Tip It!

by Maggie Griffin

  Well, I kind of liked it! Suddenly, a glass of Mogen David became my one drink for the night. If we went out for a sandwich, or even spaghetti, that’s what I’d order. Of course, I knew nothing about what wine goes with what food, so if you’re wincing, I don’t blame you. Then I found out about sherry—a sweetish wine, but closer to being dry—and started to like having a glass of that.

  Of course, what your friends drink often has an influence on you. So when Johnny and I started socializing with a group of people who liked cocktails, I came around to those drinks my sisters were enjoying. Occasionally I’d have a Manhattan, which appealed to my sweet tooth because you mixed whiskey with sweet vermouth, and it comes with a maraschino cherry. Then there was the Tom Collins, a favorite at our summer parties, which combined gin—or vodka, which I preferred, ’cause I found gin too strong—with lime or lemon, sugar, ice, and fizzy water. But what I liked most were Old-Fashioneds, which I’ve heard is the earliest known cocktail! An Old-Fashioned is quite the mixture: whiskey, seltzer, sugar, bitters, and orange juice. At least that’s what mine had. Everybody has different recipes for an Old-Fashioned.

  My brother Pat, who had a tavern in Chicago, made a great one. It was so great, in fact, I used his recipe to make an Old-Fashioned punch for our Christmas parties, which was a big hit when you were coming in from the frosty, snowy Chicago winter air. As soon as people entered our house, you’d hear “Where’s that punch?” It was strong stuff. Two sips of that, and you were warm, I tell you! But you couldn’t drink too much, and people would usually switch to beer or wine after a sampling of that concoction. I felt that way about Manhattans, too. I could never drink two in one night. Sugar with alcohol is a killer! I don’t mind feeling a little silly because of a drink, but who wants to be dizzy? That’s like being sick, and that’s no fun. (Of course, in Kathy’s estimation—since she never drinks—anybody who’s had two drinks is shot. Which is when I tell her she doesn’t know shite from shinola. What do you call someone who eats more than two pieces of cake at one time, Kathy?)

  But it was when Johnny and I first visited Europe in 1974—Ireland, England, and France—that everything changed. Well, first of all, when we landed in Ireland, I cried because I never thought I’d ever get to see where my family was from. We visited my parents’ church in the coastal town of Drogheda, met relatives for tea, and visited spectacular castles. Johnny drank the Irish beers he loved so much, and we had a wonderful time. (Although they weren’t too keen on giving me more ice for my cocktails.)

  In Paris, though, our fondness for “fancy drinks” ran into a wall. We might have figured that would happen. Here we were in this beautiful wine-producing, wine-drinking country, and when we’d go to the bar and order a Manhattan or an Old-Fashioned, nobody would have a clue what we were talking about. Johnny actually stepped behind the bar once to show the bartender how to make a Manhattan! Anyway, that was our tourist mistake, ordering mixed drinks in a famous wine country. Also, what we noticed was that the French were drinking wine all day long in these cute little cafés and bars, and they just looked so comfortable and relaxed and continental. So we said, “We’d better start ordering just wine.”

  Our trip instantly got better. (We saw Pierre Salinger on the Rue de Rivoli trying to hail a cab!) The wine was delicious, we had a wonderful time, and that’s when we made the big switch.

  Thank goodness my tastes evolved from my Mogen David days. I think I’m like a lot of people, in that I may not know a lot about wine, but I know what I like. People will ask me as they’re handing me a glass, “How do you like this wine?” I hate to say it, but most of them taste kind of the same to me, especially reds. I’m better at distinguishing whites. Some are darker. Some are sweeter. Some are lighter. Some are drier. I very seldom have a wine I really don’t like, unless it’s really sweet. So I’m not a big fan of Riesling or Gewürztraminer. Or the ones you have with desserts. But I guess they’re okay if you’re having one with a cookie.

  Chardonnay is my favorite, more than Chablis, which is what I used to drink. I’ve really gotten to like wine that’s a little on the dry side. Something that’s nice all by itself if you’re just having a glass in the afternoon, maybe with some cheese and crackers, or that works with a meal. Another white I like is Pinot Grigio.

  The markup on wines, though, can be a bit much when you go out. That’s why Johnny and I liked happy hours. But even then, you have to be careful. One time we decided to try a new place near the Santa Monica airport that was very chichi, so we dropped in for happy hour and each ordered a glass of their house white wine from the bar. This was maybe ten years ago, when the top price for wine by the glass was maybe $9. So John puts a twenty-dollar bill down, figuring that ought to cover the cost and a tip, and as we’re heading with our glasses to find a table, we hear “Oh, sir?”

  Turns out the wines were $12 a glass!

  We had a good laugh about it, but we looked at each other and thought, “We’re not coming here often!”

  That’s why we were excited about a little discovery we made later when we went to a friend’s yard party. Everybody was supposed to bring something, so I made a big salad. Well, this other guy said he’d bring the wine. At the party he started opening these reds and whites and began passing it around. None of us looked at the labels or anything. Then he asked, “How do you guys like the wine?”

  We all thought, “Hey, this is good. It’s nice wine!”

  “Well, as long as you all like it, let me tell you about it. And wait till you hear how much it costs.”

