Dream a little dream.  it was five months ago that the hand-painted, dark green bottle of greatness arrived on my doorstep after traveling all the way from Epernay, France (actually, i had to pick it up at the Mira Mesa Fedex office after two failed delivery attempts...but where's the romance in that?).  it was a congratulatory gift from my upstate NY enchantress, coming on the coattails of my acceptance to the Simon school of biz in her hometown of Rochester.  its arrival coincided with the beginning of my exit from glorious San Diego.  how was the bottle to know that no sooner had it arrived that i was to pack it up and take it half way back to France?  yes, the Brut joined me in a traverse across this great country that included an all-too-intimate acquaintance with an ass-scented uhaul truck, snow-covered Arizona roads in the middle of July (no lie!),  a chance encounter with a New Mexico bobcat trapper, $1.98/gallon gas in Missouri (again, the honest truth!), and the highest splattered bug to windshield space ratio on record...

...sidenote: i now have the privilege of knowing that the first bobcat you catch is the trickiest.  however, once you have the bastard in hand, the rest will fall in line.  all you have to do is rip out the filthy animal's bladder, give it a little squirt about your trap, and watch the other felines come flocking to the glorious scent of dead bobcat urine.  now the knowledge is yours.  use it wisely (caution, this technique may not apply to cougars).  back to the topic at hand...

...partaking of the Fleur de Champagne was a dream come true in itself...i mean, who among us can gaze upon the white anemones and gold-encircled, enamelled roses and not anticipate the ever-s0-studious unraveling of the foil, the frantic unentwining of the binding cage, and the explosion of corked passion, culminating in an evanescent mist of fragrance that beckons all to partake of the kind of bliss that can only emanate from an 84,000 acre plot of land that goes by the name of Champagne.  abandoning the normal wine-tasting cliches, few words come to mind to describe the taste that comes from a perfectly balanced blend of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Pinot Meunier cuvees that were pressed no less than nine years ago...ethereal, yeah, that's it.  ethereal...

...kinda like that feeling you get when you're toasting with fourteen good friends on a little slice of heaven called Catalina...kinda like attending one of the 37 going-away events your SanDiego/OrangeCounty/LA friends throw for you...kinda like enjoying a parting home-cooked meal at mom's...kinda like hearing your three brothers play the most beautiful music you'll ever hear...kinda like holding your lover close and knowing that the 3000 miles that have separated you for two and a half hears has been erased.  some dreams are big.  some are small.  some are heaven.  some are nightmares, but they all share one thing in common: they tend to come true when you step towards them...some taking their own sweet-ass time...so for better or worse, dream a little dream.

Stick to Grand Marnier.  At first glance, i was intrigued to learn that the bottle at my fingertips was the offspring of the same family that has yielded my beloved Grand Marnier for six generations...yes, the very ones who birthed the Cuvee Du Cent Cinquantenaire, that blend of rare cognac reserves, Grand Champagne, distilled essence of wild tropical oranges, and "Marnier Secret" (don't know what it is, but it's frickin delicious) that lingers on the palate for what seems like days after the snifter is dry.  now that's a way to celebrate a 150th anniversary!..

...there's no real mystery as to why i'm going on about the winery's tradition vs. the wine's merit... basically, that's where my love affair with the Lapostolle family ends.  i won't be needing to reach into my grab bag of usual adjectives to describe this product of the vine.  it'll only take one word: syrup.  as i swished and swirled that first glass, eagerly awaiting the seduction of the bouquet, i couldn't help but recall the times, both raucous and reserved, that Grand Marnier's Cinquantenaire, Centenaire, or Cordon Rouge graced the evening with their warm, lingering glow.  this would not be one of those nights.  the thick sweetness was overwhelming.  i re-read the label several times over to ensure i hadn't picked up a cheap dessert wine by mistake...no, it was all too real.  picture a doubly rich zin...now add 8oz of Aunt Jemima, and you've got it.  after 1.5 glasses, i had to cork the biatch and walk away...walk away...

...however, i've never been one to waste the "spice of wit".  i returned to the Lapostolle two nights later with a (somewhat) pleasant surprise.  with a little exposure to air, and a couple days to mull it over, this chilean red developed a bit of a dryness and became drinkable.  it now fuels me in these early morning hours and offers a bit of food for contemplation as i think back on other things i've walked away from that may have just needed a little time to breathe...could it be too late for a second tasting?

