Recently I’ve been reading a lot of articles on how to order from a restaurant wine list like a pro, because I clearly will do anything to avoid doing any actual work at my place of work. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from reading these
blatant and offensive lies articles, it’s that they literally know shit about ordering wine. Now, I’m no sommelier, but I do drink wine like it’s water frequently, so I know a thing or two about ordering a glass of it at a restaurant. I mean, is there a healthy dose of shame involved with my ordering process? Yes. But will you enjoy the best damn glass of wine you’ve ever had in your life? Honestly, it’s unclear. See, I think I have ESPN or something, because I can basically read minds when it comes to people’s wine orders. So, just for fun, here’s a look at what actually goes through your mind when you try to order wine at a restaurant like a pro someone who’s only there for the happy hour drink prices.
*finds spot right at bar* So blessed, so moved, so grateful. Can’t believe this is my life.
Okay, now what am I in the mood to drink? I don’t necessarily want to spend 2-3 hours in the fetal position, backwards, stalking my ex on Insta, and crying into my Easy Mac, so maybe I’ll just stick with white tonight? Or at least start with it. Yeah, that sounds v responsible.
Hmm is there a happy hour price listed anywhere or…?
Wait… is that the happy price? Are you fucking kidding me? TWELVE dollars for a glass of Pinot Grigio?
Were the grapes dipped in gold or something? Was it infused with the elixir of life? ‘Cause that’s the only way I’m paying for 12 fucking dollars of this shit.
This is the cheapest thing on the menu, isn’t it? This is what I get for moving the happy hour to Williamsburg. Fuck this hipster nonsense. I’m out of here. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life rn.
Sighs. Bartender? Yes,
I’ll have one glass you can just fuck me up rn.
That’s cute that the bartender wants to tell me about each wine on the menu. It’s like he doesn’t think I’m
a human trash chute broke and will drink anything.
Anddd he’s still going. Okay, Kevin, I get the picture. There’s a lot of wine here. I was tipped off by the “wine bar” sign out front. You can stop with the monologue now.
Why is he asking me so many questions? What do I look for in a wine? High alcohol content. Obviously.
Whatever. At least he’s pretty.
Wait. Maybe all of these questions means he’s flirting with me??
Nope. This is purely about the wine list. Should not have made that pun about how I like my wine dark and full-bodied…
Ugh, I hate when they ask me to “sample” the wine. What am I supposed to say here? “Mmm, yes, this definitely tastes like 12 dollars I will never see again”? Don’t embarrass me like this, Kevin. I thought we had something here!
Fuck, I just dribbled this shit down my chin while I was sampling. See, THIS is why I don’t sample shit.
Lol, did he just ask me if he could interest me in a bottle? What, does he think I just came here to drink one glass and leave? I’m not a monster.
Wait this wine actually isn’t half bad. Is this what life on the other side of $8 looks life? I’m a changed woman. I’m never going back to my old ways, until I see the check.
Do I want another? On the one hand it’s expensive AF, but on the other hand I hate my job, apartment, and romantic prospects so… it’s a tough call.
Whatever. It’s Wednesday, I’ve made it through three consecutive days of work without wanting to jump into oncoming traffic. I deserve this. I’ve earned this. It’s time to
drink so much wine that I’m filled with shame and regret when I look at myself in the mirror tomorrow treat myself.
Is there anything as frustrating as being unable to open a bottle of wine because some sadist designed them to be opened with a corkscrew? That’s a rhetorical question, of course. Everyone knows a this is an emergency of monumental proportions—worse than American Apparel closing or your credit card getting cancelled. Nothing ruins a party/bat mitzvah/day at the office faster than uselessly cradling sweet, sweet fermented grape juice in your arms, so close and yet so far from being drunk, while you desperately try to figure out how to pop bottles without a bottle opener.
