Liquid

The morning-after drink of shame

There are choices we make that we’ll regret the next day. Choices made in the wee hours, after a long night of drinking, that have us wishing we could chew off an appendage come the stark light of morning. Choices so regrettable that they leave us guilt-ridden and, far too often, unexpectedly stricken with debilitating ailments.

Of course, I’m talking about drinking sweet wines. What did you think I was talking about?

Perhaps due to the cheap stuff your grandmother used to sip — New York “sherry” and its ilk — and the horrid crap used for religious rituals, most nonwine geeks aren’t really aware of quality sweet wines, many of which have been revered throughout history and are among the most expensive and prized bottles in the world. For the besotted, however, the problem’s a little different: when do you drink the things? They’re too sweet for savory food, but they don’t go with dessert, either; the sweetness in the food and the wine cancel each other out, leaving each bereft of its principal reason for existence.

Sweet wines are, with rare exceptions, best all by their lonesome. And this is where the problem arises. For example, say a few friends come over for dinner. You put out some snacks and open some wine. There’s chat, mingling, noshing, and more wine. And then there’s sit-down food, with even more wine. Lather, rinse, repeat. (Expert tip: neither shampoo nor conditioner is a good match for wine.) Soon, it’s the end of the evening, and everyone’s cat is more than half in the bag. All and sundry are three sheets to the mainsail. The room feels, and looks, turvytopsy. No one’s going home, yet glasses are emptying. And then: “Hey you guys, I have this really good bottle of Port ...”

Badness ensues.

Oh, it’s not too bad that same night. After a long procession of comestibles and their accompanying beverages, just about the only thing that’s going to make an impression is a wine that’s big, brawny, and stickysweet. No, it’s the next morning that’s the problem. You — and probably your guests, though if they’re really your friends they won’t call you at 6 a.m. to share their pain — have craniumsplitting headaches. “Why, oh why, did I open that last bottle?” you cry to the heavens and your equally hungover cat, wondering if it isn’t possible to leave your head at home while the rest of your body goes to work. (Expert tip: only if you’re in politics.) And so you vow: no more sweet wines. An oath to which you hold until the next gathering, after which it seems Susan has this terrific Australian liqueur tokay she’s been waiting to open ...

So what’s the solution? “Don’t open the stuff” seems an obvious fix, but we all know that advice from the realms of restraint and moderation is pretty unwelcome as p.m. gives way to a.m. Food can help, but remember the previous hint that there aren’t many edibles that go with seriously sugary wines. Wine-specific alternatives vary, but there’s one reliable partner, and that’s cheese. You’ll want the hard, salty kind — Parmigiano-Reggiano, Manchego, Pecorino Romano, and so forth — rather than anything soft, blue (though less intense blues can go with sweet reds), or having its origin in goats.

But even with a groaning table full of cheese, all you’re doing is delaying the onset of alcoholic regret if the sweet wine’s ill-advisedly opened at the end of the festivities. Furthermore, batting cleanup with sweet wines means that they’re rarely enjoyed or appreciated to their fullest extent, but rather quaffed in a bleary and over-satisfied haze. And so the obvious thing to do is to move the sweeties to the head of the lineup.

This requires some prep work. Such wines, in addition to being sweet, are often bigger and heavier than anything else on the table. The next wine, unless it’s equally sweet and large-boned, is going to taste thin, light, and probably a bit sour (due to a greater proportional presence of acid unmitigated by other qualities). Serving some sort of appropriate food during helps, but something intensely-flavored after is even better. Think of the role that an intermezzo plays in Italian dining: a palaterefreshing burst of unexpected flavor that resets the mind, body, and tongue for the excesses to come. You’ll want something like that. Salads work well.

And then ... continue with the bacchanalia as planned. Your friends, your head, your mainsail, and your partially-bagged cat will thank you in the morning. (Expert tip: do not attempt to force a cat into a bag while drinking. There’s not enough Port in the world to dull the pain.)