Beer vs. wine: drunken confusion

This past weekend’s arrest of an art-gallery owner in East Hampton for serving wine during the opening of an exhibit stoked the fires of an old debate I used to partake in.

As anyone who either knows me or has read this blog knows, I am a big fan of both beer and wine. I’m clearly far from anti-wine, but my loyalty belongs to beer for years of service, personal preference and, sometimes, plain old logistics. I’m not about to be caught dead sipping a chardonnay at a Yankee game, or ordering a glass of merlot at a bar after playing softball. Those are beer times. But with a nice dinner or at home relaxing, wine is fine.

That being said, the attitude of law enforcement when it comes to the two beverages has always befuddled me. And what really brought it to the forefront for me were several experiences while playing softball on the Great Lawn in Central Park.

Fact: Beer and wine are both alcoholic beverages. Fact: Beer and wine have similar alcoholic contents — if anything, wine is stronger than beer. Fact: Consuming either one in public is against the law. So why did police officers patrolling the park bust softball players’ balls for having a few beers during or after games, while, mere yards away, people waiting to get into Shakespeare in the Park were allowed to sit on picnic blankets and sip wine unmolested from clearly visible bottles and glasses?

In fact, the senility that sets in after turning 40 is clouding my memory as to which mayor it was, but I clearly remember a story in one of the tabloids featuring either Mayor Giuliani or Mayor Bloomberg drinking wine in the park while waiting for a performance.

So even though I’m not anti-wine, I’ve always had a chip on my shoulder about wine’s image as the drink of the elite and beer’s white-trash reputation. Selective enforcement is bullshit, period.

With all of that being said, I have very conflicting opinions on the East Hampton incident. The beer loyalist in me was happy to see stuffy wine drinkers in an art gallery go through some of the hassles I’ve gone through. But both the wine fan and the practical voice in my head were amazed at the utter silliness of this arrest.

The woman was serving wine during an event. She wasn’t selling wine. She wasn’t throwing a loud, raucous party. I wasn’t there, but I’d be willing to wager a significant amount of money that people weren’t craning their heads out of an art gallery and yelling, “Show your tits!” at passers-by. So, what exactly is the problem?

Maybe I’d have a different view on things if I hadn’t spent my whole life in Manhattan and Hoboken, where driving is rarely part of the equation. I’ve very rarely been confronted with the dilemma of car keys in one hand and an adult beverage in the other.

But I really don’t think the fear of drinking and driving was behind either this weekend’s gallery incident or the harassment myself and countless other softball players have endured in Central Park. I believe in both cases, someone in the law-enforcement community was bored, had a hair up their ass or was looking to fill a quota.

Perhaps that someone needs a drink?

To the cover bands who play on LBI

A lot of the cover bands who play down on Long Beach Island on the Jersey Shore are incredibly talented musicians and really know how to put on a good show, display great stage presence and keep the crowds in the bars in Beach Haven entertained and revved up.

But, seriously, how many times can these bands play songs like Tom Petty’s “American Girl” and Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” without wanting to hurl all over their amps?

This summer will be my eighth down on LBI, and I have never been more bored with the musical offerings. I love live music, but most of the bands who venture down Route 72 and onto the island seriously need to update their play lists.

I realize that learning new songs is a serious time investment, and bands don’t want to spend valuable hours learning a song that might be the flavor of today but gone from memory tomorrow.

And I realize that a cover band can’t really push the envelope with music that isn’t “bar-friendly.” Yes may have been a vault of musical ability, but if a cover band broke into a 12-minute Yes song, they might be staring at an empty bar by the time the number was over.

Finally, I realize that there are always going to be people yelling for songs like “American Girl” and “Living on a Prayer,” and pleasing the crowd is goal No. 1.

But come on, already. At least try to work in a few different things. Mix it up a little. Take some chances.

Most of the bands I’ve seen definitely have the talent and ability.

Other songs exist besides “American Girl,” “Living on a Prayer,” “Santeria,” “Mr. Brightside,” “All the Small Things” and a few others that seem to be required for entry onto Long Beach Island. For the love of God, please come up with something new.

9 the wine snob? Chillin’ in Napa

My girlfriend and I went on an absolutely fantastic trip to Napa Valley in California last week. It was relaxing and refreshing, and the first of two shipments totaling 22 bottles of wine arrived at my humble Hoboken abode today. The only downside: I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drink generic, cheap wine again after all the great wines we sampled. I’m already a beer snob — can I afford to be a wine snob, too?

