What kind of wine pairs best with existential dread…?

What kind of wine pairs best with existential dread and the overwhelming desire to perpetually procrastinate starting a food and wine blog? I don’t know if there is a right answer to that question and sometimes I worry that my lack of certainty might make me the wrong person for the job. There’s so much that I don’t know. What I do know is that, for me, the answer to that question is a bottle of Silk Mill Rosé. I’m not sure if it’s the ‘right’ answer, but for me it is the factual answer; and I’m nothing if not honest.

I poured a glass and then immediately got to work creating the domain for my new blog. If I don’t do it now, I’m relatively certain I never will. I have a true talent for procrastination. The glass sitting beside me is stemless and serving as motivation; sweet fuel to continue chasing my silly dreams. There’s no pretense here this evening. There’s no concern for how the temperature of my hand will impact the wine when I touch the glass. I didn’t sniff, swish, or swirl the wine. I made no obnoxious slurping noises or attempts to discern what symphony of flavors comprised the medium-salmon hued liquid in my cup. I simply sipped and enjoyed the libation. For me, this wine is comfort in a glass. It’s an old friend. 

My laptop is new. I needed one. This one was by no means expensive and it’s, frankly, not very pleasant. We are not yet friends. Despite my being a relatively skilled typist, my fingers feel clumsy scrambling across the keyboard. This is not a natural home for them yet. They feel displaced. I moved to the Midwest almost a year ago; I still feel this way–displaced, not at home. Adjusting to big changes can take time; or so I’m told. A sip of Silk Mill Rosé can melt my homesick blues with its happy pink hue. This wine comes from a small urban winery 600 miles away from where I now live. I can’t buy this wine here in the Midwest. I can only get it when I return to my hometown; then I’m left with no choice but to buy a case or two and squirrel bottles away to later serve as a cure for homesickness and sentimentality. 

This isn’t a wine that I would offer to a connoisseur or a snob. I would gladly pour a glass for family, friends, and people I love. While it may not be the fanciest of wines, it suits me just fine. The label on the bottle offers no vintage. Personally, I haven’t the foggiest where Easton Wine Project sources their grapes from (and I haven’t tried very hard to find out) but I know they certainly are not grown in downtown Easton, along the Delaware River. I don’t think I’m one whose palette is refined enough to taste the differences in terroirs; although, I do tend to sell myself short, so perhaps I know a bit more than I let on. However, I very much doubt that it would be accurate for me to profess that the grapes that make Silk Mill Rosé taste like home to me. If anything, it might be more honest to say that they taste like the memory of home; which is perhaps even sweeter. Memories are often better than the real thing. Our brains are funny like that.  

Easton Wine Project’s website says that Silk Mill Rosé has soft tannins, notes of cherry, and floral aromas. I think it tastes like home, happiness, sunshine, a safety blanket, and has a slight lingering aftertaste of melancholy nostalgia. It smells like wine; pink and fruity. I think it would pair nicely with a picnic on the grass, a quiet evening with friends, or a BBQ dinner; especially pulled pork. For me, this old friend also pairs well with existential dread and the overwhelming desire to perpetually procrastinate starting a food and wine blog. 
Today, as the last droplet of pretty, pink, pleasurable poison poured down my throat, I pulled the plug on procrastination. It’s time to change my dreams from nouns to verbs. I don’t think there are specific qualifications that make someone become a Food and Wine Blogger. It’s the kind of thing you become by doing. My B.A. in English, my culinary history, and my Wine Spirit and Education Trust studies won’t make me a Food and Wine Blogger. Blogging about food and wine will make me a Food and Wine Blogger. It’s like the story of The Velveteen Rabbit and questioning what ‘real’ is–you simply become it. With an old friend, like a glass of Silk Mill Rosé, by my side, I will muster the courage, put to bed my incessant fear that what I have to say doesn’t matter, and simply become a Food and Wine Blogger. Let’s raise a glass to my first step in the right direction.