wine making

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No critic has ever said it better:

“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read.…[T]here are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations.” Anton Ego, Ratatouille

Yes, I took a quote from a movie about a rat who wanted to cook. If you’ve seen the film, you’d understand. Or maybe not. But if you’ve ever attempted to step out and do something new, be it enter a new industry or profession, run a race, hell, cook a soufflé, there will be those—critics— who cut you down, telling you you can’t because you’re not experienced enough, out of your league, don’t have what it takes, or, you’re not following the “club rules.”

I’m just perplexed as to why? (Wasn’t I perplexed in my last post, too? Is it the full moon? Or is it that time of year?!) Monsieur Ego provides some insight. Be you a professional critic or simply an armchair pessimist (like myself), there’s no risk when you criticize someone else. Read the rest of this entry »

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People who can’t wait for the table to be poured drive me nuts. You know, the ones who reach for their glass the minute the bottle is lifted away? I don’t know why, but outside of my buddies in Europe, I know a lot of people like this. People, who, like a nervous herd of gazelles gathered at a pond, lower their heads and quickly drink, as if this immediate gratification will save them from the lion about to pounce. Makes me wonder if this behavior IS vestige to our time on the savannah, when we had to dine and dash because we knew the lion was lurking close by? Today, 1.8 million years after the appearance of Homo erectus, what’s wrong with breaking from the herd and slowing down a bit?

I started thinking about this not only because ‘tis the season of celebrating and friends gathering, but because of our 16-month (partner and) son. He loves to have a “fancy drink”—something we believe he thinks is more special than the milk, water, or diluted juice he typically quaffs—especially when we celebrate occasions like the bank giving us more money to limp through another growing and wine making year on, or the end of harvest, and I want my little guy to join in and engage with those around him fully in the occasion. To break from the herd. Slow down. To know he is no longer on the savannah. Read the rest of this entry »

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