We spent the first day in San Francisco, doing the tourist thing at Fisherman’s Wharf — the sea lions remind me of 8-Ball, my big, fat, black cat, lying around, barking and barely moving — and having dinner and drinks with a friend of ours who recently moved out there.

Then, once my luggage fiasco was solved, we hopped into one of the most fun cars I’ve ever rented — a black Chrysler PT Cruiser that we affectionately nicknamed “The Hearse” and “The Deathmobile” — and, with the help of my trusty GPS, headed up north to wine country.

We stayed at a wonderful bed-and-breakfast called the Beazley House. I can’t rave about it enough. The room was comfortable, the people were wonderful, the breakfasts were delicious (and an outstanding pregame meal when you’re about to drink wine all day) and the chocolate-chip cookies were off the hook.

On our first full day up there, we took a tour, mainly to avoid having to worry about drinking and driving, and it turned out to be a great move. Not only did we taste at eight wineries, but we ended up in the northern part of Napa Valley, where we probably wouldn’t have ventured on our own (Beazley House is in Napa, and we went to several places in the Calistoga area).

We also ate like royalty. I can’t even begin to explain how difficult it was going back to “normal” food and drinks after this trip.

I’ll go into detail on some of my favorite places from the trip — food first, then wine.

Auberge du Soleil was the site of one of the most fantastic meals I have ever been a part of. Expensive? Very, but totally worth it. Every last bite was amazing, as was the wine, and the view was just heavenly. This is the type of meal you treat yourself to once or twice a year, and it was worth every penny. It also makes a great birthday dinner for your significant other and scores some serious brownie points (I hope?).

ZuZu was one of the best Tapas places I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating in. Everything we ordered was delicious. And they found the way to my heart with scallops.

And Celadon was also a great find by the person who planned 100% of this trip (that person was, surprisingly, not me!). Not only was dinner incredible, but I have a soft spot for places that are built into old buildings, yet keep the character of the buildings intact, while adding a modern touch. The exposed brick in the dining room was a great touch.

Now, on to the wineries. I am by no means suggesting that these are the best wineries in Napa Valley — just sharing my favorites and why I enjoyed them.

Our very first tour of the trip was probably the most fun of all of them. Del Dotto Vineyards keeps their wine cool by storing it in a cave drilled into the side of the mountain. The candles atop the barrels made me feel like I was in an Ozzy Osbourne video. The wine is tasted straight from the barrels, and it was good wine. I recommend trying to get the last tour of the day. Why? With no one else waiting, the tour guides were quite generous with the wine. “Mas vino!” Thanks, Ray!

Another fascinating stop was Castello di Amorosa. Before raving about the place itself, let me say that the wines were among my favorites, as we ended up buying four bottles, all completely different styles. OK, now I can rave about the place: It is stunning. It must be nice to have money. The winery is an authentic European castle that was taken apart, brought to California and reassembled brick-by-brick. It took 14 years. It is truly an amazing sight.

I have to have a soft spot for any place that produces alcohol and is named after a criminal. Therefore, I really enjoyed Dutch Henry Winery. It’s located in a picturesque rural setting, and they were nice enough to host a picnic lunch for our tour and bring the wines out to our table.

While not as scenic as some of the other wineries we were able to visit, in terms of pure wine enjoyment and an informative tasting, Cakebread Cellars is hard to beat. Our tasting guide was meticulous in detailing every wine, and every drop was absolutely delicious.

My girlfriend finally solved a years-long dilemma of not being able to find a good kosher wine for Passover dinner with our visit to Hagafen. Now we just need to remember not to crack open the bottle of 2006 Pinot Noir in the wine rack until next year’s Seder.

Peju Province Winery is another stunning complex, and their Provence is one of the most unique wines I’ve ever tasted. It’s a table wine that looks like a Rosé, but it has a far more complex taste.

Speaking of stunning, straight from Persia (yes, it’s Iran now, and I know the U.S. and Iran aren’t exactly bosom buddies right now, but this place harkens back to more peaceful times) comes Darioush, another beautiful castle brought over and reassembled in Napa Valley.

