Category: Big Alcohol

  • The Big Corkscrew, Berrima, NSW

    The Big Corkscrew, Berrima, New South Wales, Australia

    Bon appétit, sweeties! It is I, erudite New York socialite and cultivated wine snob, Bigs von Bubbles. But then you already knew that, ya putz!

    Rare is it that I venture past West 29th – it all gets a bit ethnic for my cultivated tastes – but, when I heard there was a gigantic corkscrew at the Bendooley Estate in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, Australia, I knew I had to see it.

    After all, if the Aussies need a corkscrew the size of a taxicab, just imagine how much yummy booze they must have – hick!

    Not wanting to miss out on the soiree, I scrambled to book a flight on one of the few airlines that will still have me. (My heartfelt thanks to Motu from Air Eritrea, who made sure I was never without a carafe of alcoholic baboon milk – an East African favourite – during the 67-hour flight)

    The journey, and my brief incarceration at Sydney Airport, were well worth it. The Big Corkscrew, which was created by the captivating David Ball and installed in 2015, proved to be whimsical, offbeat and, dare I say it, fermented in melancholy. A love letter to alcohol dependency, if you will.

    “That’s lovely,” I muttered to myself after an appropriate period of admiring the Corkscrew. “But I have a Big Thirst, so where’s the Big Wine Bottle?”

    The Turn of the Screw

    Imagine my disappointment to discover that Bendooley wines – despite tantalising the tastebuds with zesty notes of plum and cherry – are served in teeny tiny 750ml bottles. Us Noo Yawkers like to drink out of 44 gallon drums, so that just wouldn’t do.

    Trembling uncontrollably, I scoured the estate’s luxurious grounds for for a bottle large enough to quench my cravings. Finally, a kind soul revealed that the nearest Big Bottles were in Pokolbin and Rutherglen – too far for me to travel to before immigration officials could track me down.

    Fortunately I was able to hitchhike to Australia’s cultural hub, Dan Murphy’s, to purchase the finest flagon of goon I could find. Only the freshest and most flavourful viño would do.

    Oh, who am I kidding? I’d guzzle methylated spirits out of a windsock if it came down to it – hick!

    The rest of the afternoon is a deplorable blur of alcoholic excess, as I well and truly wore out my welcome at Bendooley. After crashing a wedding and knocking over the three-tiered Boho-inspired cake I was, mercifully, ejected from the estate whilst professing my unyielding love to the newly-betrothed.

    My sincerest apologies, Malcolm and Rekesh.

    Teehee, it’s only me – a brief note from Bigs Bardot

    Buenos noches, Land of the Bigs fanatics! It is I, the inimitable Bigs Bardot. I had a bit of cheeky fun writing this entry in character as my alter-ego, Bigs von Bubbles, and took a little creative license for humorous effect.

    What I didn’t embelish, however, is how much I enjoyed my visit to Bendooley Estate.

    Nary a drop of alcohol has passed my supple lips, so I am unable to report on the fine range of Bendooley wines, but the charcuterie board, with its sumptuous selection of cured meats and homemade pickles, was like heaven on earth. Pair that with attentive service and rustic pastoral views, and you have the recipe for a ‘vintage’ afternoon.

    What a corker!

  • Claim Your Destiny, Dry Lake, Nevada

    Claim Your Destiny, Dry Lake, Nevada, United States of America

    Wander through the Nevada desert long enough and you shall come across Claim Your Destiny, a colossal beer can that just might hold the answer to all life’s mysteries.

    Or just take the Ely exit as you’re driving out of Vegas, trundle along Las Vegas Blvd North for six miles, head up the dirt track on the right as far as you can go, swagger across the abandoned train tracks, and there it is. You can’t miss it.

    Claim Your Destiny was created by enigmatic graffiti artist Aware, who painted an abandoned water tank to look like a tin of the popular Pabst Blue Ribbon lager. This remarkable example of guerilla art, completed sometime in 2019, serves as a commentary not only on alcoholism, but on the wider ills of American society.

    Although the paintwork has been lashed by the intense Nevada sun, nothing can dilute the power of its message. The words encircling the base of the big beer can provide a sombre, biting meditation on life and the human condition, and read thusly:

    Drinking tin flavored piss water is as American as small-pox covered blankets, shooting unarmed black men, diplomacy by drone, date raping drunk sorority girls with impunity, or over consumption of everything always.

    Golly, and they say that no one ever found any answers at the bottom of a can of economically-priced Pilsner!

    Bigs Bardot and the Vial of Destiny

    Resting in the shadows of Claim Your Destiny, the hot wind sending tumbleweed trundling across the scarred landscape, I was forced to confront my own morals and question my contribution to society. What was I doing, traipsing around the cosmos in kaleidoscopic clothes, taking photos with Big Things and writing about them through a patchwork of puns and outdated cultural references?

    I ruminated on my existential crisis for hours, until the smouldering sun sunk behind the tangerine hills and a chill crept over my body. The desert stars unfurled above me, timeless and sober. I searched within myself until I came to the centre of what it means to be Bigs Bardot.

