An Open Letter To A Now Defunct Wine Bar

Dear London Wine Bar,

why? Why do you exist, when your collection of wines is something beyond a travesty, a sin, a crime, a blot on the face of this planet? My friends and I tasted six of the dozen or so wines you had available by the glass, and they were all nightmares.

I don’t just mean blandly fruity, “easy drinking” wines. I don’t mean characterless spice or berry bombs that are good to get drunk with when having some pizza or smoked ham. I mean, disasters with harsh tannins that make me feel like I was licking on a stirrup at a hazing ritual. I mean, sulphur-spewing smellfests that remind me of the worst horrors of the Krakatoa cataclysm.

Why, LWB? Do we not have enough existential questions to grapple with, that you must force us to analyze one more inexplicable riddle of the universe? Do we not have enough evidence of the unfairness of life, that you must add your blatant avariciousness to the mix? A bottle of wine that sells at BevMo for $5.99, that you resell BY THE GLASS for $5.50? Please. I would rather you charged me a dollar to get directions to the store’s nearest location.

I have read reviews on Yelp, where those who require high standards from a “wine bar,” have been characterized as pretentious and self-aggrandizing. There seems to be a notion that the LWB is being given a bad rap by those who are too elitist to let the common man have a good time, at a “cozy” and “down-to-earth” place.

Look, LWB, I confess to being a wine snob. I am the most obnoxious bastard on this planet when it comes to pissing on Californian “boldness” and “bigness” of fruit.  But in the case of the LWB, it isn’t about wine. It’s about basic human values. If you want to put up a flat-screen TV with WWF matches showing on it, call yourself Joe’s or The X Lounge or whatever, and make a pretty buck on people’s need to get drunk after work, that’s fine. The delusion you seem to be under, however, which you disseminate among your unsuspecting consumers, that you possess even semi-coarse, leave alone fine, wine, is simply unconscionable.

It makes me wish that the waters of the bay, that were landfilled to make the ground this establishment stands on, would rise briefly but forcefully, Neptune’s wrath fringing its waves with foam, and devour this ridiculous folly that stands testament to all that is base in human nature.

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