I wrote down notes on Wine Spectator's Best of the Best event for this blog. Then I went to Liv for our one-year anniversary party and totally lost them. I remember lying them on the bar -- could have been 10 minutes after I got there, could have been an hour -- but by the time I remembered them (funny how a VIP table and some Naughty by Nature can make you forget about work) they were gone. Either a wine-savvy patron eyed my list of favorite pours and pocketed it, or the bartender tossed them. I'm going to go with A, and just go on believing that at this moment there is a young, hip Johnson & Wales student in Total Wine with my list, marveling over it with the manager.

So anyway, I'm going to have to rely on my razor-sharp memory (as razor-sharp as a memory can be after 2 hours of guzzling Pinot) to get me through this blog entry. Good move #1: taking a cab. The F-bleau blocked off one entrance, directing all traffic to just one drop-off point, making for one giant cluster eff. To our cabbie's credit, he did manage to call the guy making us (and everyone else) go to the next entry 60 seconds-worth of not-so nice names. And for that we gave him an extra buck. So, we thanked our anger management-challenged cabbie and walked up the driveway.

After wandering around the massive F-bleau compound for awhile, we finally decided to use our mad deductive reasoning skillz and go in where we saw people with wine glasses coming out. It totally worked. Soon, we had our complimentary (and by complimentary I mean they were included in the $350 ticket price) Riedel glasses, complete with handy wine glass holder necklace. These are pretty much the best take-home gift ever. Picture it: you're on the couch, in your Snuggie, when the Chinese food delivery guy rings the doorbell. Lucky for you, you've got your Cab Sav on a wine necklace and thus don't even have to put it on the coffee table, risking a nasty wine ring stain and temporary withdrawal.

Once inside the ballroom, it's a sea of drunk and hungry m-fs. It was pretty crowded, but not enough to induce a claustrophobic panic attack, and we never waited more than a minute for pours and food. Like I mentioned in a previous blog entry, I usually try to eat before SBWFF events, as I'm a vegetarian and I don't like lines. This year, as a non-pork and beef eating friend observed, was especially heavy on the pork and beef. We did manage to find a few stations with veggie options, including some cheddar polenta from Ortanique, porcini mushroom ravioli from Quattro (the winner of the night by far), the Fontainebleau sweets table, from which I at the best pistachio praline in the history of pistachio pralines, and the cheese table. Oh, the cheese table. There was perfectly aged gruyere from Wisconsin, a manchego-esque offering that I think the lady said was France (memory at this point in the evening is hovering somewhere around "dull Daisy disposable") and these spicy cherry tomato things stuffed with soft cream cheese. Heaven.

As for the wine, we mostly stuck with smaller boutique wineries that specialize in Pinots. Some faves: Argyle from Yamhill, Oregon; Daedalus from Dundee, Oregon; Nickel & Nickel and Stag's Leap from Napa; and Tandem from Sebastopol, CA. For bubbly, Gloria Ferrer was a winner.

There was also a fashion show at one point, the swimsuit portion of which got the attention of the working chefs and made everyone else feel extra lardy.

The only lowlight of the night came after the event when, walking through the lobby of the F-bleau, I started swinging my handy wine necklace, which sent my Riedel glass flying across the lobby and crashing onto the marble floor, breaking into a million pieces and inspiring gasps from passersby. An army of F-bleau workers quickly descended upon my shards (I'm hoping this is because I wasn't the first person that night to send their wine glass flying) and I slinked away. I never know what to do in those situations, as if I spilled or dropped something in my own home or at a party, I would immediately start wiping and/or sweeping. But I guess when you're in the middle of a swanky hotel, unaware of where the broom closet is, you just have to give them that "I'm really sorry you have to clean up after my drunk arse, as my mama taught me how to clean up after myself and I swear I'm not an elitist prick" look, cut your losses and make a b-line to your VIP table.

-- miaeditor