Posts Tagged ‘Manchester VT’

So I went to my first chili cook-off last week.

I ate 25 little cups with varying degrees of spice and meat assemblage including beef, turkey, duck (I think), wild boar, venison, and lamb (I also think). The evening was genius and concluded with a very restless night’s sleep and bubble guts that spilled over into the next day. Was it worth it? Yes! But in retrospect, there was no need for seconds—that was just foolish.

[Many of the finest dining establishments in Manchester brought chili to the contest, held at the Equinox Resort. Local schools, clubs, and organizations made a damn good showing too—especially the kids at the Long Trail School.]



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I’ve met many winemakers. They are an inspiring lot, willing to wear as many hats as required to bring their babies to market. That is essentially how they feel about their labor once corked, labeled, boxed, and being loaded onto a truck—sending their babies out into the world hopefully to be loved.

The good ones hopefully succeed, but not always; some are overlooked, the bad ones weeded out and tagged as losers, and the process starts over. But what happens when you have succeeded as winemaker, your wine is great; in fact, it has arrived at its destination ready to be sold—and finds itself being held hostage by a grouchy old Fraulein with a sharp tongue and dominatrix-like impulses? This is just something no winemaker can prepare for—and precisely the situation a lot of bottles of Pat Green Estate find themselves in today.

I managed to rescue of one bottle before being driven off the premises, which you can read all about in the epic post, Wines by George: The Winter Offensive.


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What started almost a week ago with a craggy finger to the face and a dismissive shooing motion ended this morning in a face-off between myself and an elderly lady in a pink tweed pencil skirt. Sit back, relax, and let me tell you a tale of one very brave wine blogger who stood in face of serpentine wine snobbery and a touch of pure evil.


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Today Carey and I took a winding climb in the car to the top of Mount Equinox in southern Vermont. I often take friends on this effortless little trek when they come visit our family in Vermont, but surprisingly Carey had yet to enjoy it herself. I just sit back, put the car in low gear and feel like a champion as my guests gawk at the surroundings and work up an appetite—which leads to some other guided effortless activity like consuming a Vermont cheddar grilled cheese or inquiring about maple syrup.


Stories of reclusive monks (wait, that’s a redundancy) who live off the land, whittle wood, wear Galilee gliders with wool socks, and are occasionally seen being driven into town in an old woody station wagon for a DVD or something, make the 3/4 point of the climb very exciting when the monastery comes into view.




The Monastery



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We stopped in the Burberry outlet in Manchester, VT this weekend and I tried on some amazing shoes, all marked down to rock-bottom nothing. I even tried on some Pretty Woman prostie boots, but they weren’t my size. (And my toes were crammed inside like 10 clowns in a VW Beetle.) Having my other foot in an L.L. Bean duck boot was not helping my imagination, and I was beginning to sweat somewhat profusely.

But my heart broke for this pair of booties, marked down to $140 (and possibly 50% off of that, I was too frenzied to look) from over $1000. They had my size. I panicked. I left them.

Burberry bootiesI know there’s no way they’re still there, but I’m totally thinking about going back next weekend to check. I’m irritated that they’re on ebay for $600. Regret! If they aren’t there, I’ll drown my sorrows in a grilled cheese and a glass of wine at Sherrie’s.

Burberry wasn’t a total bust: I did score a $450 sweater of dreamy, white, angora cables with a huge funnel neck for $68. Post on that later.

Ladies: if the shoe fits…


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