Me and my buddy Jared were over at the Prohibition Gastropub on Queen St. East - a place best known for grafting duck confit onto Quebecois-style poutine - when I asked him what would come to mind if I shouted 'Malbec!'
"Argentina"
"What else?"
"Big."
"Big how?"
"Big fruit."
I forgave Jared his blunt answer and the possible innuendo associated with that 'big fruit' comment. There was duck confit poutine involved. It tends to narrow the visual focus to a circumference about the size of a poutine ramekim and atrophy the vocabulary. [...]
