I have a couple of tennis buddies about the same age as me, both of whom have recently injured themselves so we haven't seen each other in a while. Finally we decide to meet for one drink somewhere in Hollywood. Since Henrietta had made the date she decided the meeting place and time. Henri is decisionally challenged and texted me about 100 times, changing her mind. Finally she decided on a hole in the wall scunge-bar on U.S. One called "Walsh's" that I had always thought would be populated by hookers and semi-homeless people. I was intrigued, and arrived right on time at 7pm. At 8:00 Henri and my other friend showed up. I was nursing a Corona, because I don't like beer but there was no point asking for a wine list at a greasy place with green lighting, dirty floors and yes, filled with seedy characters. As soon as they walked in, my other friend said "I can't stay here, it's full of cigarette smoke." I agreed and we talked in the parking lot about where to go for a quiet glass. Henri wanted to go to a karaoke bar or an open mic night but I said that my one rule was - the place has to be relatively quiet so we can talk, that being my main rationale for going out on a Wednesday, so we could get caught up with each others' lives.
Henri had previously gotten a recommendation from the bartender of Walsh's and insisted we try it because none of us had ever been there. I was thinking, oh yeah, that's going to be another U.S. One hole (and there are many) but it was Henri's night so whatever. On the way they texted me that Henri had changed her mind again and now she wanted to go to Dockers. I was ok with this, although I had only had lunch there it is at least a clean, pleasant location.
The place was empty and we easily got a table by the water. Dockers had recently undergone a massive renovation and their menu reflected it. They actually had a wine list, a welcome change for me, as I only really enjoy wine as an alcoholic beverage. Now I am not a wine snob but I know from looking at a simple list what's probably drinkable, if massively overpriced. I spotted a Bogle Essential Red by the glass for $9 and was delighted that something I knew was a decent red was available. That is when Henri, suddenly and inexplicably, became an oenophile.
What year is it? She demanded. The waiter went to look and came back with the news that this bottle was vintage 2012. Oh, no, that year won't do, Henri said. That's an even year. ALL wines made in even years are undrinkable. I laughed and asked how she figured that one. She went on a lengthy rant about how she used to live in California and she was familiar with that winery in particular and 2012 was simply an intolerable vintage. I was kind of egging her on and she just prattled on and on about how she couldn't possibly consume any wine of 2012 vintage from that particular vineyard, or any vineyard in the world, and anyone who knew anything about wine understood that. The truth is, Bogle Essential Red is a regional wine, a blend of several grapes from more than one vineyard, and in fact the blends always take advantage of whatever the best grapes are in each particular growing season. Also 90% of all wines are drinkable within a year of release, across the board. While it's true that some years are better than others in various parts of the wine growing world, whether the year is odd or even matters not one bit, that theory is simply rubbish and mostly comes from an old movie quote ("Seven Years of Separation"), and she even got that wrong - in the movie they say that odd-year wines are trash. But I knew these "facts" would be lost on our stubborn, know-it-all Henri, so I finally just cut it short by ordering a glass of the Bogle, perhaps by now a little out of spite. "I like it," I said. "And I've had it before so I know it's good. That's the only information I need." She was clearly wounded by my betrayal and lack of confidence in her expertise, and retorted, "well then just order it, it's not going to be worth drinking, I can tell you, I know about these things. I used to live in California." Then she turned to the waiter, who had patiently stood there throughout this exchange, and without another comment said, "I'll have a glass of the house Merlot." No questions asked. My other friend and I laughed our brains out, but the irony was completely lost on Henri. Even I, an uninformed peasant who has only been to California about 100 times, always ask at least what label the house wine is.
After one glass Henri became increasingly more confrontational and belligerent, at one point crassly insulting another friend of mine whom she had never met, all I assume because I had ordered the Bogle against her advice, and actually enjoyed it. We had a heated exchange in which she threatened to leave, and my other friend and I didn't urge her to stay. Later I wondered what really is going on with Henri, because even a glass of shitty Merlot shouldn't produce an attitude like that.