  He said it was two dollars a bottle! We couldn’t believe it. This was a guy who would think nothing of spending $40, $50, or $60 on a bottle of wine. He appreciates good wine. But he also likes anything that’s drinkable, which I love. That’s when we decided to start buying this wine, which was made by Charles Shaw. Then we started going to other people’s houses, and you’d hear, “Hey, did you try this new Two Buck Chuck?” Now it had its own cute little name!

  Look, this isn’t the wine you save for special occasions. Friends of Kathy’s will give me really nice bottles of wine, and those are like gold. You have to dole those out. You’d better be special if you’re going to get me to open one of those. But Two Buck Chuck is good wine! I don’t know of anybody who’s gotten sick on it or anything. I’m sure it’s not the favorite of wine snobs, but if they don’t want to drink it, fine. If one came to my house, I’d even go out of my way not to serve it to them. Why give them the satisfaction of trashing it? (I might even be sneaky enough to pretend I don’t drink it either!)

  But you can’t fault that price. Especially since you can go to Europe and sit in a cute little outdoor café near a vineyard and order their house wine, and it’s the equivalent of two dollars, too! And it’s good! And Europeans know their wine.

  Which brings us to the box.

  That was another revelation. When we learned about box wine—again, from friends whose house we were at for a party—everything seemed to fall into place. All the pesky little problems that come with wine from a bottle were solved by that box.

  First of all, when you open a bottle of red, how long is it going to last? Not long, I’ll tell you that much. You’ll have vinegar on your hands if you don’t drink it all in a day or two, and for someone like me who has a glass or two at a time, that’s a lot of pressure. Well, that box keeps it from going bad for a long time! Of course, the box itself isn’t keeping the wine. That would be strange, to say the least. It’s a plastic bag inside the box. But it’s a special vacuum-sealed bag that keeps air out, which is what starts the process of turning wine bad.

  Then there’s the spigot. How convenient is that? Especially on a picnic, say, when you might be kicking yourself if you brought a bottle of wine but forgot a corkscrew. But even if you’re at home, you just prop that box up on the counter, or on a shelf in your refridge, and you can get a glass quickly and easily. Less chance of spilling, too!

  Me and little Kathleen, before she
learned to swear.

  Joyce and me at a banquet dinner, tippin’ it!

  Me and Irene on the left, casual, and Rae’s all dolled up.

  In Chicago with John Maurice’s family: wife Jennifer, grandkids Claire and John

  Having fun with Team Griffin: Tiffany, me, Kathy, and Tom.

  Christmas 2004. BACK ROW: John Maurice and Gary; MIDDLE: Kathy, Claire, Johnny, me, and Joyce; FRONT: Jennifer and John.

  Best of all, the value of getting the equivalent of three to four bottles in one box means it’s the ideal way to bring wine to a party. Try lugging four bottles to a party. They’re sliding around in your car, clanking against one another. They might break. They’re heavy with all that glass. It’s two trips from the car, surely, especially if you brought a big salad, too. A box of wine with a handle takes care of that inconvenience!

  Don’t let anybody tell you that box of Franzia or Almaden is empty, either, just because that spigot runs dry. There’s always a little more.

  That’s when you call out, “Tip it!”

  In other words, use it up, wear it out, make it do!

  Then again, isn’t it nice that “Tip it” also acts as a toast? Even a way to view life? Over the years I’ve had the pleasure of tipping it with Johnny, my kids, family, friends, and even by myself, especially when I want to relax after a hard day of worrying about what latest controversy my daughter has gotten into. Hey, Kathy may not drink, but she tips it, wouldn’t you say, when it comes to her comedy? She probably wouldn’t be as successful as she is if she didn’t.

  As a motto for living life to the fullest, and getting the most out of it, I think “Tip it!” works pretty well. And at ninety, I think I deserve a motto, don’t you?

  What’s yours?

  Tips for Tippin’ It

  As you know, I love my box wine. Here are some reasons why:

  A box is more convenient. You don’t need a corkscrew, you can reseal the thing, and it stays fresh longer. Plus, a box won’t shatter and cut your hand. Nobody ever got a cardboard paper cut.

  A box is easy to store, you can stack the darn thing, it’s a box, for cryin’ out loud!

  Irene and me tippin’ it. You could say I’m in a semi-duster.

  A box holds four bottles’ worth of wine. I wouldn’t bother with those measly cartons that hold only a bottle or two’s worth.

  A box has a spigot. Not only is it resealable as I mentioned earlier, but a spigot doesn’t spill.

  A box instead of a bottle is greener! It reduces your carbon footprint! Whatever that means.

  A box is perfect for home and family and large parties. Fancy bottled wine is for intimate occasions and company. But only company you like. Certainly not for anyone uninvited, or crashers.

  And remember, Tip it! You may think there’s no more, but try again. You’ll be sure to get the last drop.

  Johnny and me tippin’ it. I couldn’t tell you where this is.

  Johnny in his favorite golfing/shopping/waiting pose. Yes, he’d actually nap!

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2010 Margaret Corbally Griffin

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Hyperion e-books.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

  ISBN: 978-1-4013-2404-9

  EPub Edition © 2010 ISBN: 9781401396060

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