iHell

Living in Israel, I rarely drink.  It’s not really part of the culture, so other than a glass of wine on Friday evenings, I don’t usually indulge.  Except for once in a while when I’m stressed or achy-tired and I feel the need for something a bit stronger than vino. Then I typically pick scotch, which I learned how to drink from my dad, may he rest in peace.

The House of Wine next door went out of business recently and reopened its doors last week to sell off its stock, so I went to see what could be had.  Mind you, it’s lucky I don’t drink much because the prices of distilled liquor in Israel are mind-blowing.  Would you pay $100 for a perfectly ordinary bottle of scotch?  Anyway, there on the shelf was a relatively affordable bottle of Wild Turkey Kentucky bourbon.  I’d never tried bourbon and I thought this might be my chance.  So I bought it and put it on the shelf next to that bottle of gin I’ve had since the ‘90’s – gin doesn’t spoil, does it?

As it happens, last week we also switched our telephones en masse, the way everything is done in the kibbutz.  I junked my Samsung phone that never worked properly for an older version of iPhone that wouldn’t detonate the budget and I naively thought I would be better off.  If only I had known the pain and suffering I was l inviting onto my head!  It took me 2 hours – 2 hours! – to find where to correct the time which was set to Cupertino, California.  Nothing about this phone is intuitive.  And Apple, being Apple, does not deign to explain the mysteries of its software.  It took me another 2 days to find how to change the display language to blessed English and download a ringtone.

Now here’s the really irritating thing about Apple:  even their online support is useless.  It’s just about impossible to find an answer to the question you’re actually asking.  The search feature barely relates to the terms you entered and online chat does not exist in their rarefied world, all of which makes me long for the genuinely helpful universe of Microsoft.  I love you, Bill Gates!

In the depths of my distress amid concerns for what this was doing to my blood pressure, I thought, I really need a drink.  Then I thought of the bourbon.  This was as good a time as any to give it a try.  Of course it was instantly relaxing and soothing and I have to tell you – it’s really good with a lovely flavor of malted grain.  Who knew?  I think I like it even better than scotch.  But, please, don’t tell my dad.

The House of Wine

A few years ago the kibbutz decided to open a restaurant/café/wine store called, prosaically, The House of Wine. It is located in a sturdy building that looks like an airplane hanger but was actually a cold storage room used by the kitchen. Why it was located in the middle of the dairy with the cows milling around it is a mystery to this day. But they have long since moved to their new dairy somewhere vaguely in the direction of the Kingdom of Jordan, leaving a nice chunk of land for building houses and a chunky building for the café.

The House of Wine is pleasantly decorated and landscaped with a few tables on the decking and some more on the lawn. Inside is a store that sells domestic and imported wine as well as the harder stuff. The food is acceptable, if not exactly inspiring, and it's a nice place to sit and scarf down a bucket of beer after a hard day's shopping. It's also a reasonable place to hold parties, wedding receptions and anything else that requires celebration.

As luck would have it, my house was built right next to The House of Wine. Convenient, you say? Yes, there's that. But when festivities are going on the noise can be invasive. The problem, of course, is entirely because of loud-speakers, the bane of civilization. I remember once hearing someone opine that the curse of modern civilization is unwanted music, and I have never heard a truer word spoken.

Tuesday evening there was a polite knock at the door. A woman told me there would be a wedding reception and apologized in advance for any noisy inconvenience. She then gave me a complementary bottle of Leffe Belgian beer as compensation. It was a nice gesture, much appreciated. It was also my first experience of Leffe, which is quite tasty. As it turned out, given the hemorrhage-inducing volume as the evening wore on, it would have taken a six-pack, no, two to make amends. But what I really don't understand is why you would have that raucous cacophony at your event when you could have a string quartet?