One Night in Morrison

On Saturday night, I ventured up to Morrison.  No, it was not to see a show at Red Rocks or to hang at the Speedway.  I was going to a wine competition.  The competition was at an attorney’s house and was a fundraiser.  Each guest was to bring a bottle and pay a $5 fee.  The bottle was put in a brown paper bag and then people would taste it and score it.  Ultimately each voter was to pick his/her favorite wine.

I thought this would last a couple of hours max.  The first indication that this was something more came as I drove up to the house.  It was in a development across the street from Red Rocks Country Club.  There were actual red rocks in the development.  As  I came near the house, I saw a string of cars and parked about a 1/4 mile away.  I saw this one gorgeous house with people on a stunning deck looking at the incredible city views.  I soon discovered that this gorgeous house was where the party was.  When I entered, I was in for another surprise.  This house was a modernist masterpiece in rustic Colorado.  Fine art adorned the walls; the finest of wood for the wooden floors; sub-zero appliances in the kitchen; stone sinks in the guest bathroom; two decks and a patio area.  Well, you get the idea.

There were about 80 people in all and for the first hour we had wines and heavy hors’d’oeurves.  Yes, the drinking would contaminate our palettes but no one seemed to care.  How could you care with a a jazz band playing in the background and the finest in catered food.

The people were incredibly friendly.  A New Yorker who worked on a hedge fund and his real estate broker wife (they flew in from Manhattan for this).  Neighbors who ran their own businesses when they were not golfing at the country club.  An attractive blonde who met the host at a wine event a couple of weeks ago.  The ages ranged from twenty-something to sixty-something and they all mixed well.  I even ran into an old associate from Acme Law.

After a couple of drinks, the tasting began.  46 wines in all.  I did not try all of them but did try most.  I, of course, heeded the host’s requests to take small pours, but others were pouring like it was grape juice.  The white wines were almost universally avoided. Chatter about the best wines abounded.  I sought to verify my choices with the wine experts I had identified.  Everyone submitted a ballot.  Much to my shock, there was only one high end wine in the top 4 (high-end is a relative term since there was a $35 limit on the bottle) – a Malbec (the one I had picked).  There were a couple of shiraz wines in 2nd and 3rd – one brought by one of the wine experts I had identified.  The winner was not a classic by any means – in fact, its sensationalist name, Ménage-a-trois, a not-so-subtle indication of its quality.  The winner had actually finished last in the competition last year.

Now, it was time for the worst wine.  The results left a funny feeling in my stomach; what happens if my wine was adjudged the worst?  But I had picked a Spanish Alicante wine which was rated between 88-95 by various sources, and Spanish wines were fast becoming the equal of many of their French counterparts.  Sure enough, my wine was picked the worst.  I had to acknowledge who I was and walk up to the front.  At least there was a consolation prize, a wine from the host’s cellar and a hope that I could pull a last-to-first next year.  After getting some ribbing from a fellow lawyer I knew – the one who brought the Shiraz, I quickly picked up some pointers for next year.  First, focus on crowd-pleasers not quality; the year before a Yellow Tail won (beating out among others a French Burgundy).  Two, select a blend so that you are bound to hit on someone’s taste palette.  Finally, secretly promote your own wine.  The guy who came in second, and apparently has placed every year, was going around saying Wine 11 was the best.  Guess what? Wine 11 was his wine.  Once the buzz was created, it self-perpetuated.  Next year, I should bring a really low-quality wine and create some buzz about it and see if I do better.

At any rate, I got a chance to drown my sorrows in fine wine as the host broke out some fine wines in his cellar including some $100 plus bottles.  Of course, having the best wine at the end is somewhat counter-productive as people would not appreciate it as much.  Next came “Club Snoopy” (named after the hosts’ dog; name of dog changed to protect the innocent).  I was excited because the dj was going to be from NYC.  I thought given the band, that this dj would also be a professional.  Turns out it was the real estate broker with an iPod.  Nevertheless she played some good music – old school hip-hop, MJ tributes, and some Kid Rock (ok, maybe not all was good).  The “club” was in the hosts’ home theater room with an incredible sound system.  The female-to-male ratio was 2:1 and while many of the females were coupled up throughout the party, they did not act that way on the floor particularly these two thirty-something women in baby doll summer dresses.  They were barefoot and gyrating around the room and then gyrating with their date.  I was dancing with a cougar (remember that cougar could be a relative definition based on the age of the prey; for instance a cougar for my age would be in the 60s – and amazingly enough most of my readers of my blog on another site are in that age range – but I define cougar in the more common sense, i.e., a 40-something).  I should have been more flirtatious but I had taken a Chaser Plus earlier on and that always seems to inhibit my ability to get a buzz.  So I just danced away blowing my chance.  But there is always next year – both for my chances with the cougar and with the wine competition. I left at midnight, my ball had ended, and I had to return to the real world.