premiere and the potted pig

Note to self: In the future, do not attempt to relocate at the same time you are scheduled to work at a major wine event.

As much as I love Premiere (a.k.a. where wine and media and buyers and extreme indulgence collide), it is intense and requires a lot of time and energy -- two things I am running low on because of the move. I had to be in St. Helena this morning at 7:30 (which meant leaving the house at 6:30) to uncork bottle after bottle of Chardonnay and Cabernet for a trade tasting. (My hand is bruised. I'm not sure how this happened, but it happened.) And of course, since no one wants to show flawed wine, I had to taste quite a few of those bottles to make sure none of them had TCA.

I know tasting wine first thing in the morning sounds awesome, but honestly, when I got to that 12th bottle of Chardonnay, I really just wanted a cup of tea and a doughnut.

Also, I was more worried about packing boxes and tomorrow's pending downpour than cork taint. (I hope this doesn't make me a bad person.)

Tomorrow is when we will be hauling the furniture over to the new place. Unfortunately, I won't be able to help until later because I'll be back in St. Helena for the big barrel tasting. (Yes, that's right -- super-young Napa Valley Cabernet at 9 a.m. Purple teeth, here I come.) Tons of media from across the country go to this event, so I can't miss it. Which means Todd will have to enlist some friends to carry the couch.

Still, despite all of the running around/stressing out/over-committing that is taking place, I did manage to indulge. (Duh. It's Premiere.) Laura and I had lunch at the brand-spanking-new Farmstead today, and I ate pretty much an entire order of potted pig all by myself.

I'm sure you are wondering what, exactly, potted pig is. See that little glass jar in the photo? It's full of pork confit topped with a layer of solid fat. (I bet you thought it was a candle. Surprise, surprise -- it's fat. Yes, I said the "F word.") You spread that artery-clogging goodness on a slice of toasted baguette and top it with a dab of Farmstead-made mustard and then giggle as your insides are tickled.

If I have a heart attack later, I will not be surprised.