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The other thing about the '07 Pinot is that it was very light. I'm a fan of robust wines, and I wanted to make sure that whatever disgusting aroma my new wine emitted would knock my dogs out from across the room. I ordered two cans of ASC's Zinfandel glop, along with some toasted French oak chips for that 'oak barrel taste.' After acquiring fancy sugar, I got started.
The primary fermentation went off without a hitch. I invested in a glass carboy for the secondary, determined for the new batch to not smell or taste like surgical gloves. Since I had doubled the amount of juice in this recipe, it'd be four to six months before I knew if I'd made any improvement. Good thing I love doing nothing.
The months passed quickly, with me working on scripts, playing PS3, hanging with Lauren and the dogs, and having general merriment. I checked the wine every so often, racking it carefully, measuring the specific gravity, and generally fretting over it like an expectant father over his babymama's enlarging babypouch. (I'm not very good with science words).
Finally, bottlin' time came. I had decided to bottle in actual dark green wine bottles, as opposed to the blue bottles I used on the pinot. The inelegant color was supposed to be a joke, but no one laughed. I decided to go classy. Black heat shrinks. Actual labels. It was a new day at Huevos Caballos, and woe be to anyone who stood in the way.
The bottling went better this time around. The floor stayed sober, and Hoover personally sniffed every bottle for quality control. Say what you will about that dog, but she is as fastidious as she is adorable. With two cases of Zin now bottled and ready, I allowed myself a glass. As I smelled it in the most pretentious way I could summon, I noted a conspicuous absence of that ol' paint can smell. My carboy had worked! I almost became dizzy at the notion of how amazing this wine was going to taste.
Right off the bat, it was different. A darker color. It coated the edges of the glass like actual wine, not Bolero-tinted water. Lauren rolled her eyes, which in her body language means "I am so proud of you and I can't wait to have some of your new wine." (Trust me, that's what she means.)
As I swished the wine around and savored it, I nodded my head.
"This actually isn't too bad." I said.
"Uh huh," said Lauren, enthusiastic as always. I poured her a fresh glass and handed it over.
She tried the tiniest sip possible, drinking so little wine that it barely qualified. A Mormon walking by looked through the window and said "Is that all you're gonna have?"
"Eugh!" she said, in her usual manner.
"What? I think it's pretty good."
"Oh, honey," she said, like she found a kid crying in the kitchen after being unable to make breakfast for his mom.
It was clear - I was the kid, and Huevos Caballos' 2008 Zinfandel was a burnt piece of toast.
"I'm sure it'll get better," she said.
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A month or so ago, Paris and Marissa had another wine tasting, this time at Paris and Marquis' westside apartment. I brought all three varietals of Huevos Caballos this time, hoping against hope that the months had been kind to the wines and that I would once again be hailed as the victor. (I'll be filling you in on the Port's short yet glorious life next.)
Lauren's friend from childhood got married that night, and we attended the very tasteful ceremony in Pacific Palisades before heading off to the tasting. We were in our proper duds this time, partly because of the wedding and partly because I felt that, as proprietor, I needed to represent Huevos Caballos properly.
There were a lot of people there most of whom I didn't know. They had just finished tasting all the wines, and were mostly in an appropriate state. Like fish in a barrel, I thought to myself.
Jeremy helped me open up the bottles, and I began dropping subtle hints that my wine was available. As people slowly tried the Pinot, it became clear that the alcohol already coursing through their systems was doing what it do, and the HC was receiving warm notices from all inbimbing.
It was the first test drive for the Zin in a wide setting, and I was understandably nervous. Aside from the Huevos Inner Sanctum, nary a human soul had tried it. Sure, I'd given some to Lily, but she's a thirty pound keyeshound mix with a thyroid condition, and therefore not in possession of the most qualified palate.
The familiar sounds were all around. Idle chit-chat, glasses clinking, The Olympics. Then, nothing. Relative quiet.
"This is actually pretty good," one partygoer said.
"Yeah, I like this," said another.
And then, I got the blurb for the label.
"This tastes like alcoholic Sweet Tarts."
I knew that voice. It was Jeremy.
Once again, he'd come to the rescue.
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By the way, all these wines are available. Just let me know what you want, and I will get with our shipping department.
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