We've Gotta Get Out of This Place

I need a vacation.

Like, seriously need a vacation. Not in an "Gee, my life is so crazy, I could sure use a break, golly!" way, but in a "I am about to claw my own skin off if I don't go somewhere new soon" way.

I know there's some crazy statistic out there that claims most Americans never leave the country, and few even leave their home states, but I am not one of those people. I am a traveler. I like to go places. Mostly for the food, and, in my adult life, for the hooch: I've had reindeer in Finland, vodka in Russia, bignets in New Orleans, pizza in Chicago, oxtail in Spain, microbrew in Colorado, falafel in Israel, ale in England, wine in Italy, and, once in South Africa, some weird homemade moonshine someone brought to a party from, I don't know, Botswana or something, that caused me to black out for a short while.

Before my first son, the Juban Princeling, was born I overheard a man in an elevator tell his friend, "My wife and I just got back from vacation. Our first one in 15 years without the kids."

I vowed then and there to never be that guy. 

Three times my husband and I have tried to get out of town. Three times we have been thwarted by fate's fickle douchiness. 


In 2008 we booked a trip to Paris for a week. OMG did we get into it. I bought a "French for Your Trip" CD, the Lonely Planet guide to Paris, and my friend who had lived there briefly as a model - you know, as you do - inscribed detailed notes on a map for us. The Princeling, who by then would be seven months old, would stay with my parents in Miami while we ate bread and cheese and wine in a French park and slept in a French hotel room not littered with pacifiers, burp clothes, and spit-up stains.

Then we decided to move, from Manhattan to Brooklyn. And moving ain't cheap. And we had just finished paying off the massive credit card debt we had accrued while "nesting" in anticipation of the Princeling's birth. Something had to give, and that something was Paris.


Our next attempt at a child-free vacation happened in February 2010. For my birthday we booked ourselves three nights in a quaint little bed and breakfast upstate, complete with in-room hot tub. My mom would come up the week before and fly back to Miami with the Princeling. For weeks I had visions of spending my birthday sipping champagne in a hot tub while my gorgeous and awesome husband fed me chocolates.

Instead, my mom got stranded here in the Great Blizzard Snowpocalypse of 2010, and by the time she managed to get home, not even the promise of three days with the Princeling all to herself could convince her to take him off our hands. My gorgeous and awesome husband even offered to fly down with the Princeling and then return three days later just to pick him up, but no. My parents had seen the Awful Beast that is February weather in New York, and, like the survivors at the end of a zombie movie, they boarded up and went radio silent for a while.


Most recently, my parents - who clearly felt guilty about their post-Snowpocalypse, end-of-zombie-movie behavior that RUINED MY HOT TUB AND CHAMPAGNE BIRTHDAY (hashtag: firstworldproblems) - booked us on a week long cruise for this past April. I'm not a fan of cruises generally, but I didn't care. By the time they offered I was so desperate to go somewhere I would have taken a trip to Kabul. 


My husband and I booked our on-shore activities. Scuba classes in Cozumel. Horseback riding among Mayan ruins. Ziplining in Costa Rica. And OHMYGOD SEVEN MORNINGS OF WAKING UP WHENEVER THE HELL WE WANT TO WAKE UP. No one whining at us that the hot dog we made that he asked for is "too yucky." No one screaming "Bah!" into our faces when we tell him he can't have a lollipop for breakfast. No one responding with, "You could do it," when tell him to clean up his toys. Just my loverman and me, in places that are not New York or South Florida, places where our parents and child are not. Paradise.


So of course that never happened, because my dad was diagnosed with cancer last February and was scheduled to receive his first chemo treatment the week of our cruise. Just to spite me. We just could not burden my poor mother with both a 60-year old chemo patient AND an energetic 2 1/2-year old. If we had any doubts about this, in March I had to have emergency surgery to remove my gall bladder, and would still be recovering come cruise time in April: no booze, no ziplining.


My point is, it's not for lack of trying that the hubby and I haven't made it beyond New York or South Florida for the past four years. We're not those creepy parents whose lives come to a screeching halt with the arrival of kinderfolk. We are more than happy to dump our offspring on his grandparents so we can bust out our passports and try new foods and alcohols in exotic locales.


Because of my dad's cancer (calm down, he is 100% fine now. He even took a trip to Paris - !!! - and Amsterdam in October.) we made many visits to Miami in 2011, some just me and the Princeling, others all three of us. And now, with the imminent arrival of the Duke of Juban (ETA: March 2012) we feel we've earned the right to a Florida-free year in 2012. Oh, I know. Boo-hoo, we had to go to Florida. But we didn't go to fun Florida. We went to visit our parents, which, even in Florida is pretty much like going to visit your parents anywhere else. A couple of nights we went out to dinner in Miami, and I think we saw some movies. 

Ho-hum.


