Making Memories

Sleet Storm

Three winters ago, we had the worst winter storm I can remember in recent history. Now, I’m not talking about the typical Chicago several feet of snow kind of storm.  We get used to that.  I’m talking the freezing cold, wear two pairs of socks, icicles coming out your nostrils, want to kill yourself for going outdoors kind of storm. That went on for about a week straight. Then, on Saturday evening, it started sleeting. For those of you that don’t live in this craptastic climate, sleet is like raining bullets. I’m pretty sure it’s described in one of Dante’s levels of hell. Literally fearing for my life, I begged my Jaba the Hut monster of a boss to let me leave early, to no avail. The store was a freaking ghost town for hours but it was, as usual, more important to her that I was miserable. Gosh I miss her. Anyway, when I finally left work at 7 that evening, there was an inch thick sheet of ice covering everything, including my car. Running it for twenty minutes with the defrost at full blast did nothing. I scraped and scraped and scraped. Finally after a good fifteen minutes of muscling free several layers of ice, I got behind the wheel. It was at this point I remembered I was responsible for bringing home dinner. Jeff and my visiting stepmom demanded ribs. So I stopped off at our normal take-out spot, traversed the precarious parking lot, and picked up a few slabs and some fries. My drive home from there should have taken six minutes; instead at about 10 mph I think I made the four ice encrusted miles in just under half an hour.

I walked in the front door, greeted my spouse and my evil stepmother and collapsed. They laughed at me and said whimsically, “Yeah it looks really shitty outside.” Assholes. It was then Jeff asked “What do you want to drink?” All my options scrolled through my brain like a rolodex. What I decided on was the new Spanish garnacha I had bought earlier in the week. I was looking forward to trying it, and I thought it be a fine companion for the barbeque.

As it turned out, Atteca was the perfect bottle of wine for that evening. It was a beautiful accompaniment for the dinner; it was warm and comforting, and even Jeff drank a little bit.  It was like a Snuggie in a bottle.  And every time I drink it even now I think of bitter cold, sleet, barbeque ribs, and a nice evening with great company.  Bodegas Ateca makes awesome wines, without question.  In the near future in fact, I will post about their latest releases.  But the truth is, sometimes the memories you make with wines are even more notable than the wine themselves.

Although next time, I think I’d prefer discovering a wine that’s perfect for a Caribbean vacation.