In Haines, Alaska, we spend a delightful few… oh… I really have no idea how long… hours?… days?… tasting wine at Dave Menaker’s shack cum winery. This ain’t your Napa Valley. Dave greets his guests in a heavy, pullover work shirt, jeans and work boots (he also operates a sawmill out back -- hopefully not running both businesses at the same time). Tim and I were the only ones in the place and the samples ran wild and free -- onion, potato, blueberry, raisin, rose petal and dandelion wines were just a few of the selections, with Triscuits proffered for the obligatory palate cleansing. I was totally blitzed by the time we left (fortunately, he also offers a carry-out service -- not the bottles -- the spouses) as evidenced by my suggestions of possibilities for future vintages, including a cat/dog hair variety, marketed to eccentric little old ladies who’d want to drink a memorial toast to their dearly departed Flopsies. To his credit, Dave was amused. Or, at least the other Dave standing next to him was. Well, maybe one of them was only feigning amusement. But, that was when the room starting spinning, so I can’t really be sure.