For July’s Wine Blogging Wednesday #79, host Brix Chix Liza prompts wine bloggers to ponder: What wine would your favorite fictional character drink?
I asked my fellow wine predators to send me their answers. Henny Kim sends this submission:
In the time before Panem, I guess people my age weren’t allowed to drink alcohol. Haymitch told me as much when he had time to talk between swigs of his awful booze. Imagine a world where the adult didn’t l
et kids do things because it was considered unhealthy. A world where children weren’t used as pawns for a vicious game of control and survival. I am thinking about this when Gale shows me the bottle he spotted during our hunt outside District 12. The bottle has a curious shape—like what humans used to call a bowling pin—and contains a dark pink liquid, the same shade of my lips when I’ve been running after wild game and a little out of breath and slightly sweaty. The pretty label shows small leaves and lettering, but the words that stand out are a bold black Sofia and then Rose in a girlish pink script. I wonder about how life must have been in a time when people had their names written on their own bottles and about who this Sofia Rose had been, how sad she must have been to discover she’d lost her bottle in the woods. After Gale manages to pop out the cork, he hands me the bottle, but I hesitate, thinking that since my name isn’t Sofia Rose, this drink doesn’t belong to me. Continue reading
et kids do things because it was considered unhealthy. A world where children weren’t used as pawns for a vicious game of control and survival. I am thinking about this when Gale shows me the bottle he spotted during our hunt outside District 12. The bottle has a curious shape—like what humans used to call a bowling pin—and contains a dark pink liquid, the same shade of my lips when I’ve been running after wild game and a little out of breath and slightly sweaty. The pretty label shows small leaves and lettering, but the words that stand out are a bold black Sofia and then Rose in a girlish pink script. I wonder about how life must have been in a time when people had their names written on their own bottles and about who this Sofia Rose had been, how sad she must have been to discover she’d lost her bottle in the woods. After Gale manages to pop out the cork, he hands me the bottle, but I hesitate, thinking that since my name isn’t Sofia Rose, this drink doesn’t belong to me. Continue reading 
wine predator.............. gwendolyn alley 