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Live blogging from the Bloggers Conference

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From the Wine Bloggers Conference agenda:

Live Wine Blogging (White & Rose): This is the pre-eminent event at the Wine Bloggers Conference. Winemakers will each have five minutes to pour their wine, present their story, and answer questions from a table of bloggers. At the end of five minutes, winemakers will rotate to a new table. Bloggers will analyze and describe their impressions live via social media or their blogs.

Dramatis personae:

Winemaker Steve Heimoff, of Chateau Heimoff, poured his Chateauneuf-du-Pup “Cuvée Gus” for six bloggers. This is a transcript of the session.

Bloggers:

Elsie Tutwell, “Wine for Walloons”

Davison D. Dudwinkle, “Dudes Definitely Drink”

Nathan L. “Putzy” Poodleheimer, “This Putz Drinks Pink!”

P. Chumitz, “Waiter, there’s a fly in my wine!”

Desirée D’Anglebert, “The Sexy Grrlzz Guide to Wine”

Rainbow Roy, “How Gay Is That? Hot Wines for Hot Men”

*******

Steve: Hi everyone, how are—

Elsie: We only have 5 minutes.

Rainbow: I love your tattoos!

Putzy: Is this a rosé? Cuz that’s all I drink.

Steve: Actually, it’s—

Davison: Oh, darn, my screen froze!

Desirée: Really? Let me see. Sometimes if I hold it here—

Chumitz: Where did you say you’re from?

Steve: Actually, I didn’t say, but I’m from—

Desirée: There! It just needed a little love. Try it now.

Davison: Why is it damp?

Rainbow: Is that an orchid?

Steve: Yes, and that’s a poppy next to it. Now, about the wine—

Elsie: Oh, I like it. I’m going to tweet about it. How do you spell your name?

Steve: S – T – E – V –

Putzy: Funny, it doesn’t look pink….

Chumitz: Poodleheimer, you’re a moron. It’s Petite Sirah.

Steve: Actually, no, it’s—

Putzy: You don’t have to be so rude, Chumitz.

Rainbow: I have a tattoo, but I’d have to go au naturel to show it to you, and I’m not sure that the Wine Bloggers Conference is the appropriate place…

Davison: What forest is the oak from? What’s the char level? How old were the trees? Was the toastiére’s name Maurice?

Elsie: What’s a toasty air?

Desirée: I think it was fermented in concrete eggs. Am I right? Because I can always tell from that wet concrete smell.

Davison: That’s brett. Or is it TCA? I get them mixed up.

Chumitz: You’re nuts, Desirée. It was obviously aged in new Tronçais.

Desirée: I have an idea. Let’s ask the winemaker!

Steve: Well, I—

Davison: Because when I was in France the guy’s name was Maurice, only he was Swiss.

Rainbow: I knew a Maurice. But he was from Brooklyn.

Putzy: I really liked that last wine. You remember? You liked it too, Desirée.

Desirée: No I didn’t. Elsie did.

Elsie: I didn’t either. You mean the sparkling wine?

Putzy: I hated it. I liked the dessert wine.

Steve: Well, this is a—

Davison: You did like it, Desirée. Remember? You asked him what the pH was.

Desirée: Oh, right. I’m getting a little tipsy! Ooopsy poopsy!

Rainbow: It’s a portrait of my mom. The only reason I put it on my buttocks was because—

Chumitz: Rainbow Roy, we really don’t need to hear about your buttocks.

Rainbow: Well, I’m just saying.

Davison: What U.C. Davis climate region is it? Are the soils volcanic? How do you define “mineral”? How old are the vines? Is it a Geneva Double Curtain? Did you pick before the rains came?

Steve: Umm–

Elsie: I’m terribly sorry, Mr.—what did you say your name is? Smellneff? Anyhow, your time is up. Next winemaker!

Tomorrow: Heimoff does Instagram, Pinterest, Snapchat, Reddit, Periscope and Grindr.

TwitterGus

  1. Jim Caudill says:

    Man, that is way too familiar….

  2. Thank you for visiting, Mr. Caudill!

  3. This is hilarious and too familiar. See you gents in a couple days.

  4. Bob Henry says:

    The whiff of blogger B.S. in the “toasty air” reminded me of this exchange from “Monkey Business”:

    Chico: “You call this a barn? This looks like a stable.”

    Groucho: “Well, if you LOOK at it, it’s a barn; if you SMELL it, it’s a stable.”

    Chico: “Well let’s just look at it.”

    http://www.marx-brothers.org/whyaduck/sounds/monkey/stable.wav

  5. Give everyone my love! Oh, those Poodles love me.

  6. The Poodles said they would like to bite your ankles!

  7. Bob Henry says:

    Ron, you are in “good company.”

    Excerpt from The Atlantic Magazine
    (December 2000, Page Unknown):

    “The Million-Dollar Nose”

    Link: http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2000/12/the-million-dollar-nose/378450/

    By William Langewiesche
    National Correspondent

    . . . Parker was in his hotel room in Bordeaux one night, working on the day’s notes, when he got a phone call from Jacques Hébrard, the family manager of a famous chateau called Cheval Blanc, whose recent vintage Parker had described as a disappointment. Because Hébrard was very angry, Parker agreed to visit the chateau the following night, after his regular schedule of work, in order to retaste the wine. At the agreed-upon time he knocked on the chateau door. When it opened, a snarling schnauzer came out, leaped into the air, and clamped onto Parker’s leg. Hébrard stood in the doorway, staring into Parker’s face and making no attempt to intervene. After several attempts Parker managed to shake off the dog, which went tumbling into the night. Parker followed Hébrard into an office, where he saw that his pants were torn and blood was running down his leg. He asked Hébrard for a bandage. Hébrard came across the room and glanced disdainfully at the wound. Without saying a word, he went to the far side of a desk, pulled out a copy of The Wine Advocate, and slammed it down hard. He said, “This is what you wrote about my wine!”

    In his simplified French, Parker said, “That’s why I’m here. To retaste it. Because you think I’m wrong.”

    “Well, I’m not going to let you retaste it.”

    Parker got as belligerent as he gets. He said, “Look. I came here at the end of the day. You said I could taste your wine. I’ve been bitten by your dog. If I was wrong about this wine, I will be the first to say so.”

    Hébrard stalked out of the office. Parker thought he would have to get up and leave. But then Hébrard came back and said, “Okay, let’s go taste the wine.”

    Parker limped after him to the tasting room. He was quick, as he always is; he tasted the wine twice to be sure, as is his habit, and realized to his chagrin that Hébrard was right — the wine was better than he had thought. He returned to his hotel to wash his wound. As a critic who often has to condemn the efforts of people he likes, he now had the equally hard task of admitting that Hébrard’s work was top-notch. For the families of Bordeaux it was satisfying: Parker had been punished for his judgment. With luck he would have a little scar as a souvenir.

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