A Tramp Abroad

Angus McGringo never did learn to dress appropriately

If anyone needs me, I'll be third bum from the left, on a beach in Mexico. If anyone sees my cat driving my car or using my credit cards, please call his probation officer.

See you in a few days.

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Water Into Wine Kits

Coffee breaks are a little different around here

I'm here today to do something I very rarely do: talk about wine kits. What spurred me on was an article I read about Lego.

This wine really clicked for me

For those not used to my lumber-room of a mind and the way it generates associations (I'm not convinced I'm really conscious all of the time--I just have a big correlation-engine running in my head that makes it look like I'm thinking), sometimes it throws off connections that are at first blush, weird. Sure Lego and consumer winemaking are two things that encourage creativity, personal connectedness to a project, and the satisfaction of seeing something you made with your hands turn into a finished product. But that could be said of many lifestyle activities.

Nope, what made me think of wine kits is the fact that I've always wound up with extra Lego pieces from every box I bought. When I was a little shaver, this never bothered me--so what if I had some left over bits? It's not like a puzzle, or a caburettor, where missed pieces leave you high and dry.

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People Who Write About Wine Can't Be Trusted (Yes, Again)

Nobody who says they're trustworthy actually is.

Some days it seems like I'm picking on Alder Yarrow. Today, however, Alder is just the messenger. Unlike previous blogs, wherein I was  uncharitable about something Alder said, this time I'm grateful to him for pointing out someone else who has earned my pique: Talia Baiocchi, and through her I'm climbing back on my favorite hobbyhorse, You Can't Trust Wine Writers (Including Me).

It all started like this: Alder posted a link to an article about Vinturi wine aerators on Bon Appetit. In it the author, Ms. Baiocchi, who was guesting at Bon Appetit (she writes for eater.com) reviewed the Vinturi, an interesting gizmo designed to aerate wine quickly, mimicking the effects of decanting.

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New Year, New Year

Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives

Happy New Year to all of you, my friends. May this coming year bring peace, happiness and contentment for you and all those you love.

It's traditional to make resolutions on New Year's, but I really only have one: I never, ever want to have another year like 2011 on my dance card. I don't want to be a gloomy Gus on a festive night, but a very boring and uneventful 2012 would be just what the doctor ordered (literally).

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'Tis the Season

Eight of the menorah candles symbolise the miracle of how, after the temple had been recaptured, one day's worth of lamp oil lasted eight days, until new oil could be pressed and made ready for use. (The ninth is for actual fire-lighting purposes--you can't use the eight lights for that)

Whether you celebrate Christmas, Sol Invictus, Jul, Hanukkah or some other mid-winter seasonal festival, this is the time of year to reflect on the balance of the seasons and the turning of fall to winter, symbolic of death, rebirth, change and hope.

It's been exactly one month since I posted a blog entry. To people who've been waiting, I very much apologise. My personal life has unfortunately taken up much of my attention, and it's lead me to neglect my updates here. For all my friends who've been waiting to see pictures of the Limited Edition season, I'll get those up right quick, and for those looking for my particular brand of snarky disdain for the opinions of other wine writers, I've got a backlog of dismissive sneeriness to let loose, as well as some observations about modern wine thinking. 

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Lest We Forget

Today we pause to honour the heroes who answered the call for their country. Canada has a proud legacy of valour in war and service in peacekeeping and humanitarian missions.

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Tobacco Road

He's in flavour country. Wonder if you need a passport?

I’m not a smoker. To be sure, at one point in my life I tried really hard to become one, in an effort to emulate my father. Not only did he look like Johnny Cash (The Coolest Man Who Ever Lived) but also when he pulled a smoke out of his pack of Navy Cuts (the ones with the pretty girl in the Glengarry cap on the package) he would smoke like a cross between James Dean and a burning forest, with his internal landscape rearranged to permit the ingress of at least a dozen cubic feet of smoke every time he took a drag.

He also killed time in front of the TV rolling his own, a fascinating process that involved a machine the size of a paperback book with a tobacco loading slot and a lever, that when yanked carefully both compressed the shreds of demon weed into a tube and injected it into a waiting filter-tube. I mean, how cool is that to a gadget obsessed little shaver?

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