We are living in impecunious times.
That big, fat life we were living, just a few years ago? Gone. We are now living the chastened life, like Scarlett O'Hara, on her knees in the field at Tara. We are digging up stinky old radishes for dinner, and shaking our fist at the fates.
Well, maybe I exaggerate just a teensy bit.
Actually, our chastening has taken the form of buying cheapo wines at the local State Owned and Operated Purveyor of Alcoholic Beverages. And by cheapo, I mean less than $10.00 per bottle.
Preferably, less than $8.00 per bottle.
I get my little tiny grocery cart and cruise around the state store, trying not to look like some desperate old wino. I check out the Chairman's Selections at the front of the store, which frequently involve getting a $69.95 bottle of wine for only $43.50! While I am sure that these fine beverages are worth every penny, they are still a tad rich for my blood. And, since I have the rarefied palate of a billygoat, I will pretty much drink anything, even though I can tell wine from vinegar.
Then I stroll casually over to the back of the store, where the cheaper featured wines are. Here I am more likely to strike paydirt, which means a quantity of wine that is drinkable by my standards and costs less than a trip to the movies.
My most recent find is a Vinho Verde, from the Minho region of Portugal. Vinho Verde literally means "green wine" because it is a white wine with a greenish tinge. It is a very young wine, barely past adolescence; it has no sage advice to impart, no dark secrets to share. It is light and fruity and meant to be drunk by the end of the day.
That big, fat life we were living, just a few years ago? Gone. We are now living the chastened life, like Scarlett O'Hara, on her knees in the field at Tara. We are digging up stinky old radishes for dinner, and shaking our fist at the fates.
Well, maybe I exaggerate just a teensy bit.
Actually, our chastening has taken the form of buying cheapo wines at the local State Owned and Operated Purveyor of Alcoholic Beverages. And by cheapo, I mean less than $10.00 per bottle.
Preferably, less than $8.00 per bottle.
I get my little tiny grocery cart and cruise around the state store, trying not to look like some desperate old wino. I check out the Chairman's Selections at the front of the store, which frequently involve getting a $69.95 bottle of wine for only $43.50! While I am sure that these fine beverages are worth every penny, they are still a tad rich for my blood. And, since I have the rarefied palate of a billygoat, I will pretty much drink anything, even though I can tell wine from vinegar.
Then I stroll casually over to the back of the store, where the cheaper featured wines are. Here I am more likely to strike paydirt, which means a quantity of wine that is drinkable by my standards and costs less than a trip to the movies.
My most recent find is a Vinho Verde, from the Minho region of Portugal. Vinho Verde literally means "green wine" because it is a white wine with a greenish tinge. It is a very young wine, barely past adolescence; it has no sage advice to impart, no dark secrets to share. It is light and fruity and meant to be drunk by the end of the day.
Did I say day? I meant year, within a year.
It bubbles a little (wineosaurs call this pétillance) when you pour it into your glass, which is a lot of fun. It is a party-girl wine; it will not remember the silly things you say or do when you drink it. Plus, it has an alcohol content of only 9.6 percent, perfect for my tiny liver to process in a timely fashion.
I found this little gem, called Fâmega, on sale for only $5.99! So, I put six bottles into my cart, and slunk off to the cash register, where a stern-looking grandmotherly lady fixed me with a gimlet eye and asked for my driver's license in addition to my credit card.
I found this little gem, called Fâmega, on sale for only $5.99! So, I put six bottles into my cart, and slunk off to the cash register, where a stern-looking grandmotherly lady fixed me with a gimlet eye and asked for my driver's license in addition to my credit card.
Perhaps if she had actually had a gimlet, she would have looked less cranky.
Or perhaps, a sparkly glass of Vinho Verde, if I hadn't bought it all.
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