| dewy decimal |
2003-10-28 - 4:57 a.m.
It�s a hollow Saturday evening and I don�t give a fuck. Easily said when the night is so young.
Vanessa, Jason, Jane, Ara, and I meet in Kaimuki at a wine bar, Formaggio. The walls have frescoes and reliefs of wild vine and grape clusters. The patrons are duly dressed in dinner jackets and cocktail dresses-nothing so sophisticated as, say, Helmut Lang or Yves Saint Lauren, but just uninformed enough to come across as being really pretentious and stuffy. Yet it is enough to make me feel like an intruder, with my frayed jeans and Blood Brothers T shirt, an engineers cap with an urban slant.
Jason, who is a wine lover, immediately starts studying the menu for qualities in flavor:
Acrid? Depth? Supple? Balanced? Excellent !
�Oh this one is sooo fucking good. Initially, it�s really assertive but the traces of its aroma lingers on your tongue, a rich velvet taste. Yes, you've got to try this one!�
Meanwhile I�m looking at the list and am seeing $12.50 for a 2 oz taste of a merlot with moderate tannins?! I�m like, �You must be out cho muh-fuckin mahnd. I�m heading ta Foodland across the way, St. Ides beckons. Yup.� And yes, I say it in that exact tone too, because I tend to speak ebonics when my blood pressure is elevated to a certain level. Say word.
But instead I decide to stay and indulge in what is a hobby for some, but one I simply cannot afford. Jason arranges for a variety of wines to taste and they�re all just so fucking yum yum for my tum tum, make nice nice for kiss kiss and my head feels a little warm and swollen from all the body and tannins, like I'm having an erotic allergy.
I am told to let the wine breathe and to stir it around so that the aroma can do its part in initiating the pleasure of the sip. Savor! they tell me. Savor! What the hell do I know about wine? Shit is good right? Take that shit like a big boy! Woot Woot!
Jason, the gentleman that he is, pays for the check and I leave the swanky but unnecessarily pretentious ambience of the bar and its cunty, haimakamaka staff and I am no more informed than when I'd arrived. Cuz seriously yo, the muhfuckin $6.50 glass tasted kinda like the $12.50 glass and for $6.50 less I�ll take the cheap glass, thanks, and may I please have another?
Tuscan, you say! Bordeaux? Ah, you�ll find that I�m an indiscriminate alcoholic. Tannins and Malts are given equal opportunity to obliterate my liver in lusty abandon. I don't give a fuck. Easily said when the night is dying... and the bill? Well that's been taken care of, my friend. Enjoy!