Survival Tactics

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As every traveler knows, possession of a corkscrew is one of the most vital accouterments to any voyage, disappearance, rendezvous, rambling or walkabout, and, there exists no better way to make immediate friends than being able to pull one of these holy keys from the bottom of a rucksack or worn out boot when some wayward coeds are in desperate need of oenological refreshment.

That said, we have all at one time or another found ourselves on a desolate stretch of beach, high in an Andean village, or on a Chicago rooftop, bottle in hand, and without our friend maker.  I’m often asked what is the best way to address this issue (and have seen every crazy ass thing you can imagine done to liberate the nectar).  My tried and true has always been to find a firm pen like device and to push the cork in (slowly).  I’ve done it with car keys, writing pens, sticks. scissors, knives, screwdrivers, rocks, etc.  It is important to never let a girl (or Tully) do this.  If by the grace of Bacchus she manages to push the cork in, I assure it will possess no tact or grace and a shitstorm of wine will rain down on all in a five foot radius.  Also, NEVER attempt to break off the neck of the bottle, and, any open mouth breather who suggests such an attempt should be castrated for Darwinian and humanitarian purposes, as there is no better way to ruin a good time than watching your new friends hemorrhage blood from a sliced trachea.

All that said, check out this smooth bastard and his method.

Video demonstration:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CCl17__Hok

 

Summertime… and the livin’ is easy

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Well, it’s just about summertime, and in Chicago that means baseball, corn hole, brats, beatings, Old Style, sunshine, sailing, Pimms on the lawn, gang violence, graft, outdoor concerts, patio bars, home invasions, chilled white wine and barbecues.  As I’ve often said: There is no better city in the world, than Chicago in the summertime.

This summer promises to be even more exciting as we kick it off by hosting the NATO Summit this weekend – a little group get together of 28 of the world’s top leaders, their entourages, professional anarchists, security forces and the jobless masses in a two day orgy of tear gas and defense spending.  Sounds like a wicked brew, the likes of which will likely be stirred by both sides.  We can only hope that nightsticks and blackjacks are as unused as the showers this weekend, but should things get ugly Tully has offered his falconry services to anyone on the blunt end of a nightstick.  I for one will be punishing Loop and trying to make sense of this mad world.

May you live in interesting times…

BR

Screaming Eagle of Glory

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Well Dear Reader, as many of you flood the inbox with queries as to our take on current events, let me just say it was a good week for those in the camp of more rights for ALL.  And, it has been a nice diversion from basketball.

Obama this week gets 5 Golden Monkey Skulls (our highest rating).  Not since LBJ in ’64 has a President grabbed his balls and stood up for a segment of the population that needed standing up for.  And it’s only 2012.  Granted Obama hasn’t done anything yet, but proclamations are a start.  On the Republican side, these jackasses couldn’t seem less relevant in modern times, but hey they’re a lot of ass clowns out there and it promises to be a circus right up until the squalid masses (or special interest) crown somebody.

In wine news, when I can drag Tully’s hippy ass from the Gandolph pipe we occasionally get down to work on future wines.  The Loop is still kicking ass and has become a beloved Chicago staple.  It’s been rumored that Rahm intends to either knight us or give me the keys to the city, or possibly even create a Rathbone & Tully sky box at the United Center for purposes of entertaining visiting dignitaries.

Other than that, the more things change, the more they seem to stay the same… Strangest life I’ve ever known.  Now if you’ll excuse me I have a game 6 to cringe through.

BR

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It is with great fear and loathing (to borrow one from the good doctor) that I opened my blood shot weary eyes this cold dark morning.  As I steady the hand and shake out the cobwebs, it takes all my strength to get these words down.  I can only hope that Tully has the nerve and fortitude to see my dictation through.

Last night we lost a warrior.  And the league and the nation is weaker for it.  Whoever wins the title this year will do so knowing that they did not beat the best.  There will be an asterisk that says: “ring obtained in Derrick Rose’s absence.”  It was reported that in Chicago, liquor sales were up by 40% last night, and violent crime was up 20%.  Beatings, screaming, and projectile vomiting lasted well into the morning as dawn broke on the city like a rapist with a cialis prescription.

Don’t get me wrong, the Bulls have gotten this far and earned the best record in the NBA in large part without Rose this season, and we will most likely continue to mop the floor with Philly and probably beat the Celtics as well, but to take four from the Heat without the reigning MVP is unlikely.  This is America after all, and if you don’t have the patience or talent to build something – you can always just buy it – Fuck it, give me three: I’ll take a Wade, one James, and a Bosh.  No doubt these playoffs will be brutal.  Blood will be spilled and the body count is far from over, but the hearts of all good sportsmen are broken today to not see the 2012 Bulls get their honest shot.

It’s true, injuries are a part of the game as they are in any contest between men, and if his knee did not give out last night, it could have happened anytime.  There is no point or justification in criticizing Thibodeau for playing  Rose in the final minutes with the game well in hand.  Thibodeau, like Rose, is a warrior, and on the hardwood total war is what they wage.  Some say that Rose goes too hard; that he needs to scale it back a bit.  That is like telling the wind not to blow.  You cannot tell a bull to stop being a bull.  It is born to rage, fuck and stampede.  And so it is.  If that means an early death, so be it, but it was all left on the floor.  To die having lived like the wind, the lightning, or the thunder, is to die a god; to take your place with those rare souls far from the grey twilight of mediocrity and security.  Get well my friend, and thank you.  You give your life and body so that we may glimpse greatness; so that slow white boys, poor black kids, brick layers, lawyers, housewives, and winemakers alike can dream.  Thank you.

Basil Rathbone

A toast…

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Thank you Mr. President.

A toast to our distributor – Blind Taney, LLC – those feral sots just moved the 200th case of The Loop.  And while we always knew it would be wildly successful, we do rely on our public, third parties, and adoring fans to make it a reality.  Thank You.

I remember the other day as I was supervising Tully and quizzing the staff on the States’ capitols, it hit me like a runaway horse carriage – this shit’s got a following, it’s time to get back in the lab and get back to work.  So, rest assured, we are firing up the bottling line and readying the shiners.  The Loop and the people will not be denied – Loop For Everyone.

As a token of our gratitude, should you ever find yourself in Chicago, and being possessed of good looks and charm, please do not hesitate to stop by the parlor for some spirited conversation and revelry…

Basil F Rathbone.

Get Drunk

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“Always be drunk.
That’s it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time’s horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
“Time to get drunk!
Don’t be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!”

–Charles Baudelaire
Sometimes it’s best to let a professional handle things…
BR

An American Original

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I see the future my friends… and it looks bright; bright and green and fluffy with crystallized nugs and pressed grapes coming together to create a divine libation born of earth and gods: An American Original.

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/04/14/marijuana-laced-wine-grows-more-fashionable-in-california-wine-country.html

America, this one’s for you.  Just when I think you can’t do anything more stupid, you do something like this… and totally redeem yourself.  Of course I’m speaking of the resurgent trend in California of blending marijuana and wine.  Link to the article is above.

Here’s a tasty excerpt just to wet the palate: “pot wine holds an important distinction: in his view, it is “the only truly original style of wine created in the New World.” Bud said he is just one of a number of winemakers on the Central Coast who are blending two of California’s most prized crops. The recipe for pot wine, such as it is, consists of dropping one pound of marijuana into a cask of fermenting wine, which yields about 1.5 grams of pot per bottle; the better the raw materials—grapes and dope—the better the wine.

The fermentation process converts the sugar in grapes into alcohol, and alcohol extracts the THC from marijuana. Bud goes for maximum extraction: he keeps his weed wine in barrel for nine months before bottling it. He said he and other winemakers produce pot wine in small quantities, to be shared in “convivial moments with like-minded people.”

Bud, you are a scholar and a gentleman sir.  And, as I cannot speak for Tully, I will just say that I personally look forward to sharing many convivial moments with people such as yourself.

Let it Burn,

BR

No Sleep ‘Til Healdsburg

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Barrel Tasting Drunkeness alarms Healdsburg Merchants

http://www.pressdemocrat.com/article/20120320/ARTICLES/120329954?p=1&tc=pg

With a title like that and quotes like this, how could we resist: “There’s incredible drunkenness…”  ”The kids are out of control, what can you say…”  Link to full article above.

Notes from the 34th Wine Road Barrel Tasting in Healdsburg, California.  An annual event that draws an estimated 20,000 people to more than 140 wineries, and, apparently scares the shit out of the locals…

“Besides a generational gap between the younger, generally more intoxicated crowds and the more mature, discriminating wine drinkers, there also is an element of concern that the Barrel Tasting is one more thing that’s transforming Healdsburg — and not for the better.”

For starters, let me just say: Kudos to this article, its author, and complaining merchants.  This kind of condescending bullshit is exactly what wine needs more of.

Seriously – Wine – get over yourself.  The other sectors of the alcohol industry have all dealt with this issue, and you don’t hear them whining.  If you’ve ever attended a scotch tasting or craft beer tasting, just like with wine, there is always a small portion of this more mature, discriminating crowd getting ripped to the tits.  And, as that “more mature” crowd does what the “more mature” do, namely, to die off, where is the next generation of consumer going to come from?  How can you possibly appeal to the “younger, generally more intoxicated crowd, ” using terms like “beer blaster?”  Really?  What the fuck is a beer blaster?  As a distinguished gentleman who has visited many tastings, parties, soirees, bare knuckle fist fights and orgies, I have never heard the term beer blaster.  Using that term is like watching John Kerry windsurf or Mitt Romney talk about eating catfish and grits.

For the most part any alcoholic beverage can be considered in one of three categories: beer, wine, or spirits.  Of these three, one seems to act like an only child: spoiled, self-righteous, and suffering from illusions of grandeur.  Probably because they were brought up around, and by, other self-righteous assholes.  Wine, I’m talking to you.  It’s time to learn to share.  This mad world is full of different opinions, views, and levels of decorum, but, for the most part this thing seems to function.

Perhaps my favorite is the story of a local spa owner: “She said that on the second Saturday of Barrel Tasting she had to tend to a young lady in her early twenties, in high heels and a mini skirt.  ’She was sitting on my sidewalk, poor thing. I said: Get up get yourself together. She was drunk..’”

Sweet Jesus.  I can’t believe this young lady had the nerve to sit on your sidewalk, and in high heels no less.  From her tone, you would have thought Ms. Scherrer had stumbled upon an eight man Japanese circle jerk on her steps.

Look, as small business owners ourselves, we can certainly empathize with the need to limit inhebreation to those that are spending money.  The rest, we can all agree, are just degenerates.

But I have the distinct feeling that when taken in its entirety, this event brings a lot of money to the local merchants and town.  As we all know drunks are generally a lot looser with their cash.  Hell, they’ve built entire cities on this premise.  Why do you think the drinks are free in Vegas?  And, far be it for me to imply that local merchants might even leverage that whiff of alcohol they catch on someone’s breath, or that slight stumble noticed as a young lady in high heels crosses the threshold of you store…  As a local jewelry store owner said: “She had one of her most lucrative weekends ever as a result of customers who came for Barrel Tasting and shopped.”  Really?

In closing, Wine, grow up.  Put on your big boy pants and lets get a drink.

Basil