I’ve seen far too many wine bottles go to waste when some moron tries to tear the cork out with their teeth or something. In the interest of ending this madness, I decided to test and rank different ways to open a bottle without a corkscrew. And then drink it, obviously, for scientific purposes.
Supposedly, betches armed with a blowtorch can heat up the neck of a bottle until the hot air pushes the cork out. Seeing as I’m neither a stoner nor a welder on some oil rig in the middle of the ocean, I don’t own a blowtorch, and I’m not putting my hair at risk by buying one. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars in 2017 alone getting it to this level of perfection—I’m not letting it anywhere near an open flame, thank you very much.
I’m not your mom, so try the blowtorch thing if you want—but if you actually own a blowtorch and not a corkscrew, it might be time to take a good, hard look at your choices. The blowtorch thing might even work, but be prepared to say goodbye to your eyebrows by the time you’ve finally gotten the cork out.
2. Hitting Wine/Shoe Against Wall
We’ve all heard of this one: Stick a wine bottle inside a shoe and thwack it against the wall, ignoring the yammering of your annoyed neighbors, until the cork leaps out at your face. I’ve seen it work on YouTube, so I had high hopes for this method. They were promptly dashed, which is what I deserve for daring to be optimistic.
After carefully placing the wine inside a combat boot and zipping it inside for good measure, I commenced whacking it against the crumbling wall of my rooftop chimney. 34 minutes later, the cork was unmoved, the ground was littered with chunks of plaster, and I was not even a little bit drunk. The conclusion? My building is shitty and so is this method.
3. Hitting Bottle With Shoe
Another supposedly successful shoe-related method is hitting the bottom of the wine bottle with a shoe until the pressure forces out the cork (or something, I slept through most of physics TBH). Using the aforementioned combat boot and a bunch of creative positioning, I went to town on the bottom of that wine bottle for what felt like eternity but turned out to be like, 20 minutes.
Like the Shitty Shoe Method #1, though, I had precisely zero success despite the strength of desperation to be drunk. In the end, instead of a fountain of wine, all I got was a sore shoulder and an embarrassing sense of my pathetic, flaccid muscles. Apparently SoulCycle doesn’t work out your arms as much as I thought it did.
4. Key Twist
The method, according to my college roommate who swore that this worked: Insert your keys into the cork, twist them slightly, and wiggle it out with the kind of patience no betch has ever possessed except in the pursuit of getting to some fucking wine.
Shockingly, this actually kind of worked—the cork shifted upward ever so slightly at first. Then my hand slipped, shoving the key in further and tearing a giant hole in the cork. The upside is that the hole was big enough to pour wine at a trickle so slow I could feel eons pass between each drop. The downside is the wine had bits of cork floating around inside like icebergs around the Titanic, but at that point I think anyone would say fuck it and chug the first glass anyway. So… success?
5. Wooden Spoon
Take a wooden spoon (or some other household object with a handle) and hammer the cork with the blunt end. When it rebounds and smacks you in the eye, redouble your efforts until you lose the eye entirely or the cork has been shoved down the bottleneck to drown in wine where it belongs.
Although you might think this method would go the way of the shoe tricks, if you sit there poking the wine bottle long enough, eventually your roommate will come take over and shove the cork inside in one fell stroke. Basically, the spoon thing totally works if you actually do weights at the gym instead of half-assing cycling classes three times a week. Obviously, this calls for a celebratory drink because it’s been two fucking hours and you’re ready to call it a loss and break out the vodka. (Maybe you should do that anyway.)
6. Buy A Fucking Corkscrew
Sure, you can technically open a bottle of wine without any mechanical aid, but save it for the direst situations, like your little brother’s graduation party or, god forbid, camping anywhere but Coachella. Otherwise, just buy a fucking corkscrew or get used to drinking shitty screw-top wine all the time. If you’re doing it right, it’ll only take five minutes for you to get too drunk to notice the taste of sulfites.
Wanna know what your favorite wine says about you? Read here!