Time to Mull it Over

When I first got into wine, I smelled terrible. You were never to shower beforehand: apparently your wine might taste too Zestfully clean. And you had to drink it out of special glasses. Reds were served at 56 degrees; whites at 48. You held it by the stem or the base—touching the bowl could destroy the thermodynamics, you know! Then I saw it. The light peering into my plain white tasting room. I heard it. The music and laughter outside; the silence of no tasting notes. I slowly dug my way out of the dungeon. Outside? Grown Spanish women gravity bonging the local wine. Raw teak tables covered in hot food and pitchers of sangria. Kegged Chablis. And, across the street, through the windows, more laughter, early Christmas trees and clear glass mugs full of steaming wine. Which got me thinking: Mulled wine. Read more and get my recipe at The Awl...