That's why we are making 2012 the year we finally take a proper vacation. With the kids! I don't even care. The Princeling is a fun guy, let's schlep him along. His baby bro, too. A friend suggested we do a family-friendly all-inclusive resort, and I found one in Barbados that has a nursery for the Duke and a Kid's Club for the Princeling so that from 9am to 5pm every day our kids can be other people's problems while the two of us glue giant frozen margaritas to our hands and go kayaking, possibly both together. AND WE ARE GOING. I don't care if we all die trying. I don't care if five hurricanes block our flight. I don't care if we all have to travel in body casts. I don't care if a giant earthquake rips open a chasm in the east coast and Balrog comes out. Come Hell or high water, we are taking a goddamn vacation this year.


This, I vow.

Pinot for the Masses!

This month's Budget Wine Review over at Moms Who Need Wine: The Pinot Project. You're welcome.

http://tinyurl.com/3za476e

How to Buy Good (Cheap) Wine

I like to think that the reason people ask me for advice on buying good, affordable wines is because of my spot as the Budget Wine Reviewer over at Moms Who Need Wine, and not because I'm a cheap alcoholic.

Because I am a cheap alcoholic, but I also give good advice. I like to think so, anyway.

Now, I realize that a lot of people are probably intimidated by wine shops, or you have snobby wine friends (like me) who can recognize swill a mile away. (Though, if your snobby wine friends really are like me, they'll drink it anyway once all the good stuff is gone. Swill wine is like Natty Light beer, which we used to drink as college freshmen after we went through all the actual good beer.) But rejoice! There is no reason to be afraid of wine shops. Here, in a nutshell, is how to find a good wine without breaking the bank.

1. Figure out your budget.
There are plenty of quality wines out there for $15 or less, so I usually go with that. Once you have your price cap in place you'll know which wines to quickly weed out.

If you really want to splurge, or if you're buying Pinot Noir (more on that later), I'd say go as high as $20, or even $25. But you really shouldn't go higher than that. Even by New York City standards you can get very good wines for under $20, and definitely under $25.

2. Figure out your color.
A red is not like a white which is not like a rose. And none of those are dessert wines or champagne.

A good way to know what color wine you want is the circumstances you're buying for. Dinner? There are some rules about what goes with what - like white wine with fish, red wine for tomato-based sauces - but my rule of thumb is the heavier the meal, the heavier the wine. So, rack of lamb with baby potatoes would get something in the heavier reds, like Cabernet Sauvignon or Malbec, but mushroom risotto would go with something lighter, like a white wine or a Pinot Noir.

If you're unsure of wine heaviness, check out RackWine's chart of wine heaviness.

You can also go by the weather, or season. A lot of wine drinkers stick with reds in the cooler months and whites in the warmer months. Personally, I can and do drink red wine year-round. (My June review for MWNW will be on that subject.) Pinot Noir is a great summer red, as is Shiraz. Shiraz, while heavy, is spicy and stands up well to grilled meats.

If you're going to a party or to someone else's dinner and you don't know what will be served, Merlot is a great all-purpose red, while Sauvignon Blanc is a good all-purpose white.

3. Know your region.
A lot of wine regions grow the same grapes but have vastly different wines. A Malbec from Chili, for example, isn't going to taste a lot like an Argentinian Malbec.

Just because a country puts out a certain type of wine doesn't necessarily mean it's any good. I love Spain and Spanish wines, but I stick with what they do best: Tempranillo and Granache. California is good at producing heavier wines like Merlot and Zinfandel, so that's where I go for those.

Here's a good easy primer for finding out which countries produce which types of wine.

A Note on Pinot Noir:
Ah, Pinot Noir. The elusive princess of the wine world. A good Pinot is hard to find. A good Pinot for under $15 is damn near impossible. If you're out to buy Pinot I highly recommend you keep your price cap at $25, otherwise you'll only set yourself up for disappointment.


So now you're in the store. You know your price cap, what type of wine you want, and which region to look in. After that it's pretty much a guessing game unless you ask for help. Now, the average liquor store that happens to stock wine probably won't have many experts on hand to help you. In that case, it's best to stay away from the bargain bins and sale racks. Those are wines the store can't move, probably for a good reason. Just pick a label you like and hope for the best.

But, if you're in a proper wine shop you can probably assume the employees have tasted most of the wines they sell and can help you. You don't even need to sound like you know what you're talking about to avoid sounding stupid; it's what they're there for. Give them your price cap and what color you want, and let them help you. (Though, I would suggest shaving a dollar or two off your price cap. I have never ever said, "$15," and actually gotten a $15 wine; it's usually $16 or 17.)

If you do ask for help, be prepared to answer questions about taste. Do you like sweet wines? Fruity wines? Heavy (full-bodied) wines, or light wines? Don't know what any of those mean? Use the phrase, "I want something highly drinkable." Works every time.

And if you're really, really too shy to ask for help and you just want to pop in, get your wine, and leave, Andrea Immer Robinson's motto is "Wine and Food For Everyone." Her website has some great resources to help you. There is also Wine Enthusiast's Wine Pairings page, which lists some meals and which wine goes with them, or the Bryson Wine Page's Wine Tutorial.

Good luck and l'chaim!