So this guy walks into a wine bar, and says “How about a nice White Zin?” The bartender, who is moonlighting as a sommelier (or is it the other way around?) offers him a dry Rosé, and lets him try a sip to see if he likes it. Well, the guy doesn’t like it, or the next wine, or the next one. Riesling, Chardonnay, Merlot, Pinot Noir, Zinfandel, Syrah, he hates ’em all. There’s a line of glasses on the bar in front of him with a little bit in each one. So what does the guy do? He pours them all into one glass and drinks it off. “Now that’s what I call wine,” he says, “I’d like a full bottle, please!”
The sommelier gives him a long look, and then reaches under the bar and presses a button. Out of the back room steps a huge man with hands the size of Grenache clusters. The sommelier points his finger at the door and says, “Wilhelm . . . show this gentleman a nice Yellow Cab.”
Band practice
