Last night was the fourth or fifth night of what has become Sarah’s Dog and Pony Show, a seemingly endless stream of potential roommates scrutinizing me, Casey, and my little rowhouse. After Thursday candidate no. 2 had come and gone and I was waiting for candidate no. 3 (who rudely never showed anyway), I decided to relax a little and crack open a bottle of wine that a friend who works at a Virginia winery had given me as a thank you.
About halfway into my first glass, I managed to convince my current roommate, Mel, to join me for a drink. But as the wine was very good, one glass quickly turned into kicking the bottle and some great conversation. So we decided to hit another bottle from my stash. And though I experienced some technical difficulties in opening the second bottle (broke the cork off in the neck and followed with a stream of cursing directed at the insensitive donor of the wine for providing me with a faulty bottle), it was also pretty good, despite flecks of floating cork, and we killed it with
ease, too.
At this point, it’s getting pretty late in the night and we’re already both giddy. Ordinary folks would call it a night and stop there. But no, Melissa had on hand a bottle of Manischewitz. Even better–a bottle of BLACKBERRY Manischewitz.
If you’ve never heard of it, Manischewitz is a Jewish wine that is traditionally consumed at Passover. Melissa had brought a bottle back with her after last Passover, and it had been sitting on our bar for ages. Since a guy I recently dated had on several occasions complained about this wine, my curiosity was full on. I took the bait.
At best, it’s a close approximation of wine. It actually tastes like someone took a family-size jar of Welch’s grape jelly, melted it down into a liquid and then added alcohol.
I never knew what hit me. I woke up this morning at five minutes till six, slumped over the side of my overstuffed chair, accompanied only by the dog, who was sleeping on the couch across from me. I managed to slink upstairs and crawl into bed for another hour of sleep before I had to get up and head into the working world.
When I finally did get up, I got the story from Melissa. Apparently, we were drinking, talking, laughing and generally having a good time when I set my wine glass down defiantly and told her I hoped she wouldn’t be offended but that I was about to pass out. I promptly did just that.
It’s 5:30 at night and I STILL feel awful. Ah, the power of Manischewitz.
