We Love it When Our Friends Become Successful

(Apologies to Stephen Patrick Morrissey for stealing his song title and using it in a non-sarcastic way).

Lots of darkness around this blog since I wrote of Jim, the errant turtle.

Last night was dark, true (pun intended).  But the evening was sparkling and lovely.

Good friends from way back (and about 12 ways to Sunday) hosted a dinner featuring the wines they’ve been lovingly making for the past 5 or 6 years.  Funny thing, the interwebs, I wouldn’t know any of these folks if it weren’t for the first iteration of this blog and a wife who was running late.

So, there you have me and one of my dearest friends of 15 years at the table with another friend who I initially know from tending bar.  She’s been about an inch outside of my Atlanta life until about 10 years ago.  Now we’re tight.  Then there’s the DJ that my pals and I forced ourselves upon and haven’t let go of.  She dispenses fun and can single-handedly take credit for a revived nightlife in this town.  Then there’s the chef who I know through my newest and oldest friends.  The man is a vegetable whisperer, his talent with food so calm and natural.  Then the newest of friends, a couple, friends of the barkeep, he I know from my short stint at LaTavola and she, it turns out, from my hometown.  Where the winemaker is from.  And his wife, the sister of my high school girlfriend’s best friend.

See how this works?  The circle continues to close.

Did I mention the wines are wonderful?   Made on the proverbial shoe-string, they are funky, delightful California wines, each vintage with its own distinct personality.  The only commonality in them is the knockout notes of passion on the nose and in the mouth.  You can literally taste it.

Nights like last inspire me.  Thanks Dirty.  Thanks Amy.  Thanks Rowdy.  Y’all rock!