Welcome to Little Compton, Bitch

So a couple weeks ago my mom was like, yo take a day off and let's go somewhere. I have been extremely bummed because of the weather and not being able to get unstuck from this rut I'm in. So I was like, ok I'll see what I can do gurl. Let's do dis. I got my day off and fortunately it was on the day I had a 6:30 am morning meeting so that was pretty sweet, but at least I didn't have a million hours with nothing to do, especially what with the beautiful summer downpours and all.

Travel destination: Little Compton RI, where there are madd drive-by's. WASPS driving by the antique shops on their way to the beach. In Little Compton lies Sakonnet Vineyards, home of the most premier wines in the country. Forget Sonoma and Napa, that salty sea air just lends the flavor a certain "je ne sais quois".

The wines were quite good and a lovely day was had by all. And I couldn't help but recall my trip to Dry Creek Valley, home of many small, family-owned vineyards just near Sonoma. Yes, the beach is wonderful and Sakonnet was quaint as fuck, but something about the rolling hills and wineries for miles and miles and miles lets you know you are in true wine country.

Pops let me do my research and it seemed like Dry Creek Valley was the place to be AT, son. First stop was Zichichi, with the glorious views from the porch. We did a barrel tasting. I guess I know what "oaky" tastes like now. Fruity is pretty obvious, but the number of adjectives often used to describe the subtleties in the flavors of wine is slightly overwhelming. I mean, considering I'm such a snob I should know a little better but I'm fine with what I am able to discern at this point. As long as you see me swish it around in the glass for a sec before I smell it I should be fine.

When I move to San Francisco I can take more day trips to each and every winery to hone my palate. With those mountains majesty looming on the horizon, quaint can suck my balls. Just kidding, my granny ass loves antiques.