RSS Feed

Category Archives: Pinotage

Happy Valentimes Day!

While we didn’t have a specifically Valentine’s Day dinner, it was certainly a love affair with food.  A torrid, hurtful affaire, filled with misunderstandings and deliberately abusive language.  Also, with wonderful, dizzying highs.  Moments of sheer infatuation.  Then, the drinking and the screaming and yelling.  Then, the make-up sex.*  An affair, in short, to remember.

Being that I had such a hellish week with my new workout schedule (oh the pain, the pain of it all), I thought it would be nice to reward myself and everyone who had to listen to my bitching this last week (“my arms hurt, why do my arms hurt … wahhhh”) with a treat: beer-battered deep-fried veggies with dipping sauce.  Were people pleased?  Yes.

Unfortunately, it took us a lot longer to get through the mountain of veggies that I had prepped than we had planned for, and I forgot all about the chicken in the oven, and so the result was very dry chicken.  Still tasty, just … really dry.

On the Menu: Beer-Battered Deep-Fried Eggplant, Mushrooms, and Orange Bell Peppers with a Dill and Onion Cream Dipping Sauce, White Cabbage Coleslaw, Over-Cooked Dry Chicken in a Petrified Tomato Sauce with Charred Garlic Remnants, Red Wine Chocolate Cake

Joseph and I teamed up once again to prep dinner.  He made a coleslaw that was outstanding.  No mayo, so it doesn’t hit your stomach like so many other coleslaws I know.  The deep-fried veggies were amazing.  The batter fluffed up wonderfully, and there wasn’t that greasy feeling that you sometimes get with fried foods.

The chicken was unfortunate.  There was a sullen silence that hit the table when they began eating their tiny, poultry abominations.  (Think Christmas Vacation, the turkey scene.)  Genreally speaking, people oughtn’t gargle at the table.  It’s usually taken as a bad sign.

Oh well: you win some, you blew some.

The red wine cake was unbelievable.  It was spongy and springy.  The flavour was velvety and rich, but without being so intense that you felt like you needed anything to go with it.  It was remarkable on its own.  Our hats were off to Megan.

At one point, I asked Cara how you spell “spicy” (with an ‘e’ or without) to which she replied, “I’ve noticed your spelling is getting bad – I can help you with that.”  At first I took offense, in the way that one takes offense when someone speaks to them in an offhandedly condescending way, but then when other people started chiming in that they’ve noticed spelling errors throughout most of my posts, I just chalked it up to a humble ending to a humiliating week.  (Not being able to pull your own clothes on or off under your own power because you did “exercise” has a dejecting effect on you.)

So I decided to drink my blues away.  Only, I’m not allowed that much alcohol on my new diet plan, so I changed my intentions, and decided to critique-wine my blues away.

Wine: Balance, Pinotage Shiraz, South Africa, 2011, $100 MXN
Rating: Two Bottles

What a fun wine.  Fruity and very … er … balanced.  Cara insists that I tell you that it is, “Well-rounded … like an elephant!” So there you have it.  I would have to say that it reminds you of an orchard on account of the different ripened fruit flavours present as well as a crispness that kind of reminds you of autumn.

Also, for the price?  Come on!  Under ten bucks for a South African wine that is actually good?  Forget about it …

Fearing the night failing us, we quickly got to the main event.

Wine: Mt. Boucherie, Merlot, Kelowna, BC, Canada, 2007, $25 CAD
Rating: Two-and-a-Half Bottles

Leathery and oaky, this SPICY little number was a gift from Megan’s mom, Susan, a sometime commenter on TSB.  (Actually, after me, she has made the most comments out of all our readers.)  What was so great about this wine was the hints of chocolate that we could taste.  It reminded us of Megan’s cake that we ate earlier.  Ah, nostalgia …

However, we also tasted Juniper berries, which was a lovely little surprise.  It gave the wine a little more character than the merlots we’ve had in the past.

In other news, this week we received the prestigious Liebster Blog Award from our friends at Cook and the Fly, and our article on Demian Fuentes was recently reposted on Playa Maya News.

Not too shabby …

Until next week,

Cheers!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* Please note: we do not make love to our food.

Advertisements

Spotted Labels, Corks, and Other Hilarity

There is a good lesson to be learned in judging things by their outsides and not by their insides. We learn this from a very early age. In school, we are told not to judge a book by its cover. In life, we are told not to judge people by the colour of their skin. In supermarkets, we are taught not to judge a wine by its pretty, pretty label, calling us to break our palettes on the shores of its beauty.

Like a Siren’s song, Megan and I are constantly sucked in by packaging. Or markeging, as I call it. This week was certainly no exception. While Megan fell for a bottle that should have, by all rights, contained a sports drink, or Açai berries, or something, I fell for a name brand, letting its pedigree lure me into its cellar with the promises of popsicles, or candy, or puppies, or rainbow cookie puppies who poop candied popsicles.

