arson is tasty

We're constantly bombarded with stories. Some from our own brains, some from people who just like the sound of their voice, some we actually seek out and, often, those are the only ones that really interest us. Occasionally, though, an unsolicited story is surprisingly pleasing.

It's no secret that I dig stories. It's also no secret that I dig wine. The following are my impressions of an interesting story told to me over a glass of wine about said glass of wine. 

Heather and I went wine tasting (yay Groupon! yay wine!) because we're classy. That's a lie, we just really like wine. Usually, wine tasting for ladies of our ... nature... is an attempt to look and sound like we know and care about viticulture, and understand words like 'tannins' and what the what 'dirt' or 'boysenberry-ash' have to do with wine-flavors, when all we taste is, you know, wine. 

Meanwhile, we like to just chat. Over free wine. Undisturbed. This is impossible because winery owner/winemaker folk (wine-ers, if you will), are the most polite version of sales people ever. They're intrusive like used car salesmen, but helpful and sweet and actually care, and really really really want you to like and buy all their wine because its the fermented juice of their love fruit.

So, when Heather and I were purchasing our delicious vino, the nice lady said 'oh, did anyone tell you the story behind our wine?' at which point we both wanted to say 'yup, peace out, there's another wine tasting next door,' but she was so sweet and we did eat the complimentary snacks dipped in the chocolate fountain chocolate, so we smiled and said 'no, please do tell us all about it...'

What followed made me grin like a sadistic wino.

James Otis Kenyon was a dentist in Oregon in the early 1900s. When another dentist moved into town and started a practice, James BURNED HIS $*@%ing OFFICE DOWN. Badass. So, four generations of Otis Kenyons later, in Walla Walla, a vineyard was born bearing his name, with James' silhouette on a burninated label. One almost wants to see a gas can in his hand.

There's also a neat twist about how his wife hated him and told everyone he was dead but he was reunited with his family way later and lived to a hundred or something, but I was mostly shocked and pleased with the arson. You can read more about his story, and the wine, and even buy some (it's not just interesting, it's yummy, really) here.

Wino Magazine published another great article about this not-just-awesome-to-me story in 2009.

Oh, also, they offered matches in baller little matchboxes with the same label in the tasting room. SOLD.