Wine around the world

Consumers are discovering that going green doesn’t mean the end of the good life. On the contrary, when it comes to wines, sustainability makes them even better. Word is getting out, spurring a plethora of wines labeled “sustainable” to appear on the shelves of retailers like Whole Foods. No surprises there, since every industry these days recognizes the potential of reaching the LOHAS market.

But in terms of wine, does “sustainable” connote a commitment to greener growing practices or is it a marketing gimmick? After a cursory perusal of winegrowers’ websites, I reminded myself that a slick marketing strategy does not always equal sustainability.

Read the full article on Reuters.com

Had a lovely night with the girls last night – very entertaining and very fun!

On a more serious note, however, I was talking yesterday about under-age and aggressive drinkers. We all know that in Britain their is a “problem” with teenagers binge drinking and boozing in public places. The new and slightly unfair public perception is that the youth of today are all drinking, punching, fighting louts, girls and boys alike.

For me, drinking was great fun for the last year of sixth form, involving house parties, “adventures”, and lot of drunken camping. We binged (undoubtedly), but I honestly believe any instances of us being antisocial and uncouth were rare, and usually confined the the realm of the tent.

Firstly – all teenagers cannot be tagged as drinkers. Secondly, all drinkers cannot be tagged as anti-social and violent. The UK has, interestingly, become a land where the young and the free are (yet again) discriminated againstfor the action of a few. And all whilst plenty of adults are out getting pissed and lairy – and let me tell you, I have seen far more of this than of the teenagers!

So how do we deal with the teenage violence and drunken aggression. Amognst many ideas out there are raising the drinking age to 21 (conveniently ignoring the fact that the majority of drinkers are underage anyway!), and harsher punishments. The problem is that penalising vast swathes of the population for the actions of their peers is not only prejudices, but highly unjust. Someone once killed someone with a hammer – it doesn’t mean that all hammers should be banned. Tarring everyone with the same brush is a dangerous idea.

Yet I agree that this situation, with it’s public empathy and high publicity levels, cannot just be left “as is”. So what can we do?

My idea is a simple one, and focuses on penalising specific offenders. The basic principles are as follows:

1. Everyone, regardless of what age they look, should be ID’d. At the very least this will make alcohol harder to get hold of. Oh, and if you don’t have your ID? You don’t get served.
2. Those who are caught being aggressive will have a “black mark” (whether electronic or physical) on their ID, meaning that they cannot buy alcohol until over 21. This is a punishment for specific offenders (and specific groups of offenders”.

It is simple – but I think it would work, and stop all the harmless tipsy kids out there from being harshly punished and misrepresented!

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there’s much harassment left
over from the peach eating
sunday weekend
grandma cooked,
she put gravy on the peeled
and a glass of tea sweet like
the Southern air and wildlife,
I ate cobbler, drank the tea
.
everybody got along fine and took
quick moments home with cameras,
developed back then
.
yep, everybody got along

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I rode through the forest ( this is a song, sing it like a song, sing it like a song )
‘you go … where did you go’ asks
    the choir

back to the high chair
to the front seat
to the wheel chair
‘you’re so cool … you’re so cool’ sing
    the backup singers

and I hang upon a limb
my knees bent around
so I swing like a chimp grown with
  corn
grown with corn
grown with corn
‘do you know the belgian midnight rail’ wail
    the girls

ohhhhh, the forest
  the forest you know I love the forest

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I do believe that this wine requires a post on its own, mainly because it’s not that every day we get to drink a wine made purely on pomegranate. Rimon Winery (Rimon – pomegranate in Hebrew) produces several wines that are not made using grapes, a fact that is rather unusual in the world of wine, if we should even consider such a drink as a wine.Its been a few months now that one of their wines was sitting in my wine cabinet waiting to be opened.

This wine is interesting mainly because it is different in its levels of intensity. As I pooped the cork the room was immediately swept by a sweet intoxicating scent reminding of cherry liquor. In the glass the wine displayed a beautiful deep purple with brown shades. A wild nose revealing a mixture of sweet chocolate and tequila, a few more minutes and the scent saddled down showing a more delicate cherry and even some liquorice. Throughout the whole time I could file the alcohol sting in my nose. On the pallet intense cherry and acidity of a pomegranate and generous amount of chocolate. Firm tannin which goes stronger as time goes by.

