Streets of Fire

Some things written by Jeff Kelley, a man in Richmond, Va. He likes aircraft carriers but doesn't really know the intricacies of them (weight, length, etc.)
This weekend Cristin and I went to a really nice dinner in Washington, not the U.S. state but the one where Barack Obama and probably lots of other black guys live. The evening was what I’d call a once-in-a-lifetimer, with double-digit courses and like literally 20 forks and some utensils I’d ever even seen before (we are frequent Mexican/Chick-fil-a eaters). The dinner was a wedding gift from an uncle and his wife and the meal even came with its own Somalian who knew a TON of stuff about wine, and one of those lessons was that you can’t pair wine with soup. It’s impossible. “Can’t?” we all thought, and “can’t” has never been in my vocabulary along with big words such as “amaranthine,” “aesopian,” and “cannot.” She explained herself and noted that one couldn’t possibly pair a liquid with a liquid (she emphasized possibly because in addition to knowing a lot about wine this woman was an utter asshole from hell and thought all we knew about wine is from what we saw in Sideways, and she was right but whatever). She was a real jerk about the fact you can’t pair a wine with soup (in addition to not even cracking a smile on my “this wine has subtle notes of fermented grape” joke, which I characterized as a real killer), so the rest of the evening really centered around joking with one another: Q: “Hey, I’m having soup later, any thoughts on a good wine pairing?” A: ”I would recommend a 2003 go fuck yourself.” Q: “Any idea on a good white to pair with this can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle?” A: [Throws Campbell’s Chicken Noodle into question-asker’s face] Q: “I was thinking of a proper rosé to go along with this gazpacho, what do you think?” A: “Uh, wine with soup? Personally, and this is just me: I think you should burn in hell.” Stuff like that. After we left we went to a roof bar that overlooked the White House - so close you could see lights flick on and off - and gingerly balled until the wee hours of the morning in the dead center of the free world, albeit one in which you can’t pair a soup with a wine so don’t even think about it.

This weekend Cristin and I went to a really nice dinner in Washington, not the U.S. state but the one where Barack Obama and probably lots of other black guys live. The evening was what I’d call a once-in-a-lifetimer, with double-digit courses and like literally 20 forks and some utensils I’d ever even seen before (we are frequent Mexican/Chick-fil-a eaters). The dinner was a wedding gift from an uncle and his wife and the meal even came with its own Somalian who knew a TON of stuff about wine, and one of those lessons was that you can’t pair wine with soup. It’s impossible. “Can’t?” we all thought, and “can’t” has never been in my vocabulary along with big words such as “amaranthine,” “aesopian,” and “cannot.” She explained herself and noted that one couldn’t possibly pair a liquid with a liquid (she emphasized possibly because in addition to knowing a lot about wine this woman was an utter asshole from hell and thought all we knew about wine is from what we saw in Sideways, and she was right but whatever). She was a real jerk about the fact you can’t pair a wine with soup (in addition to not even cracking a smile on my “this wine has subtle notes of fermented grape” joke, which I characterized as a real killer), so the rest of the evening really centered around joking with one another:

Q: “Hey, I’m having soup later, any thoughts on a good wine pairing?” A: ”I would recommend a 2003 go fuck yourself.”

Q: “Any idea on a good white to pair with this can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle?” A: [Throws Campbell’s Chicken Noodle into question-asker’s face]

Q: “I was thinking of a proper rosé to go along with this gazpacho, what do you think?” A: “Uh, wine with soup? Personally, and this is just me: I think you should burn in hell.”

Stuff like that.

After we left we went to a roof bar that overlooked the White House - so close you could see lights flick on and off - and gingerly balled until the wee hours of the morning in the dead center of the free world, albeit one in which you can’t pair a soup with a wine so don’t even think about it.

  1. sistacrumpet said: I love this, Jeph. We will be stealing your wine and soup pairing jokes.
  2. lindstifa reblogged this from jephkelley