Hudson Valley Wine and Food Fest 2013

My body, after years of careful consideration and scientific testing, has confirmed to be NOT carbon based. No, rather it is actually very carefully compressed, shaped, and orchestrated disappointment. I am, borrowing from Brian Posehn somewhat, a disappointment elemental. Not that I SPREAD disappointment, mind you. I know many people that could attest to the latter. But rather, it's self-disappointment. It strategically sacrifices little bits of itself to ruin plans. The odd thing is, the further away from my house these plans take place, the less it exerts. I guess the energy conversion of solid disappointment to gaseous disappointment (otherwise known as "the vapors") is considerable so whatever manifests when I am to go far away from home is generally mild but irritating. I had a kidney infection when I went to IPCPR in NOLA in 2010 but it was mild and, on the kidney infection Richter scale, was about a 2.0. When I went to ADI in Denver, I had a mild sinus infection and I could really smell the hundreds of spirits laid out before me in a literal spirit buffet. However...when the plans constitute going to somewhere within walking distance of my house...all hell breaks loose.

So, three days before the Hudson Valley Wine and Food Festival, a half mile from my house at best, I get a 8.0 Kidney Richter Scale mamma-jamma. It started as it usually does: my back hurts. Figuring I slept on it wrong, I went about my day. Then that deep rooted, aching pain started and I knew what I was in for. Confident that I could kick this before Saturday (it was a Tuesday), I called my doctor, got my meds, had some coffee, watched a few movies, drank a lot of water...then went to bed. When I woke up on Wednesday, what should have been a bright and beautiful morning of birds chirping, soft breezes, and no back pain...it was not. I had a fever of 102.6. I was delirious and hallucinating. Chills and shakes swept through me like the winds over the plains. But I had my meds! I'll be okay.

No.

Needless to say, after many days of low grade fever and aches, I gave up. I couldn't go. I should be drinking and the antibiotics were just slow. So I called in my professionals. My photographer, otherwise known as the Sofrito Senorita, was fine to go. But who to replace my larger than life (both physically and metaphorically) persona? I had to call in the big guns. Enter the freelance.

Some say this is right before she got on a plane and sang "Tiny Dancer" with a band in a storm.

She has many names but prefers to go by the name of "Beauty and the Borscht" due to her deep-seated Russian roots and the fact that she can eat more borscht than any human I've ever seen. Some say she stores where her soul should be, using it to fuel her superhuman voracity for things. Not one thing in particular...all things.

What I was forwarded was a dirty and crumpled sheet of barely incoherent notes. Several of the pages were stained with wine and what potentially could be the blood of her enemies. No photos of the altercation exist so I'm guessing it was either brutal or non-existent. The notes were unusable; unintelligible to any but the finest cryptographers. But I do have the photos. And here's what we got.

All in all, it looks like they had a good time. No photos of food which makes me sad because the Jamaican jerk chicken guy was there and I wanted to eat all of the plantains he had. Fried plantains are a medicinal food, right? Several types of wine which I want to try (that Dragon's Fire wine) and some pretty solid candid shots as well. So I think I'll let them pass for the dismal note-keeping. In case you were wondering whether or not you should attend this event, I wholeheartedly recommend it. You could huck a rock and hit a decent, if not foxy and fine, Riesling (In With Bacchus does not endorse the projectile movement of stones, rocks, gravel, or any other geological formation in the hopes of hitting a wine). So go drink some damn fine wine, eat a lot of stuff (one of the legible notes was about bacon jerky), and have a good time in the sun.

Now if you'll excuse me, my body has dinner plans to ruin.

EDIT:  Beauty and the Borscht has this to say: "The Americana Baco Noir was honestly my favorite. That and the Casa Larga Lilac wine."