Rusty Boar Red Wine
Producer: Rusty Boar Wine Company
Bottled with the label Rusty Boar, it pours more like a fluffy puppy, licking your face and wagging its tail in an effort to win your affection. It is an innocent introduction to a more sinister wine lurking in your cabinet. While most reds arrive with ceremony, accompanied by a posse of bling-flashing flavors, this one knocks timidly on the door before noticing it is half open, and steps inside with an apology for not calling ahead. It is enjoyable and without immediate harm. Like screening your blind date on Facebook before he picks you up on Friday night. Like starting the next chapter in the story despite an early morning alarm. Like most things in life, before you infuse them with your incessant, tedious melodrama.
Lola Kay Red Wine
Producer: Rubissow Wines
For the vintners, this wine was named for their grandmothers, but for me, this wine is all mother-in-law. Unfined and unfiltered, it is a simple, serene blend with a long reach, warming the heart and fogging the head in the most delightful way. This wine is grace and strength in the style of my mother-in-law, a powerful blend of moods and opinions, a force of fashion and grit, a staunch supporter and a perpetual wild card.
The bottle has two faces. One reflects the mother, the woman who raised the child who grew up to be my husband. The other reflects the woman who lived beyond that role, who danced, painted, traveled, healed, and loved, and who would appear to me through stories shared, late at night, a continent away, after many a glass of good wine such as this.
Adelaida Schoolhouse Recess Red
Break out the flannel and men’s corduroy pants for this bad boy, a kitchen sink blend with more varietals than a teenager’s mood swings. Your disheveled, disillusioned friends at the coffeehouse will all agree – this wine has what it takes to combat a stormy bout of early 90’s nostalgia. Pour a glass, turn up the Candlebox and think of the good old days. When Friday night was just another evening spent whiling the hours away in your room, scribbling furiously in journals and hosting a Kurt Cobain séance. When every surface was covered in lyrics and every mix tape included a desperately disturbing Pearl Jam number. When every day was both a horrific routine and a circus of drama. You may realize, at times, that not much has changed.