Pleasure in simplicity.  I saw the Green Flash, three evenings in a row...ok, maybe it was just an over-stimulated spot on my inner eye from staring at the sun as it slipped past the horizon.  either way, it was glorious, simple, perfect, therapeutic...just about as glorious as a burnt retina can be. 

the sun beat me today.  it beat me good.  i suppose it was retribution for me kicking its ass yesterday.  you see, we have this ongoing competition.  after work, i head down to Torrey Pines state beach and haul culo to reach 15th street beach before the sun sets (today at 7:39).  being that i don't usually get started until sometime between 7:20 and 7:30, it's a challenge.  the suns a wily one...i mean, it's got a few years of experience on me, and today it schooled me like it was Debra Lefave...but win or lose, the sun's always a good sport and paints me a picture worthy of tears as it leaves me gasping and sweating on the sand...better luck tomorrow sucka.

after the hat-trick of stunning exits the sun pulled off this week, not just any wine would do.  no, this was indeed time for something special.  that's why i pulled out the Ca' del Solo...literally, i pulled it out of the bargain bin at Ralph's.  this $7.99 wonder, complete with screw cap, was the olive to the martini...the perfect complement to a week of simple pleasures.   simplicity is the right word for this white...one glance at the label sets the tone.  when other winemakers create a blend of varietals, they give it a fancy name, like "Meritage".  however, the folks at Bonny Doon Vineyard take no part in that.   "Big House White" is what they've dubbed this diverse blend of Sauvignon Blanc, French Colombard, Pinot Blanc, Chenin Blanc, and Viognier...and they threw in a little social responsibility to boot, saving trees by replacing cork with metal screw cap, which btw also eliminates the formation of trichloroanisole, the culprit that leaves 1 in 10 bottles "corked", or in other words, tasting like ass.  good job guys. 

"bright and sunny" best coins this vin du jour...vibrant fruit flavors that don't offend with overwhelming sweetness.  ever-light, i dried the bottle before i knew what happened.  as the last drops passed over my lips and i attempted in vain to blink away the lingering green spot, my thoughts wandered back to the fading of the sun...with only two months to go in this place, i feel each hour fade.  i miss it already.  however, just as i hung onto each second of the sunset for the last three nights, just as i savored every last drop of my new friend the Big House White, i'm damn well gonna relish every last day here in the SD.  who's in?

four words: party in my mouth.  in the words of the ever-wise Will Farrell, "it tastes so good...when it hits your lips."  yes, this tasty white tickles the tongue with bright apple and citrus overtones, yet it's not compromised with the sweetness sometimes found in its lighter white counterparts.  it was the perfect partner to the dungeness crab crakes, calimari & rock shrimp, baked brie, and roasted garlic my brother heaped before his audience.    the individual flavors of the tasty feast swirled in unison, escalating the sensory overload until i was forced to jump up on the table, wave my napkin around in the air (as if i just didn't care), and dance to the beat stuck in my head from earlier in the day when i listened to Dave W's Reggaeton station....but i'm getting off track here...damn you A.D.D., damn you.

"Lil Rick", the aforementioned bro, manages at the Napa Valley Grill down in the Gaslamp.  he's pretty much the mang, and he's definitely found his niche (i just love that word...neeeesh) schmoozing customers and buying wine for a pretty schnazzy place.  way to go Ricky, and thanks for the extraordinary dining experience last night....speaking of extraordinary, there's lots of crazy stuff going on right now with yours truly...trying to figure out how i'm gonna pay for grad school, trying to sell my place here, and trying to buy another place 3000 miles away in "a land where the beer flows like wine and the women flock like the salmon of Capistrano"...i'm talkin about Rochester....

...yes, just like prussian immigrant Charles Krug came to America at age 22 with little besides willpower and a strong work ethic, i'm preparing to head off to upstate New York with little more than a hangover and my lifetime subscription to Musicmatch On Demand...and just like Charles Krug founded the first Napa Valley winery in 1861, i'm going to...pass out and go to bed now...my Rochester dreams will have to wait for another night...and another bottle.