    Turns out, I like Bigs Bardot. And I’m proud of what I do.

    If I’ve shone a light on forgotten artworks from across the globe, and told the stories of those who built them. Made someone laugh in troubled times. Preserved a little piece of our history. Worked hard. Created something meaningful and kind-hearted and informative and real. Then it’s all worth it.

    If I’ve brought back cherished memories of childhood. Inspired just one person to push past their boundaries to explore the weirder corners of our planet, and see Bigs that nourish the soul. If I’ve made an effort to showcase the good, not the bad. Then I’ve done my part, however small, towards building a better world.

    I’ve claimed my destiny. What about you?

  • Private Passage, New York

    Private Passage, New York, New York

    Ayy, I’m drinkin’ here! Grab a slice o’ pie and raise a zesty glass of cab sav as we toast Private Passage, a bottle of wine so massive it’s sure to arouse even the most grizzled New Yawker.

    I’m your sommelier, the irrepressible Bigs von Bubbles; effervescent Upper East Side socialite, lifelong substance abuser, and self-indulgent wine snob. But then you already knew that, ya putz!

    Private Passage is a truly bombastic vintage, carefully curated by Malcolm Cochran in the sun-dappled summer of 2005. Eminently approachable yet amply idiosyncratic across the tongue to demand introspective exploration, this most remarkable variety can only be experienced at the evergreen Hudson River Park.

    The regal, almost clandestine shape of the bottle is emphasised by its rhapsodic proportions – measuring 30 feet from classy cork to bulbous bottom. Womanly curves are, at once, both sensual and functional, luring in the unsuspecting with an irresistible siren call.

    Tapered edges and bold, zaftig angles create a sense of place and space, consummately connecting Private Passage to its Bohemian surroundings.

    “I was able to work closely with the landscape architects,” Malcolm Cochran explained, “to site the bottle smack in the middle of the granite esplanade and without visible support to suggest impermanence. That it might have washed up or could float downstream into the Atlantic. Passage is intended both on a literal and figurative level.”

    Or something like that. Hick!

    Malcolm in the Middle (of a lot of Big Things)

    For Monsieur Cochran, a proud Ohio man who has dedicated his life to fermenting oversized attractions, Private Passage presented an opportunity to return to the very womb of his cultural and artistic gestation.

    “When considering this commission I knew I would want to explore my personal relationship to the Hudson River Park site,” the vionary wined. “In 1955 my father had a Fulbright to teach English in Helsinki. We sailed from New York to Europe that summer (I was six years old) and returned the following year on the Maasdaam, a Holland-American liner.

    “The interviews for artists were held at the HRP Trust offices in Pier 40. I realized on entering the lobby that it was a former Holland-American Line terminal; I had disembarked in that building 45 years earlier.”

    You truly were destined to birth this exquisite design, my friend. Just as it’s destined that I shall guzzle three bottles of Cab Franc this evening and then crash my Prius into a hot dog vendor’s cart over by 45th and 3rd. Hick!

    You’re always on my wine

    Those adventurous enough to peak betwixt the Bottle’s stately portholes shall be treated to an opulent representation of an interior stateroom from the legendary ocean liner, the Queen Mary. Fashioned from sheet metal in a monochromatic colour scheme, it’s sure to leave you dripping with nostalgic wonder.

    “The cabin is outfitted for a single individual, and it contains no personal effects,” Malcolm pulpiteered. “I aimed to create the sense that the room was ready to be occupied, that the viewer could project her-or-himself into the space and imagine a solitary journey.”

    Fearless yet considered, vibrant and complex, this carafe de vino is a truly sumptuous expression of purity and balance. A decadent experience across the palate with fine, quasi-baroque tannins, Private Passage provides the perfect accompaniment to a debaucherous platter of ocean-fresh shrimp and a visit to the nearby Spot the Dog statue.

    With subtle hints of dark cherry, gooseberry and black olive, this most elegant of the Bigs boasts earthy nuances and a zesty bouquet of urine and hobo socks.

    Yes, there are other varieties of Big Wine Bottles, such as those found in less civilized regions of the world, such as the comparatively ghastly Pokolbin and Rutherglen in Australia. But honesty, as a member of New York’s cultural elite, I’d rather slurp water from a dog bowl than be seen with swill like that that.

    Whilst your common New Yorker, with his brash and braggadocious attitude, may bristle at the suggestion, I believe it’s time to distance this cultural hub from a nickname so boorish as The Big Apple. The Big Bottle of Full-Bodied Merlot Boasting Deep Purple Hues and Incandescent Memories of Nutmeg Complemented by Herbaceous Notes and Oaky Flavors, Quirky Textures and a Velveteen Finish sounds about right to me. Hick!

    A word of caution

    If a slightly overweight gentleman in a trench coat approaches you late at night and asks to see your private passage, don’t take him down to the docks for a historical tour of New York’s most unusual tourist attraction. That’s not what he’s after, and he’ll have little interest in an oversized wine bottle other than to use it as the backdrop for his sordid shenanigans.

