Dive Bar Wine, Pt. II – the Desolation of Brittany
Dive Bar Wine
This wine was a funky ass pinot.
The dive bar was located inside a local strip mall. Los Angeles is full of strip malls – beige, unassuming treasure troves of mystery. I dragged my friend along for this adventure. She stuck to cocktails but I went for the wine. Again, the bar was mostly empty. A handful of middle-aged men (they appeared to be regulars) sat around the bar. The bartender handed me a sticky, plastic wine menu. No brands were listed – just the eight types of wine available. The paper was an aged yellow color beneath the laminate. I selected the pinot noir.
The pinot was a half-empty bottle, capped with one of those airtight plastic plugs. The bartender gave me a wonderfully hefty pour – a consistency that comes with ordering wine at a dive bar, I am realizing.
It… was a rough experience. The smell burned my nostrils and obliterated my senses. The wine was beyond sour. I had a pained facial expression the entire time I drank it down. At one point, I apologized to my friend for grimacing through the story she told. The worst of the purple drinks – the bad, bad medicine. I struggled immensely. Jammy and thick, there was no relief of the sharp flavors. It just continued to escalate cruelly, like a boss fight you cannot win. “Pucker up, Buttercup,” I exclaimed to myself as I slammed the remaining few sips. An acidic monster. I yielded – no more wine for me. Not for $7.75/glass. Not like this.
It wasn’t a total loss. I saved some money on the glass because of happy hour. The bar had Franziskaner on tap (a delightful favorite of mine!) and it was only $5. I got to poorly explain the Tom Holland Spiderman trilogy to my friend, as the second film was playing on TV. I haven’t seen it since theaters, so my summaries may not have been totally accurate.
10/10, would siphon the swill again.
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