One of the big news items in little old SA today is the release of Penfolds new Grange. Retailing at around $550 a bottle, it's probably not the kind of thing you'd BYO to one of the cheap yet cheerful gut busting Chinese kitchens me and my ilk like to frequent. At that price, I'd probably save it for one of the many ritual male sacrifices held by my Ladies Feminist Foxilliary Club every third full moon (three for each point of the holy vagina). After smearing our menstrual blood all over the defiled carcass of whichever hapless schmuck we'd chosen to hold accountable to all the sins of the patriarchy that particular night, we could pop the cork on a bit of expensive red and congratulate ourselves on being crazy. Which is just like any other Feminasty Friday Full Moon really.
But I digress.
Matthew Abraham and David Bevan invited callers this morning to share their own memories of Grange Hermitage. The following two stories leapt out from the radio waves and pierced me straight through the heart. Truly, there is nothing more depressing than what you are about to read...Consider this your warning.
"Caller Robert shares his Grange story. Way back in 1978 he used to look at various wines a lot. He could not buy much wine then, but he could buy a lot of Grange at about $10 or $12 a bottle. In 1979, the news report came in that the Grange 1971 had won the National Wine Olympiad. He knew where he could get this particular wine cheaply so he picked up ten bottles of the Grange 1971 in Hobart for about $12 each. He also knew that when he returned to Geelong, he could buy them at the supermarket for $8. Robert explains that a bottle of Grange 1971 today would sell for around $1000. After he bought his wine, he drank one bottle and gave a bottle to another friend before storing the rest. But in 1984, tragedy struck when his car broke down and needed a new engine. He sold the Grange bottles to replace his car and was really happy because he got $30 a bottle for them. Alas, Robert says he has never been happy since."
Heartbreaking.
But then there's Min:
"Caller Min owns a holiday house in Victor Harbor where she and her partner keep their wine. Some time ago, they had a phone call from the police saying they had been burgled. When they went down, their wine cellar had been plundered and nearly all the wine was stolen. The policeman who had interviewed them was a red wine drinker and he was beside himself to hear the Grange Hermitage wine was gone. Weeks later, they found out where the burglar lived and discovered him with two half empty bottles of 1991 Grange. The policeman asked him why he hadn't finished them, puzzled. The burglar said he didn't like them and so had been drinking them mixed with Woodcroft's lemonade. "
*cries*
Funnier though was when Abraham and Bevan mused on what exactly Grange mixed with lemonade would taste like. After reflection, they decided on cold duck.
Peace out (while sighing at how I have gotten into the unbreakable pattern of drinking cask wine at the pub)
* Hey, some people have knitting clubs.
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5 apples:
We got most of the way through a bottle of Grange my Dad had been keeping for a VERY LONG TIME at my recent significant milestone birthday. My mother, bless her soul, can't abide mess, so while we were off chatting came around and 'tidied up' the half full glasses of Grange - down the sink. Brings a tear to my eye still.
Oh to have metropolitan radio access. My Grange tale:
In one of my many God-forsaken past relationships, I dated a habitual womaniser whose most treasured possession in life was his collection of Grange.
He went out one night after one of our usual arguments (forgive me, I was just a young thing), which involved me crying: "You're always with your mates. Whe can't you just spend some time with me?"
Yeah, yeah, I was young and stupid.
But, not that stupid, as you shall see.
While he was out, his ex rocked up and took great pleasure in telling me how the two of them had been cheating together for some time.
I was distraught. I needed a drink. There was naught to drink but the tantalising dozen of Grange.
There was no bottle opener. But there was a sieve.
I smashed the bottle necks upon the sink and sifted the remnants of broken glass.
I drank two of them and poured the rest down the garbage disposal.
Despite my lacerated tongue, it was truly an enjoyable experience that was worth more to me at the time than any currency or market value could emulate.
That is the end of my story.
P.S. I'll be in Adelaide for five days in June. Send me your number. I don't have it anymore. x
Auds, you really should slurp the stuff at least once in your life.
We lived in Darwin for a few years and a bottle of Grange was up there for around $100. That was (and still is!) a fortune for us, but I bought Love Chunks a bottle anyhow. The shopkeeper reckoned he just couldn't sell it, as his normal customers preferred casks and slabs but Penfolds allot the bottles according to what other of their range have been sold in shops.
We drank it at our tenth wedding anniversary and it was divine. Yes yes, it could have been the occasion, the food, the new rocks on my finger but I'll never forget it.
Although not quite in the same league as Grange, I do have a bad wine abuse story.
Back in my community-minded days I was a volunteer with Apex in Port Augusta. We were given the task of organising the Christmas party for the staff of the local prison and their budget was considerable to say the least. Anyhoo, it was my job to tend the bar after the booze had been purchased and we were given a shopping list, which in summary read "enough beer to possibly act as ballast for a super tanker should the need arise and one 'really good bottle of red'." Pretty specific I think.
The really good bottle of red from memory came in a wooden case and cost about $70 or $80. It was for the exclusive sipping of one staff member.
As the night progressed the owner of this bottle approached the bar and asked me to "crack the red darl", so I removed the cork and poured her a small glass only to be met by the kind of glare that people give dirty strangers found talking to their children.
She leans over the bar in disgust, grabs a tumbler, one of those jam jar free ones, fills it with ice and pours herself a serve fit for Liz Taylor on a Mandrax bender and then stuffs the bottle in the ice trough with the rest of the beer.
"Leave it in there this time mate, it's bloody well supposed to be cold."
I was flabbergasted. End communication.
A group of us got together to get some friends of ours two bottles of grange as a wedding present (in the 80s, when they were expensive, but not ridiculous).
As we were walking towards the reception, another friend offered to carry the mystery parcel, and in the transfer, it was dropped. One bottle smashed to the ground. There was some talk of licking the pavement... but in the end we just sadly watched the liquid roll down the footpath...
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