Sad tale of the wine bar or 11 wrongs don't make a red

Last night I met a friend for a drink. We went to Erato, my formerly-favorite wine bar in STL. I loved this place because it’s dark, non-smoking, brick-walled, and because they have scads of wine (literally, the wine is shipped in scads. No I’m kidding. But there’s a lot). And there used to be knowledgeable bartenders and servers. I would think that’s a prerequisite. But I went in last night and it was a very different wine bar indeed.

Here’s my list of wrongs:

1. I sat at the bar for 10 minutes before the bartender even looked at me. I mean, so I wasn’t wearing a low-cut blouse. But sheesh. I was one of maybe 4 people at the bar and the place wasn’t even ¼ full.
2. Finally, I sat at the table with my pal, thinking that the server on the floor would help me.
3. He did not.
4. I returned to the bar and waited; the bartender finally asked me what I wanted, and I said: “I like a dry red. I don’t mind it big, and I don’t mind some fruit, but the drier the better. Cabs, sometimes pinots, an occasional zin or malbec. What do you recommend?” His answer: “I like sweet red wine, so I don’t know.”
5. He got the other guy and told him to help me. This guy kindly poured me a big fruity, sweet red shiraz (I loathe shiraz). I loathed it.
6. He then poured me a Merlot. Ick.
7. He then poured me a zin, which I suppose was OK for a zin, but was about as fruity and sweet as you could imagine; it packed a raspberry wallop like you wouldn’t believe. Here’s my thought about zins: I love them with food. Paired correctly, they can totally bring out the flavors of good food and vice versa. But alone, they tend to be a little overwhelming. I find myself looking for cheese.
8. So I’m a little embarrassed, people are commenting, “jeez, are you getting a personal wine tasting here?” and I’m like, “um, I just want a cab!” But I’m also thinking, “Uh, if I’m going to shell out $50 for a bottle of wine, I had better like it.” But that’s not even the worst of it. I digress; what is the 8^th wrong you ask? The short man in the purple shirt. He sidles up to me and breathes on my arm, screeching, “pick the last one!” and I say, thinking maybe he knows something about it, “which one?” “well how the heck do I know what you’re drinking?!” and I mumble “Ew. Leave me alone.” And he says, what are you drinking?” and for some god forsaken reason I say, “well this last one was a zin.” And he says, “what the heck’s a zin?” Wait, I’m sure I’m on wrong 9 by now…
9. Meanwhile, back at the table, this tall fellow in blue is breathing on my friend. He comes up to me and says, “your friend wants to know what’s taking you so long.” And I mutter, “Ew. Yuck Gross. No.” and then he buys a white zin (A WHITE ZIN, AT A WINE BAR?!?!) and offers it to me. I ignored him.
10. So I return to the table. Flag the stupid bartender over, and just order the standard Wild Horse Cabernet for $48. But do you know what? They were out. So my friend, the genius she is, says, “let’s go to Mangia.”
11. We get up to leave and short and tall say, “Did we scare you off?” Friend and I answer, “yes.” Then short tries to follow us but I turn around and say, again, “Ew. No.”

We went to Mangia, the bartender soothed our woes, let us sample a nice Malbec and Montelpuciano, we ordered a lovely bottle for a mere $28, enjoyed our evening, and vowed to hire someone to blow up Erato.

I had a bad food day! But not every day can be a food winner day, I suppose. Because then I'd be a much rounder person. At least I can still say, "good times, good times," and make a date for tomorrow. (which I have, so I'll be sure to keep you posted!)