Sporadic

The other night, new friend Nicole and I are out to dinner at The Front Porch. We have ordered the fried chicken, which is what you get at the front porch. They have other stuff, and it’s good, but the fried chicken is the thing that they excel at. We’ve also ordered a few of the new appetizers specifically the corn dog & deep fried pickle chips. So we’ve got a corn dog, deep fried pickles and fried chicken on the way and I start looking for the next thing we’re going to drink. I’m thinking about this chalky white wine that I had the last time I was there. We’re sitting at the bar, so I ask the bartender about chalky whites. He tells me that the wine list is changing and they don’t have all the stuff they normally do, but let’s try to figure this out.

10 minutes later, I have had a taste of 4 separate wines. The bartender is in on the act. He’s tasting with me. We’re chitter chatting the whole time.  I have said the words “fruity finish”, “lacks brightness” and “Deeper tannin flavor” more times than I feel comfortable letting you know. Yes, I’m probably trying to be a little smarter than I am to impress the lady, but most of it I really meant. Finally we settle on an unobtrusive pinot gris that does almost everything I want.

I say to Nicole “I think this should be a good pairing”

she says “You do realize that you just spent ten minutes working on a wine pairing with a corn dog and deep fried pickle chips right?”

Then we’re both in hysterics.

Oh San Francisco. I’m a snob and a man of the people at the exact same moment.