Last but not least, it was out with the horses and in with the wine barrels at Black Stallion Winery, another gorgeous building and another taste explosion.

Now that I’ve spent all this time writing about wine, it might be time to stop typing and start sipping. Cheers!

Dear Red Sox Fan? Get bent!

My mail a couple of weeks ago contained an envelope from the Boston Red Sox. I was intrigued. I didn’t think the team was offering me a contract (although I did get five hits in a doubleheader yesterday, and so what if it was slow-pitch softball?), but I was curious what it was all about.

The enclosed letter:

Dear Red Sox Fan,

2008 promises to be a special season for the Boston Red Sox and Red Sox Nation. Not only are we defending our second World Series championship in the past four years, but we are putting on the field one of the most exciting clubs in baseball.

To make it easier for you to follow the Red Sox, wherever you are, the Red Sox are partnering with XM to provide a special offer to Red Sox fans so that you’ll never have to miss another Red Sox game.

XM is the official satellite radio home of the Boston Red Sox and Major League Baseball.

With packages starting at only $99, you’ll get an XM radio and a season-long subscription to XM where you can listen to play-by-play of the Red Sox and every single MLB game from Opening Day to the final pitch of the World Series. Just follow the directions on the enclosed ticket and go to xmradio.com/redsox to sign up or call 866 MLB XM 08.

In addition to XM’s unparalleled baseball coverage, as an XM subscriber, you’ll also get 170 channels of commercial-free music, sports, news, talk and comedy, including a 24/7 all-baseball channel with year-round MLB news and analysis.

We are excited to have you as part of the team, and hope you’ll be able to follow the Red Sox closely throughout the 2008 season.

Sincerely,

Larry Lucchino

President & CEO

Boston Red Sox

What’s wrong with this picture?

First off, the only team I hate more than the Red Sox is the Philadelphia Eagles. I’m a die-hard New York Yankees fan. Calling me a Red Sox fan? That’s a fight in my hood. I’d rather be referred to as a molester of livestock than a Red Sox fan.

Second, I have no idea how they got my name and address. I’ve gone to Fenway Park, but I’ve never ordered tickets directly from the Red Sox. I got Mets stuff in the mail for years after buying tickets to the first interleague series back in 1997. And since I bought tickets to the Dallas Cowboys at the Miami Dolphins last September, the Dolphins marketing people have been total pains in the ass. But I have no clue how the Red Sox organization has my name.

So, Larry Lucchino, take your XM offer and your chowdah and jam them both up your ass. Let’s go YANKEES.

Keeping us safe from terrorist sunglasses

I’d like to thank Continental Airlines for playing an important part in the fight against terrorism. Thanks to whoever examined my bag at Newark Liberty International Airport Saturday, the world is a safer place.

Apparently, my GPS caught the attention of this faithful soldier. Because, you know, the GPS is such a newfangled device, and no one would ever think to actually travel with one. I mean, what’s next? Some sort of thingamajig that actually plays music without using a cassette tape?

So my bag was pulled for further inspection and never made it onto my flight, which I discovered after 20 minutes of scanning the baggage conveyor belt, only to see a bag in a bin marked, “LAST BAG.”

Fine, better safe than sorry: I can see how a GPS going through an X-ray machine might arouse some suspicion. However, Continental’s superhero-like efforts didn’t stop there.

My bag was supposed to be on a later plane Saturday, and then delivered to my hotel. But the courier used by the airline is apparently also a vital part of the anti-terrorism forces. They were so careful to ensure the integrity of my luggage that it took 16 hours to deliver one bag from an airport located 20 minutes away. I guess they wanted to make sure my duffel bag wasn’t trying to incite other luggage into starting a jihad.

And when my bag finally arrived, all my clothes were present, as was my GPS and its power cord. But my Oakley sunglasses and their metal case were nowhere to be found. I suppose you can call them a casualty in the war against terror, but that would be disrespectful to those who are actually putting their lives on the line in the real war against terror. So let’s call my Oakleys what they really are: STOLEN.

Taking 16 hours to deliver a bag 20 minutes away, and then helping yourself to my sunglasses? I don’t know if an employee of Continental or the courier is now shielding his or her eyes from harmful ultraviolet rays on my dime, but I present two raised middle fingers to whoever the thief might be. And those were my favorite sunglasses, too. Bastards.