The Donald goes to Sprouts

Although my mother has been telling me for two or three years to check out the Sprouts grocery store, I had never done so.  I mean, at my age, I'd hate to have to surrender my 'man card' for doing things my mother tells me to do.

Instead, I was helping a friend with some Mr. Fixit issues that his wife wanted done around their house (my own house probably feels neglected, since there is presently no Mrs. to lobby for fixits on its behalf, and I am more motivated to do projects: a) knowing someone will appreciate it, and b) with someone assisting - you armchair shrinks are free to psychoanalyze me on that).  And in the course of the home repairs, we were tasked with summoning up some groceries (as well as Mr. Jim's Pizza for the kids), which led to my first visit to Sprouts, in North Dallas.

Lo and behold, I found I liked it (I have tried Central Market a few times and can't quite get past the 'foodie' pretense and those asinine radio commercials, although I do like the café - have enjoyed it for brunch, Chamber of Commerce events, and the evening patio with live folksingers).  The store was mid-sized, lots of bulk bins, a good selection of produce, and plenty of esoteric items not found at the Kroger or Wal-Mart Neighborhood Grocery.

So this morning I decided to go to the Sprouts near my house, for some of my own shopping, in the process buying produce, bulk beans (7 bean soup blend), and some wild rice blend.  But what struck my fancy was in the wine section.

On PBS the last season or so, there's been a 'reality show' where several budding œnophiles-cum-vintners (minds out of the gutter, please) compete to launch their own brands of wine.  As I understand it, the TV contest, featuring wine industry experts, winnows about 16 wanna-be Paul/Paula Massons down to one who wins a production deal, or a golden corkscrew or somesuch.  It encompasses knowing the growing regions (types of grapes and soils they grow in), understanding the 'nose' of different wines, production methods, distribution, and marketing.  One of the dumber segments is the marketing part, where they have to come up with clever names and graphics for their products.

Which explains why one sees Mad Housewife, Elephant on a Tightrope, Fat Bastard, Frog Piss, and Puking Peccary on the labels of Chenin Blanc or Pinot Grigio (OK, I made up Puking Peccary, but the rest are real).

So, you can imagine my puzzlement at seeing a white bottled wine labeled Fünf in the wine display at Sprouts.  Having lived in a German-speaking country for a time, I immedidately recognized it as German for "Five" (as well as the fact that the word was superimposed over the number).  Hey, I gotta mind like a mousetrap. 

Back home, I googled the website, where the screw-off-bottle brand's marketing proclaimed the delightfulness of their Riesling,  "Because, after all, most fun starts at five o’clock, right?"

True enough, I suppose.

But I think it's because those in the know, know that Fünf is always followed by Sechs...