Nichol Vineyard Farm Winery Pinot Gris
This is a small, family-run winery in Naramata, not far from the bustling town of Penticton, that produces some lovely Okanagan wines. It is also one of the four wineries I paid a visit too earlier this month on my way to the Prairies. I first heard about them last fall when I was researching an article about wines on tap, and I was excited to be walked through their current offerings.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of opening my big mouth as soon as I walked into the tiny tasting room, and promptly stuck my foot in there
—so to speak. I confused Nichol with OK Crush Pad (both some of the first wineries to partake in the wine on tap movement), and the hipster behind the counter did not take kindly to my error or my explanation as to why I'd mixed up these two vineyards. Mentioning that you've been published can come across as pretentious. I would strongly advise against it.
I suppose it happens fairly often: tourists come in and call this gorgeous, salmon-hued Pinot Gris a rosé, and for this reason, their employee had a knee-jerk response. In my defense, however, I really had confused Nichol and OK Crush Pad, but I was going to have to pay for my mistake with a continuously awkward interchange for the entirety of my visit. Not to mention the fact that this braless hipster with her too-high top knot was far to interested in what my boyfriend wanted to sip on, considering he showed hardly any interest. Ordinarily, this kind of favouritism wouldn't bother me, but as he was virtually silent (I was the one posing questions and trying to learn more), it seemed strange that she was so attentive.
While it may be apparent by now that I was not impressed by the gal behind the counter, I need to make clear how impressed I was by what was in my glass. In particular, this dry but lush Pinot Gris. But I'll also give the Riesling-Gerwurztraminer blend an honourable mention. It was bright, lightly fruity, and altogether refreshing. Why on earth this chick thought she was pouring an innovative blend is beyond me though—I was definitely starting to feel like I wasn't getting out of this room un-sassed. So after we'd sampled everything, and grabbed a couple of bottles, we hightailed it outta there and headed to a less intimidating vineyard down the road to have a glass without a side of stink eye.
To my further surprise and delight (since we drank all the Pinot before we even checked out of our Okanagan hotel room), Nichol's wines are readily available at the Granville Liquor Store and a host of other private stores, no doubt. It comes in around $22, so it strays from my usual "under $20" promise, but hey, maybe you've got reason to celebrate this summer? Why not treat yourself.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of opening my big mouth as soon as I walked into the tiny tasting room, and promptly stuck my foot in there
—so to speak. I confused Nichol with OK Crush Pad (both some of the first wineries to partake in the wine on tap movement), and the hipster behind the counter did not take kindly to my error or my explanation as to why I'd mixed up these two vineyards. Mentioning that you've been published can come across as pretentious. I would strongly advise against it.
I suppose it happens fairly often: tourists come in and call this gorgeous, salmon-hued Pinot Gris a rosé, and for this reason, their employee had a knee-jerk response. In my defense, however, I really had confused Nichol and OK Crush Pad, but I was going to have to pay for my mistake with a continuously awkward interchange for the entirety of my visit. Not to mention the fact that this braless hipster with her too-high top knot was far to interested in what my boyfriend wanted to sip on, considering he showed hardly any interest. Ordinarily, this kind of favouritism wouldn't bother me, but as he was virtually silent (I was the one posing questions and trying to learn more), it seemed strange that she was so attentive.
While it may be apparent by now that I was not impressed by the gal behind the counter, I need to make clear how impressed I was by what was in my glass. In particular, this dry but lush Pinot Gris. But I'll also give the Riesling-Gerwurztraminer blend an honourable mention. It was bright, lightly fruity, and altogether refreshing. Why on earth this chick thought she was pouring an innovative blend is beyond me though—I was definitely starting to feel like I wasn't getting out of this room un-sassed. So after we'd sampled everything, and grabbed a couple of bottles, we hightailed it outta there and headed to a less intimidating vineyard down the road to have a glass without a side of stink eye.
To my further surprise and delight (since we drank all the Pinot before we even checked out of our Okanagan hotel room), Nichol's wines are readily available at the Granville Liquor Store and a host of other private stores, no doubt. It comes in around $22, so it strays from my usual "under $20" promise, but hey, maybe you've got reason to celebrate this summer? Why not treat yourself.
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