Last night the Boy and I were at the bar of a neighborhood restaurant we like. They have nice wines-by-the-glass list, even though the place calls itself a “tap room.” We were sitting at the bar having some wine and studying the wine list. We were intrigued by a white zin from a winery called Deloach.
Ok, honestly, he was intrigued. I don’t know a damn thing about Deloach. Sounds like something icky that you might find in stagnant water, if you ask me. Apparently they make very good wines, though, so there was confusion as to what this white zin could be like. Is it good? Or is it good to white zin drinkers?
This place doesn’t give tastes, they just sell glasses and half glasses (although they call those tastes, so tricky). So I asked the bartender how sweet that particular wine was.
“I don’t really know, I’m not a big white zin fan,” she said, with a condescending look on her face.
The Boy stuck up for me and offered that we were only wondering because Deloach makes such great wines, and blah blah blah. I have fended off one of his drunk friends trying to tackle me all by myself, but he’s right there to take my side if my taste in wine is maligned.
The bartender told us to hold on and disappeared. Boy said, “Sweet! Did we score free tasting?”
“Either that or she’s tasting it and then she’ll tell us,” I joked. We both thought that pretty much entirely out of the realm of possibility.
Until she came back and reported, “Not as sweet as some white zinfandels.”
She’s such a hard worker.
That is awesome — what a dedicated worker! (Although, honestly, I would’ve done the same thing. I may have also given you a free sample, but would have definitely tried it myself. Because I am selfless that way.)