Burnt Pumpkin Seeds & Cabernet

To be clear, scorched pumpkin seeds and copious amounts of Cabernet do not constitute a well balanced meal. Also, just so you're sure, neither of these items inhabit the confines of my new diet. Now I have lost 12 pounds in about 4 week despite my best efforts to replace three of the four food groups with something that comes out of a corked bottle. But, everything I consume (cab aside) comes from little foil pouches. It starts out powdered and things that would normally be hearty and perfect for the cooling fall weather have been, well, pulverized. They are easily reconstituted by a mere minute in an 850 watt microwave and although I am sure that the grainy little beige chunks are meant to be chicken (for all I know it was chicken of some kind at one point) but taste rather like unsalted cardboard.


Now don't get me wrong, as far as diets go, this has been the most successful and manageable one I've ever tried. My weight loss success is unprecedented and I haven't felt deprived - except for the fruit of the vine.

What is it about that soft pop of an evacuated cork that makes my spine tingle? Even after I've had a few too many, well several too many, truth be told, I can smell that toasted oak or black cherry or rotten leaves and dried socks or whatever and my palate literally quivers. Even as I squeeze one eye shut to keep Desperate Housewives (don't judge me) on one screen, I fill the glass. I remind myself later I will surely regret this. Later I will wish that I could breathe through both nostrils and that my mouth didn't have that weird sanded feeling. I will chastise myself and impose sturdy recriminations for my wanton lack of self-control.

Then comes the bewitching hour, say sometime between 5:30 and the next day, where my defenses are low, my willpower intimidated by bigger emotional bullies, my day sucked, my job is stressful, the perpetual recounting of the Simpsons dialogue by my 12 year old is driving me crazy, I'd rather drink red wine than eat pulpy pudding. This nuisance of a dialogue continues until the clatter in my brain either gives up and quietly pours the remnants of last night's bottle or I defy my craving and beat it back into it's black hole.

See, truthfully, the thrill of "getting into those skinny jeans" eludes me. I am more in favor of sexy shoes although my arthritic ankles mock me in anything over 2 1/2 inches. Sexy shoes can make your butt look smaller, it's a proven fact. Sure, I'd like the smaller pants - they take less room in the washer, but clothes are clothes and while I may don a smaller waist line, there will never be a reversal in the lowering of "the girls".

My breasts currently can be compared to "grapefruits in tube socks" and losing weight might shift them to lemons, but the infrastructure remains the same, they will hang down. They might perk up a bit but I have no delusion about their shape and the effect age, gravity and weight loss will have on them. I don't care about skinny jeans, I want to wear a cute tank top with no bra! Or be gingerly supported by a pretty cami under something sheer and billowing and not XL. How about a bathing suit that doesn't have be held together with carabiners after the flimsy plastic latch gives way under the pressure? (true story). So see, the pursuit is convoluted and lacks any of the instant gratification of pulling that cork out of the next bottle.

Well, that's enough of that. Back to the cab. I recently had the privilege of touring Columbia Valley, Washington wine country with my dear friends, one of which manages a vineyard in Easter Washington. We yellow school bussed it around several tasting rooms. I was given instruction on identifying "corked" wine and watched in awe as my friend, Kent, dumped out a full glass because it was corked. Really? I would never have thought of that. But now that I have a more discerning palate, I might be tempted to do so, as long as there is a back up bottle. I also learned the name of some chemical that creates the flavor of green pepper in some wines. I know that their rich, complex flavor is really an amazing balancing act of grape, sugars, the miracle of fermentation, the right barrel and very astute vintners (someone check me, is that what the wine maker or the grape grower is called?). And the glass does make a difference, the shape of the globe serves more than to grace a table with regality, but becomes a fragrance diffuser which adds to the overall experience. They offer classes on this stuff so that you can hone your palate to recognize the good from the bad. I will love the homework!

So, ode to the goblet or carafe or box even, you are sorely missed on my "health" journey. I ferreted away my bounty from the wine trip, wrote the dates and places I purchased them on each bottle with silver Sharpie. I will wait for the right dinner party, the right pity party, the right I just really want a glass of wine party and will rejoice in the grape, the amazing friends and maybe even skinny jeans.