GRAND OPENING SPECIALS
BY LANCE SPARKS
"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well"
One nation under gas.
D
ecember must be the month when
writers visit dentists. Last
month, our EW col-
league, Sally Sheklow, endured
the exquisite agony of a root
canal. Under the enlighten-
ing influence of giggle gas,
she
experienced
an
epiphany revealing the
deep-rooted lesbian nexus
of latex-enhanced sexuality.
I envied her the insight, if not
the process. These understand-
ings are important, no matter the
means of inducement.
Such as: A to Z Wineworks 2002
Oregon Pinot Gris ($11) – gotta
love these people’s work, con-
sistently high quality, stylish
wines at affordable prices.
They buy selectively from
the best growers then
show a deft hand (nose,
palate) at blending to
achieve varietal flavors
(crisply ripe pears, white
flowers, a mineral touch)
and food-friendly balance.
Right now, our fisherfolk are
docking with fresh wild coho:
Oregonians know that we can ease the discontents
of our winters through periodic and therapeutic
applications of big, rich red wines.
My experience was far less intense and,
probably predictably, more centered on crim-
inality (tho’, of course, rigidly righteous
reich-wingers and neobushites would gladly
criminalize all gays, even their very thoughts,
but that wasn’t my focus). Besides, the proce-
dure in my case was much more superficial,
being the mere excavation of the tender gum
tissues, the location, apparently, of most of
my body’s pain receptors.
Wendy is one of the world’s most compe-
tent and pleasant dental hygienists, even
though I think she’s genetically related to a
long line of CIA-trained torturers. Wendy
was wielding her space-age Sonic Gouger
Xtreme, alternating with the state-of-the-art
Roto-Reamer LZ, but I felt no pain. Instead,
the lower half of my face was saturated in
enough Novocaine to numb an oliphaunt, and
I was drawing deep drafts of nitrous dream-
clouds, waiting, hoping to drift into goofy-
land. No way. Awake the whole while, I just
managed to control my gag reflex while lis-
tening to a steady DMX stream of country
Muzak (not that I don’t like country music;
some is grand, and country is still where
lyrics went when they left rock & roll). I
floated through two and a half hours of
‘Bama, Bonnie, George, Willie, Hank, Tim,
Alan, et twangy al — slowly, from the murk,
insight arose like the bloated face of a three-
day floater under a Hudson River dock: No
Dixie Chicks, not once in over two hours!
Not possible. Vaguely waving my hands
for a break, I mumble-muttered to Wendy:
“Who put the hit on the Dixie Chicks?” She
stared at me; I explained through thick lips.
She got it, exclaimed, “You’re right! And
they don’t even have advertisers!” Who or-
dered the hit? Who were the hitters?
The Bush-leaguers, sure, but who, which
one? Karl Rove, the evil genius of the White
House? King George 1.5? Condie? Rummy?
The Big Dick himself? Klear Channel, of
course, holding Chick disc burnings ala
Berlin 1936. Sure, Toby played his role,
along with other wannabe brownshirts: Well,
FU2TK. Hope y’all choke on yer Koors.
Only one thing to do: Revenge! Listen to
Chicks Live (new album)! Boycott boy-
cotters! Take back the flag from phony,
pseudo-patriots! Post the Bill of Rights in
every courthouse and classroom, with a mar-
ble monument on Skinner’s Butte! And toast
free speech with good wines!
Make a buy, cookemup, any style, pour
glasses of A to Z Gris, make smiles.
Our investigators and tasting engineers
are developing a weakness for New
Zealand’s white wines. Two of the best have
been Kim Crawford 2003 Marlborough
Sauvignon Blanc ($15) — bright fruit, cit-
rusy, herbal, zesty and well-balanced, youth-
ful but classy — and Kim Crawford 2002
Marlborough Unoaked Chardonnay
($15) — so pretty, round and forward, deliv-
ering all the charm of the grape’s unique fla-
vors and surprising delicacy without mummi-
fying it in an oak sarcophagus. We’re also
tickled that Crawford has the courage to
adopt the screwtop closure: no cork, no
corkscrew, no cork-taint, no phony cere-
mony, just twist, pour, sip, savor. Basic lesson
for us to re-learn: It ain’t glitzy packages we
want, it’s quality in the contents.
Oregonians know that we can ease the
discontents of our winters through periodic
and therapeutic applications of big, rich red
wines. Even the grayest, most sodden
evening can yield to the warmth and allure of
Piping Shrike 2002 Shiraz ($11) from
Australia’s Barossa Valley (possibly that
country’s finest grape-growing region): this
wine is dense, dark, almost ebony, richly aro-
matic and packed with flavors of dark fruits
(plums, currants) and black pepper, a glassful
of concentrated sunpower.
Chile is emerging from the decades-long
death-squad horrors of the Pinochet military
dictatorship
supported
by
the
Nixon/Kissinger/Reagan axis, and Chilean
wine is emerging into some of the world’s
best. We discovered Montes 2002
Cabernet Sauvignon/Carménere ($14)
at Café Soriah. The wine is soft, round, even
voluptuous, complex in aromas and flavors,
enriched by the carménere grape, a French
varietal thought extinct but rediscovered
alive and well in Chile. Winemaker Aurelio
Montes has garnered worldwide winepress
praise as an innovator who can lead Chilean
wines to the next level, so watch this label,
whatever the wine.
That’s it for 2003, nasty year. Resolve for
04: Send some love to Natalie Maines and
Dixie Chick sisters and all freedom-loving
Americans; rescue the Bill of Rights from
reich-wing thugs; tell the truth, expose lies;
live and love and drink good wine. We hope
your new year proves a gas.
ew
Priya
2/5/04
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JANUARY 8, 2004 3 1