Undoubtedly an interesting wine, different then what we, wine lovers, are accustomed to.

It is seldom that, under normal circumstances, anyone utters the words:

‘So, once again I find myself miserable in Denmark.’

I, on the other hand, seem to recite this often enough that it has become something of a mantra. Denmark is a wonderful place and has been voted the happiest nation in the world on numerous occasions. It has a quaint, toy-town feel to it and is full of skilled designers, artisans and people who generally care about what’s happening around them. To find oneself miserable here is, in itself, quite a feat, but to do it on a number of occasions as I seem to be able to, is very near impossible.

The second time I lived here – during the 2007-2008 academic year – I spent my days working as either a dishwasher, or the person who counted how many frozen-chicken stickers there should be on a roll*. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice to be working, but both were tiring, boring jobs. I started at six am every day and finished at three. By the time I’d come home, cooked dinner and done my language homework, it was time for bed again. That period of my life was not a pleasant one.

The problem now though stems from too much German sausage, long trips in the Primera and a misunderstanding about the word ‘over’.

The dress I’d brought with me for the wedding we’re going to tomorrow no longer fits. Apparently, my boobs – and no other part of me – have decided to gain weight so that now, the lovely red-silk gown that S- bought is too small. Then, the ‘trim’ I’d booked for myself at the local hairdresser’s went horribly wrong. Silly me for presuming that ‘over the eyebrows’ meant my fringe would remain a length that most people consider too long. Apparently though, in Danish, ‘over’ means that the hair will be cut above the eyebrows, making me look like a combination of Spock and the guy who pushes the wheelchair around in Little Britain. Though the lower layers of my hair are chin length, the top ones are a mere two inches, leaving me with what I have dubbed a ‘bobbed-mullet’. To add insult to injury, the girl who did my hair was quite heavily pregnant and so instead of cutting my Spock-fringe from the front to ensure that it was level, she sat at my side and cut down at an angle. The right side of my fringe is about an inch and a half, whilst the left is almost three inches.

I’m not normally a vain person – my daily attire usually consists of whatever too-large shirt S- dropped onto the bedroom floor the previous night and a pair of Thai fisherman’s trousers**. I just really wanted to look nice for J- and R-’s wedding pictures and for once, not be the strange, eccentric girl who stands out for all the wrong reasons. It’s going to be a beautiful day tomorrow and I really want to do my best to make sure my brother-in-law and his future wife have beautiful pictures to match.

Maybe I’ll go and get a Star Trek uniform… seemed to work for Nemoy…

*Yes, somebody does actually have to do that. I not only possess an unusually large Danish vocabulary, as far as sticker production is concerned, but can also recite the ingredients for a Rose brand chicken as I spent days running thousands of labels through the cutting machine.

** I would like to specify that I did not take said trousers from a Thai fisherman, but that this somewhat confusing name is that given to that particular style of breeches.

Last night i went out with a very good mate of mine. Ankles and i have been friends forever. And have seen each other through some stuff. So we are allowed to comment on each other’s lives.

Last night i got to meet the new girl in his life.

She is fine – nothing so amazing or awful that she warrants a post

But what does need telling was the crazy ‘biggest dick’ competition which ensued.

She met one of Ankles’ mates and they started discussing red wine; a potentially pretentious conversation at the best of times. This one was made more so by the fact that twice during the debate on whether Rothschild 2002 is a better wine that Squishedgrapes 2009 the in-depth conversation was interrupted so both show offs could drink tequila – out of the bottle!

This drinking style does render a point about the robust berries exploding on your tongue followed by a stroke of chocolate before a well-rounded after taste settles like honey on your tongue sound rather ridiculous! When we got to how many cases of what was brought for 21^st and then slowly drunk one even more exquisite bottle after the next, every year since, i shook my head and gave up.

And still they droned on. It was mildly amusing to watch both of them so desperate to impress each other.

And of course i am adamant i was never THAT young!