It's Made With Figs, and Bacon

I may have written before about how having a child impacts everyday activities – i.e., it’s difficult to watch TV programs that feature children in peril. I now buy this particular bottle of wine simply because it’s from a vineyard that includes my son’s name.

I’m no connoisseur of wine. In fact, I’m an amateur consumer of alcohol in general. I reached a point in my life where I’m not scared of becoming an alcoholic anymore, so I’m finally allowing my liver to stretch its legs a little bit.

My amateur status prevents me from telling you that this wine is great. The French probably use it in their bidets. True wine connoisseurs probably could smell and taste the difference as soon as they unscrewed the cap.

But, hey, it doesn’t matter to me. I feel like I’m toasting my son every time I imbibe and that’s good enough for me.