Nic Narrates

In truth, I arrived wholly unprepared. After a day of cardio (shopping with Fancy) and minimal food consumption (a granola bar and curry fries), I met up with the boyfriend and we rolled into the Windy City Wine Festival. We didn’t know what to expect, but he knew I liked to drink The Wine and therefore got us tickets. As the evening progressed, or digressed rather, I got this really awesome crazy idea to start asking for a “double pour.” And then somehow we were still there when it ended and I vaguely remember giving the cab driver an estimated address for the diner down the street. I very much remember, however, wolfing down a spinach and feta omelet once there.

What happened after can only be described as a Greek tragedy. In my apparent wisdom as I bolted upright and sprang to the bathroom, I made a game time decision. That decision? Not so good. The spinach and feta omelet was about to reappear, which is when I had what I thought at the time was The Smartest Idea in The World (as in oh my god why didn’t I think of this sooner and do other people know about this?).

My “reasoning” was thus: puking is gross. The act, but also seeing it. It’s gross, so I thought (in the five seconds I had to think it over) that I’d just leave the lights off. Problem solved! The next morning, the boyfriend came out of the bathroom, wordless but concerned. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I may have missed a little bit completely. [Insert forehead slap here.] How is he still with me? This experience would provide the learning behind #13.

That was last year. This year, the boy got us tickets again (apparently not at all disheartened by my previous performance and believing my Napa training would serve me well). Thus, I considered the gauntlet thrown. I eyed my challenger. Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Windy City Wine Festival. We meet again.

On the big day, we strategically ate a substantial lunch (I had a freaking steak sandwich and ate it all!),  a wise move as there would be nary a cheese platter in sight later that day. With the rainy weather clearing, it was time to put my research into play. I had pulled from the event web site the list of wineries that would be there and had researched their ownership, vineyard locations, and varietals. Yes, I am completely serious.

Over the course of the next three hours, I sampled cabernet, malbec, chardonnay, grigio, zinfandel and everything in between; I didn’t discriminate. I even tried an ’09 Riesling from Kendall-Jackson (before I poured it out), which I haven’t done since trying and gagging on one in 2004. While I tried a few other wines that I didn’t particularly care for (some I didn’t like simply because the person pouring was sour enough), most wound up in a middling area of easy forgetfulness. But then there were a couple that certainly stood out, and no it wasn’t the much lauded ’08 Kim Crawford Pinot Grigio.

In particular, I preferred the ’08 Estancia Pinot Noir, the ’06 Earthquake Petite Sirah from Michael-David Family of Wines (I asked and learned they named it “Earthquake” because the vines it’s sourced from date back to 1906, the year of the great San Francisco earthquake), and the ’08 Syrah and ’08 Ancient Vines Zinfandel from Cline Cellars (which incidentally was one of the wineries in Sonoma that Fancy and I had on our list but weren’t able to visit last month).

After successfully making the rounds to all of the tents that were in the first and second tier of our itinerary, I reviewed the form and found I had sampled no fewer than 18 wines. Eighteen, as in the number that comes after 17 but is just slightly less than 20. To tally that up for you (get ready for some wine math), with a typical tasting being no more than 2 ounces, that means I averaged six tastings or 12 ounces an hour for a grand total of 36 ounces. That’s approximately six glasses of wine. The hell?

One would assume that imbibing that amount in such a short time would result in a repeat win for the festival. Nope! I wasn’t drunk or anywhere near it. In fact, what began as a lovely late afternoon wine haze, evolved into- get this- feeling excessively full. That’s right, with my lunch still digesting in my belly and what amounted to the Big Gulp equivalent of wine, there literally wasn’t room for anything more. I was dumbfounded, caught completely off guard. I realized after that 18th tasting (actually well before but I soldiered on), I couldn’t take another sip.

Still, I claim victory even though it looks nothing like the visions I had in my mind (there might have been a sash and a Binny’s gift card). My victory over the wine festival was a quiet one in which there was no stumbling, no spilling, no passing out on the couch, et. al. Instead, there was a calm acceptance that it was time to go home…even though we had more tasting tickets and it was still light outside.

I had sampled and learned about twice as many wines as last year and was still able to enjoy the rest of our evening. That night, I went to bed a champion, the likes of which may never be seen again. That is, perhaps, until next year. Best of three?

Filed under: a thing of beauty, awesomeness, educating the masses, hellacious fun, nicely done by Nic