart of the blues. If grit and grime exists in grape form, it is most certainly in Pinot Noir. In its best expression it hides its inner poet, with the surly disposition of a dangerous man. Get into it.

"9-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2010 Sandstone Reserve Chardonnay

Slow blues. Buttery. Soft and alluring. I forgot if I am describing the song or the wine.

"10-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 Viognier, 13th Street

Harkens one back to a simpler time. A time when you tossed mud at the girl you were crushing on, rather than cyber bully some undeserving victim. Do we romanticize the past more than we should? Maybe...but remember when kids were kids? Speaking of romance, have you met Viognier?

"11-Bit Blues"
Pairing: 2011 June's Vineyard Riesling, 13th Street

Baby making music deserves baby making wine. Enough said.

"Denouement"
Pairing: "2011 BGPP Rose, 13th Street

The record ends as it starts. With charm, charisma and that stylish amount of real world grime. Looks just as good in a 3 piece suit as mud covered work boots. Style that comes from an authentic heart, not some insecure follower of fashion, trying so desperately to be what he is supposed to be. Thats how I feel about this wine. Flies in the face of convention. Does its own thing, and tastes so damned good along the way. Pinot rose man. The bees knees.


So here's the deal. Get yourself this record. Get some friends. Maybe a couple of enemies just to keep things spicy. Roll out the party pack of some 13th Street juice. Throw down this record on the loop. I promise you something  you'll be telling your kids about...when they're 18 of course...and you're suddenly falling victim to email scams from Nigerian princes looking to get their fortunes out of Africa. Ah the Adult Diaper years...they're coming for ya. Best to live some in the interim.