Spicy Peanut Pain, plus Rough & Ready Wine Productions – Petite Sirah vs. Petite Verdot

Rough & Ready Productions – Red Blend

Petite Sirah & Petite Verdot


Sometimes, you just want (need?) a good punch to the face when it comes to wine. I know I did. I’m a sucker for red blends and goofy wine labels, and this wine has both. It seemed almost too obvious to choose this wine. I’m not big on petite anything, yet I could not help but be drawn to the mustachioed wine men. Who is the sirah and who is the verdot? Did they get to pick which wine they represent? Why are they wearing belts around their pants?

I do my best to post blogs on Tuesday. There is no specific reason for this. Because I’m a procrastinating weirdo writer, I usually drink said wine on Monday or Tuesday. Sometimes this works out, and sometimes it does not.

Yesterday – it did not.

Did something terrible happen??? you may wonder into the void. I mean, it’s just cheap wine – it’s not that hard to review. It’s not like you know anything about wine anyway.

Well, my wineo friends, something terrible DID happen. The folly of our mistakes is an endless cycle of being human, and I am not above that truth. My husband was gifted the “Tube of Terror” – a small tube of Carolina Reaper-coated peanuts. The idea is to eat all the peanuts within a ten-minute time limit, with no additional food or water for five minutes. He tried one when he was disc golfing and callously brought them into our home. He said it was terrible. I, undeterred by his warnings, decided to eat one myself.

WAIT! This is a wine blog! Why are you talking about fucking peanuts?!

  1. Because I can, And also,
  2. This is a fair warning to not fly too close to the sun as Icarus did. I love sharing important life lessons. And also,
  3. the fucking peanut is why my blog is late.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. I like spicy stuff. The peanut actually tasted pretty good. My mouth went numb and I wasn’t unconvinced my lips weren’t bleeding, but overall it was a fun – albeit painful – experience. No big deal, really. I chugged some milk and water and felt okay. Successful, even. How wrong I was…

Ten minutes later, I literally felt the peanut hit my stomach. It was pretty cool, in an existential “this is how bodies work” way. Alas, that was not the end of it. A golf ball nugget of pure pain exploded from within my insides. Within minutes, I was curled up in a ball and begging for mercy, death, I did not care. Chills and shakes and ramblings. Overconfidence, in the words of a video game I love, is a slow and insidious killer. The same applies to Carolina Reaper challenges. You are not above the Reaper. The Reaper cares not for your human body. It only wants to destroy. And destroy, it did.

Anyway, I drank the wine and consider it overall tasty. I was hoping it would be punchier, but I appreciate the mellow finish. I think my palate has been tainted by too many husky burgundies. I’ve come to expect forward distaste, especially with cheaper reds.

I want to spread some brie on a cracker and dip it in this wine, though I don’t think wine is meant for dipping. It definitely could use spicy hints in the flavor (I see the irony now) or some sort of pop to bring it over the edge. While the wine is more subtle than it lets on, it’s a cheap bottle that you can drink without regret – unlike those godforsaken peanuts of doom.

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