Sometimes we cook with wine. Tonight, we nearly cooked with Banrock Station Colombard Chardonnay.
Also, on an unrelated not-at-all-foreshadowing note, I’m highly allergic to dairy.
A tiny bottle of chardonnay. Utterly unremarkable and inoffensive at first glance, except, what’s that on the back?
Yes, over there.
Is that…? Surely not. Milk and egg in WINE? Fruit of the vine with fruit of bovine? (And fruit of whatever hens are in Latin?)
Banrock Station: thanks to you, wine must now join the likes of couscous (dinner, 2006) and oven chips (lunch, 2008) in the ever-growing list of Food And Drink I Always Need To Check The Ingredients Of Just In Case They Contain Milk Or Egg Even Though It Makes No Sense For Them To Do So.
I don’t normally moan about my allergies, but honestly, I can’t be alone in my shock. This slow infiltration of cattle lactation and poultry ovulation feels like a violation. Let this blog stand as my calcium deficient line in the sand. A proclamation against culinary obfuscation. This far, no further.
Banrock Station Colombard Chadonnay, I’m calling you out.
And I’m not afraid to use my rhyming dictionary.