It isn’t really our fault – we are children of a packaged era. I blame Mattel and Hasbro. I blame G.I. Joe, Transformers, and He-Man: Master of the Universe. I blame My Little Pony, Strawberry Shortcake, and Get In Shape Girl.

I blame society.

On to the wines.

Wine: Sebeka, Cabernet Pinotage, Western Cape, South Africa, 2009, $120 MXN
Rating: (A GENEROUS) One Bottle

A big ole Meh. The label was the best part about this wine. That and the cork. The cork has leopard spots on it! What? Wonderbaarlik! The only reason why this wine got even one bottle was because we decanted it. If we had rated it on first sip, pre-decant, we would have given it negative bottles. That’s right, it would have sucked bottles away from previous ratings. There really wasn’t any point in finishing this bottle, which we mostly didn’t. It was used in the cooking, however.

On the menu: Lasagne, Tiramisu.

Okay. Okay. Just to begin … okay. Tiramisu is a stupid dessert. Baking is stupid. It’s for stupid people who don’t know how to cook.

Yes … I was responsible for the dessert. I tried to do everything, as we do every week, from scratch. So, I began with the sponge cookies. But I forgot to add the whole egg to the egg yolks when I added it to the egg white mixture before I added it to the flour and sugar mixture, which I sifted three bloody times. Instead of dough, I had batter. And I did such a good job on the egg whites! It was supposed to be something beautiful. It was supposed to be marvellous. It was was supposed to have people crying and laughing at the same time, wishing there was more of my amazing tiramisu, only to be bitterly disappointed to find that there was none more to be had. Why? They would ask, shaking their fists at the sky. Why, God?

But stay with me.

The pancakes done (damn it) we ate the main course and I prepared the tiramisu. I did everything right. Having learned my lesson with the dough-cum-batter, I focussed a fair amount of energy on making sure that the tastiest part of a tiramisu came out perfectly. Not having any marsala, I substituted Disaronno, imagining the hazelnutty goodness of my baking efforts being appreciated by all who were to savour them.

But stay with me.

When adding alcohol to a milk-based anything, it must be done slowly, so that the dairy doesn’t break up in the process. Everybody knows that. Everybody knows that.

But no. What did I do? Sploosh!

So, instead of tiramisu, we had something that looked like goat brains, mixed with chunky water, in a parfait glass, with pancakes sticking out the sides. Bon appetit!

Megan’s lasagne turned out fantastic, so at least the entire night wasn’t a waste. Plus, my daughter got to hear me swear really loudly at food, which should be good for some issues down the road.

Tip from the kitchen: don’t drink and bake. It makes you look like and idiot.

I blame the Spanish.

Wine: Fontal Roble, Tempranillo, Spain, 2009, $170 MXN
Rating: Two bottles.

This was the wine that we drank prior to dinner and the one that, to me, looked like a power drink, or smart drink, or something. Not bad, actually. Black currant & black cherry. This bottle is a cheerful and easy-to-drink red. Good value for the money. The perfect wine for an afternoon when you’re just not in a white wine mood.

It also makes for a great wine to boost your confidence, thinking you can tackle some stupid dessert that should be stupid easy if the stupid cookbook had written the stupid directions the way they stupid should, and not like a stupid Stupid.

Ahem.

We liked this wine; it was fun. Kind of forgettable, but what more do you need on a lazy Sunday afternoon?

We were saving the best for last but, sadly, like a certain tiramisu that we know, all for naught.

Wine: J. Lohr, Hilltop Vineyards, Cabernet Sauvignon, Paso Robles, California, USA, 2005, $544 MXN
Rating: Two bottles.

A high price does not a good wine make. Was it bad? No, it was not. Was it great? It was not great. It was decent, which is saying something, since it cost more than the previous two bottles put together. And while we’re on the subject of cost versus value, we don’t want our readers thinking that if a bottle is expensive, we simply won’t like it. But, if my wallet is meant to stretch its typical output, shouldn’t the product that it’s purchasing also redeem itself in kind?

We think so.

Mossy and chocolatey, this wine is very nice, and went well with lasagne, though I imagine a steak would have preferred its company. We enjoyed this wine, but certainly not as much as others we’ve tried in the past. And considering the choices out there for Cabernets, paying the extra money for this one just didn’t seem worth it.

Well, that about wraps it up. You’ll notice that there are no photos of the food this week. The sauce that you see is the prep for the lasagne. We forgot to take pictures of the finished product.

I blame the Spanish.

The tiramisu can burn in hell, for all I care.

Until next time.

Cheers!


%d bloggers like this: