Rainy days & rosé

It’s one week before my next trip –and race –in Malibu, and the rainy Sunday pouring over Philadelphia is getting me down.

Last weekend, I went to the Moore Brothers wine shop and purchased a few French wines. This weekend, I opened the rosé, “Le Fruit Défendu” from Magellan.It seems right that any weekend where one may need a biblical ark, one may also want to skirt temptation and dive into the forbidden fruit.  

This 100% Cinsault wine ($14) comes from Provence, the south of France, where all things are beautiful (except me completing the Ironman there.  It was not beautiful, or nice, as the region may have you believe).

An aside: Looking up some trivia regarding Provence, it has more than 3000 hours of sunlight a year.  And, during it’s wrought-after history–lots of people wanted it, including the Romans–where ultimately the name came from. They called it “nostra provincia” or “our province”–so according or contrary to, Shakespeare, there’s a lot at stake in a name.

Okay, back at the wine.  In a word, it’s lovely.  Full of lush strawberry fruit, and because of the rocky region, the minerals (think Evian water full of strawberries poured over jagged, grey, wet rocks) shine through on this wine.  Super great balance with acid–this wine can pair up nicely with fragrant food.  Or a rainy, Philadelphia Sunday morning with eggs.  Your pick.  Today, am going to call it “Nostra dia” or my day….cause I’m drinking this as long as I want.

And if you must know, I skipped the workout.  It’s that kind of day.  And…that kind of wine. You can drink whenever–not only on the happy, hot summer days.


They Drink In Ireland on Monday, and other tales from biking around the City

It’s finally October, a chill is creeping around the corner, but the enthusiasm for outdoor sports has not waned in Philadelphia.  The half marathon, marathon and Rocky Balboa run are coming up. The Eagles are winning. The cyclists are getting as many miles on the pavement before the sunset fades back to 4:00 pm. My ride home was chock full of runners and cyclists and I couldn’t wait to make it to my apartment.

It’s only Monday, but this week has been rough. My good friend Jill tells me Angels are all around me–I need to just pay attention.

I open my refrigerator and look on my shelf to find one cold bottle of Rose left in there.  The only bottle.  And of course, the name is “Whispering Angel” Caves d’Esclans.

Processed with Snapseed.

Processed with Snapseed.

Fate, right? I think, but it’s only Monday, and then I think to my time in Ireland.  I think back to the tales of angels in and around whiskey, and realize all of these cultures and signs are telling me to open the bottle.  Even the bottle is telling me this, as the backside reads:

“In the Esclans Valley angels whisper.  If you drink this wine, you might hear them.” Uh, yeah–what’s not to love about that?

I’ll tell you.  You will not love the wine.  (At least I didn’t).  Provence, France, has produced some of the best roses I have ever had–this is not one of them.  High astringency replaces the thirsty notes of high acidity, masking the fruit and coming off more like musk.

Purchased in a good ol’ Wine and Spirits store in Philadelphia (maybe around the $16-$19 mark), I might give the Angels back their share.