Rex Goliath Pinot Noir

Roq the coq!

I've been holding out on you.  I'm sorry.  I've been waiting for the Muse to sing to me so I have just the right words to do this wine justice...

Apparently, the bitch is off helping James Patterson crank out yet another book, so you'll have to bear with me.


Rex Goliath Pinot Noir.  Rex Goliath Cabernet.  Rex Goliath Just-About-Anything.

In previous posts, I've alluded to the fact that I love wine with pictures of farm animals on the labels.  This is the wine that got me started on that.

Rex Goliath wine is named after a 47-pound rooster.  Take a moment to think about that.  A freaking 47-pound rooster.  My five year-old niece weighs about that!  So as far as I'm concerned, that's reason enough to try this wine.  Honor the rooster.

My husband first met Rex at a liquor store attached to a gas station and bait shop on a long and winding road in the back hills of northern NJ.  It was $7.99.  So, you know, expectations were high.

This stuff is so freaking good!  It's a "big" wine, but it's not overpowering.  It pairs with anything.  It's good on its own.  The Rex Chardonnay is an easy drink, too.  Their website has some recipes that I'm probably too lazy to try, but I will tell you that the Pinot Noir is just lovely with a Lean Cuisine lasagne.  (I wouldn't recommend eating the Lean Cuisine lasagne without this wine, actually.)

Rex is The King.  (King of our wine fridge, anyway.)  So...a little less conversation, a little more drinking.

The Naked Grape Chardonnay

Sometimes, after a long day of not being listened to, I like to unwind with a glass of wine.  (Not sometimes...often.  OK, fine.  Always.)  Now that the weather has been getting warm, I'm switching over to whites.

The bottle is empty, and I'm a little sad.

This wine is good in a way that sneaks up on you.  I mean, I was drinking it and really liking it without thinking too much about it.  Let's be honest--sometimes, drinking $10 wine is about compromise.  It's about telling yourself, "Hey!  This doesn't taste like total ass!  It'll do for a Wednesday."

But this wine is sooo much better than simply "not ass."  It's light and refreshing "with aromas of pineapple and peach."  I didn't taste the pineapple and peach, really, but I did taste the that's-okay-I'll-do-the-dishes-so-you-leave-the-kitchen-and-let-me-drink-iness of it.

That's a huge compliment.  I really hate doing the dishes.

So if it's been a rough day, and your kid wanted to wear his pajama top to school, or the plumbing in your house has gone wonky and you have to fill the toilet tank with the hand-held shower head, or your students think it's unfair for you to collect a project--one you assigned two weeks ago that they've worked on in class, for which you've given extensive support, directions, and examples--on the due date specified on the handouts, the board, and your website...if you've had a day like that, or an even better one, crack open a bottle of The Naked Grape.

Because we deserve so much better than "not ass."

Overcoming My Own Brand of Snobbery: Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay

No kidding.

Several years ago, I attended the wedding of two people I didn't know because my friend, Therese, didn't want to drive out to Long Island by herself.  It was a lovely evening, made even better by the father of the bride.

Late into the festivities, the FOB sidled up to the bar, clasped his hand on his buddy's shoulder, and made this boozily earnest confession:

"I gotta lay off the Kendall-Jackson."

It was the best thing I had ever heard.  I immediately vowed that when I write that script for an independent film, that line would be in there somewhere.  I tried not to be obvious about my laughter, so I ended up snarfing my drink, which was a white wine spritzer, and it stung.  (A side note:  For dressier occasions that require heels and/or spanx, I go with spritzers.  They keep me hydrated, and in the very likely event that I spill something on myself, they don't stain.)

"I gotta lay off the Kendall-Jackson" was a line oft-repeated in the ensuing years.  I don't know why I found it so funny.  It's like hearing someone say, "I'm so tired.  I was up all night watching Matlock."  Or, "Geez, will you turn down the Kenny G?  People are trying to relax around here."  Kendall-Jackson is not the sort to lead you astray.  You're not going to go heavy on Kendall-Jackson and wake up in the neighbor's swimming pool on a turtle float.  Even I'm too cool for K-J, I thought.

Fast forward to a year ago, when, through some cosmic alignment of stars and planets, my husband and I were off from work before our kids got home from school.  We decided to celebrate our 20 minutes of free time with a drink at a local restaurant.

I ordered a glass of Chardonnay.  It was perfectly chilled, crisp, citrusy, and smooth.  Maybe I was giddy from the quiet, or maybe it was the wine.  But it was lovely.  I had to ask, "What wine is this?"

"Kendall-Jackson."

Kendall-Jackson?  Kendall-Jackson?  How could this be?  It's so...so...mainstream!  And popular!  And I didn't discover it myself!  I was appalled, and my husband was laughing his ass off.  How could I be so square?

 It turns out I am square, because I dig the Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay.  (I'm square for many other reasons as well.)  It's got a clean taste; not too sweet, not too oaky.  A little lemony.  Nice enough to pair with nothing.  I'm square.  So there.

But too bad I don't actually know the bride or her father, because we could totally hang.

Estancia Chardonnay 2010

Pardon the scratchy label.

This is a splurge.  It was on sale for $11.99, down from $13.99.  I know.  Back that trolley up!

So, so good.  My husband made this nice arctic char with some roasted veg and couscous, and this was perfect.  The bottle says that Estancia Chardonnay "displays lush, tropical fruit flavors and a soft, creamy finish."

It's like butter.  I say that without summoning Mike Myer's Linda Richmond.  I say it with all sincerity.

Look, this wine is smooooth.  Like Lando-greeting-Leia-in-Cloud-City smooth.  You look absolutely beautiful.  You truly belong here with us among the clouds.  But unlike Leia, I'm buying it.  I'm all like, Han who?  Gimme another sip of this and I'll re-braid my hair for you, Mr. Calrissian.

Buttery and light, without any of that scrunchy-face at the end.  If there's an oenophile who can explain to me how wine can taste like butter, please do. 

It even smells good.  I know you're supposed to "take in the bouquet," and generally I do, because I'm kind of a dork.  But right here, right now...I want to smell this wine.

And drink it.  Estancia Chardonnay. Works every time.