In celebrating family, I open a bottle of Moscato d’Asti, and celebrate family. I may no longer run marathons, but the supper rituals never get old.
It’s hot in Louisiana and I find myself sitting on the porch at dusk, sipping my wine, reading a book, and Gary Clark, Jr.’s live album on repeat. It’s become my end of the day ritual. It’s how I transition from the workday until evening. Rituals. Wine to me is such.
My family didn’t drink when I was growing up. My dad had the occasional beer, but I saw wine when we went out to dinner. And it wasn’t at our table. It wasn’t until my twenties saw wine’s lifestyle possibilities. Years ago when I was training and running marathons (never again) I had a Friday night ritual. I would pick up spicy shrimp and spinach fettuccine, grab a bottle of wine at Spec’s, and catch up on a week’s worth of Oprah via VHS tapes. The wine would be something different every week. I wrote them in my journal and made notes. I didn’t stick to the rules: white with seafood and reds with hearty meats. I noticed regions, producers, and trusted my palette. After a few years, I was able to identify various wine destinations.
Recently, I was craving an old school Southern Sunday supper. The kind of meal that reminds me of home, family, of place, and rituals. A roasted chicken with potatoes, carrots, onions, and homemade gravy. This was the kind of meal my grandmother would have made. In this house and in this kitchen. Now, it is my turn. The difference is there is wine. In celebrating family, I open a bottle of Moscato d’Asti, and celebrate family. I may no longer run marathons, but the supper rituals never get old. This time it involves a wine normally for big celebrations such as birthdays, weddings, and job promotions. The beauty of Moscato d’Asti is you don’t need a special occasion to drink it. It is great for all meals.