    Call me sometime, Alejandro!

  • Rutherglen Wine Bottle, Rutherglen, VIC

    The Rutherglen Wine Bottle, Rutherglen, Victoria

    Should you visit Rutherglen’s Big Wine Bottle? Wine not! This 36-metre-tall flagon is a real corker, so it stands to riesling that you should make a chardo-day of it and head to Victoria’s premier wine-growing region.

    The Big Bottle looms large over Rutherglen, and can be seen from most of the town’s leafy streets and verdant parks. It casts an imposing figure, with its mixture of brutalist red brick architecture and quirky, weathered top. It’s unique and odd, certainly, but also feels like an organic part of this beautiful village.

    The fascinating tale of this vast vial dates back to the early 1900s. Starting life as a water tower for the growing township, the structure could be seen for miles around and quickly became a symbol of pride in Rutherglen. It was taken out of service in the swingin’ ’60s – but you decant keep a good Big Thing down!

    Late one boozy night during the 1967 Rutherglen Wine Festival, some bright spark suggested converting the water tower into an enormous jar of plonk. The town’s drunkards agreed it was a fantastic idea, and began scribbling ideas for it on the back of coasters.

    It was a big cask, but the locals rosé to the occasion. Hundreds of Rutherglenwegians constructed the sturdy mesh top of the bottle, then came to grapes with the difficult installation. Ah well, no champagne, no gain!

    Goon enough, the region’s newest tourist attraction was ready to go. The Bottle was lovingly restored in 2014 – perhaps in reaction to the Pokolbin Bottle’s growing celebrity – and has certainly aged like a fine wine. I know I can be less than enthusiastic about Big Things that started out as unremarkable buildings, such as the Big Miner’s Lamp, but the unabashed enthusiasm the people of Rutherglen show for the Bottle make it a real glass act!

    Big, big wine, stay close to me
    Don’t let me be alone
    It’s tearing apart my blue heart

    I was hoping for vine weather during my date with the Big Bottle, but it ended up being wetter than dipsomniac’s lunch. That wasn’t going to stop me, so I procured an ornate vessel of alcohol-free De Bortoli Melba Amphora Cabernet Sauvignon for a picnic beneath the colossal carafe.

    As the Cab Sav’s dreamlike, serotinal aromas washed over me like a comforting, yet scintillating couverture, and my mouth was filled with sophisticated, nostalgic, compassionate, epicurean flavours (oh, is that a hint of nutmeg?), I was sequestered away upon the cloying breeze to a simpler and more delicate time.

    The voluptuous mixture of perfectly-manicured wine and an astonishingly proportioned Big Thing proved utterly intoxicating. Swaying giddily from my encounter, I found myself in no state to drive, and was forced to sleep in my car like a common drunk. 

    I awoke several times during that cold, windswept evening, my skin glistening with sweat and my eyes frantically searching for the Bottle. My attempts to resist it were futile, and I would rise, trembling, and stagger on withered legs through the gloom towards my fate.

    As I embraced the Bottle, tears running down my cheeks before being washed into the gutter by the beating deluge, I told myself that I could stop cuddling him any time I wished. Deep down, within my shuddering heart, I knew it to be a falsehood. The seams of life’s rich tapestry were becoming frayed, and I was utterly addicted. 

    My name is Bigs Bardot and I’m a Big Bottle-oholic… and loving every minute of it!

  • The Big Wine Bottle, Pokolbin, NSW

    The Big Wine Bottle, Pokolbin, New South Wales

    Wine me, dine me, 21-foot-nine me! No visit to New South Wales’ Wine Country is complete without sharing a cheeky glass of red with this vine fellow, who’s been baffling drunkards since 1998.

    The Big Wine Bottle takes pride of place at the sprawling Hunter Valley Gardens, which offers an array of restaurants and gift shops against a backdrop of rolling fields. A visit is a grape opportunity to eat your body weight in cheese and have a blood alcohol level higher than your age by 11am.

    The Bottle’s bulbous bottom has space for an open fire – perfect for those chilly winter nights – with the neck forming a charming chimney. He’s located in the shade of a pleasant tree and, like the similarly-sized Big Bundy Rum Bottle, it’s no cham-pain to grab a photo, so wine not see him today?

    If you’re on a winery tour of Big Things, pop over to Rutherglen to drink in the delights of their 36-metre-tall bottle! Oh, and you’ll need a Big Corkscrew, which you can find in Berrima!

    I visited the Pokolbin Wine Bottle during a chum’s Hen’s Night, and unfortunately overindulged on Tyrrell’s Pinot noir and chocolate macarons. I ended up bursting into tears and wailing about how I’ll never find a giant roadside attraction who’ll love me for me, and a sémillon other silly things. Thankfully, when I woke up the next morning, the world looked a little more rosé.

    I told that joke to the Big Wine Bottle, but he just gave me a sauvignon blanc stare.