AcmeShorts

So you go into a restaurant, one of New York City’s finest, everyone wants to eat there, and you want to order a bottle of wine. Let’s face it, it’s probably too expensive, too young, or too modern. It probably has no structure, too much alcohol, too much oak, not enough acid, it’s flabby, everything up front, no finish, just dies on the tip of your fucking tongue. I mean who the fuck would put this shit on a wine list? So you go through the hassle of trying to find restaurants that allow you to bring your own wine in for no corkage fee, or at least a small one, and then the fucking food sucks, or some jerk-off half-wit sommelier makes a point of making you feel unwelcome, or cheap, or like a worthless fuck because you didn’t choose one of his stupid wines even though he has no palate and buys wines from some cunt who also has no palate. He stares down at you through his dark-rimmed trendy fucking glasses, wearing his dumb trendy striped suit like he’s God’s gift to everyone even if they don’t care and he has a thin pointy rat nose and small beady eyes that are too close together and basically he’s ugly and trying to be sexy. Then you FINALLY find a restaurant that has delicious, interesting food, fairly priced, no liquor license, a place where you can bring your carefully purchased, lovingly cellared gems, expressive wines that are ready to drink (can you imagine!), true expressions of the vineyards from whence they sprang, wines which speak of Terroir! And what do they fucking do? They bring you some dip-shit little fucking wine glasses to drink out of which you can barely fit your fucking nose into and which were made to shove up the fucking asses of the fucking proprietors. It makes me want to smash my own face in.