Wine Makes Customs Interrogation All Good - Wyndham's Bin 555 Shiraz

Wyndham's Bin 555 Shiraz saved the day.

I enjoy wine and cocktails, but there are rarely times when I "need" a drink. Yesterday qualified in a big way. I drove across the border a couple of times on my way to and from a friend's cottage in Birch Bay, and, on my second time across, the US border guards had a little (90 minute) chat with me about my vacation to Cuba last year. As a dual citizen, the Canadian in me is allowed to go, but the American in me isn't. Really isn't. As in it's illegal. Or it's a grey area, depending on which border guard you talk to. In the end they were decent, and after much questioning and explaining they were willing to call it an honest mistake. Still, it was a tense hour and a half, during which they took possession of both my passports, and refused to let me use my cell phone. I could feel my shoulders tensing from the start; these guys carry guns. So, yes, I needed a drink.

We had a bottle of Black Opal Shiraz with dinner, but its medium body didn't do much for me. I'm sure it's a nice wine, but I needed serious comfort - the kind only a good friend can give.

God bless America, at the very least for selling wine at the gas station (and Costco). This blog is read by so many Europeans, South Americans, Asians, Australians, and Africans, that I need to explain that in Canada we have some archaic liquor laws. Where I live you can only buy wine in government run stores, a handful of regulated yet privately run wine shops, and at the wineries themselves which are several hours away. We can't buy wine in grocery stores, or corner markets. When Canadians go to the US we are always thrilled by being able to buy beer and wine practically anywhere, and even when it's overpriced it's still cheaper than at home.

In an effort to redeem myself to my friends, whom I had kept waiting for dinner until nearly 10pm, I stopped at the gas station to pick up a couple of bottles of Wyndham's Bin 555 Shiraz, or simply "Bin" as I've come to call it. Big sigh. It was just what I needed. A fuller bodied, dark, spicy wine I've been drinking for well over a decade. I know its characteristics like I know a good friend's quirks. Its ripe black cherry, slightly high alcohol and spicy pepper (it packs heat in a much friendlier way than the border guards) warmed me up from inside, and settled me down. Most people have a comfort food; it turns out that I have a comfort wine.

I'm headed back to Birch Bay many more times this summer, and I'm a little apprehensive as to whether I'll have a smooth crossing, but I'm relieved to know that there are bottles of red and white to wash away the border blues.