When Your Lips Hit A Can Of Wine, Your Soul Is Swept Into A Milky Green Oasis

The first time my lips met the cold aluminum of Wine In A Can was in 2018. We were in Waco, Texas for Stab High 1.0 and Union Wine, the manufacturer of Underwood Rosé (amongst others) had shipped us ample supply. 

The Friday night was muggy, hot and a short-lived storm had blown through BSR Cablepark. We held onto our merch and battened downed our cute Stab High decorations. The sky opened up and raindrops the size of large Junebugs pounded the pool into a milky green pulp. The music, playing from two speakers on the top deck of the BSR Surf Resort, echoed in an oasis of sound. Lightning cracked. Thunder growled like tigers in the dark. The storm passed. The party raged, and the guests were singing.

It had been a long day. The Stab High warm-ups took place and with much of our prep work feather dusted and the big dance only a day ahead, we celebrated. We started in the afternoon, or maybe noon, with high-fives and laughs and… drinks, mostly.

Drinking is a personal hobby of mine. One of my favorite past times, actually. When in my element, with a cool drink in hand, slow-dripping my neurosis into a slaphappy state of electric porridge, I’m fun to have around… I think. 

But there’s a point in a day of drinking beer, when your belly starts to boil. Mix in some Texan brisket, not much water, shake, not stir, and it all bubbles into the space where the bottom of your ribs meet your tummy. 

That night, sometime after the storm, I reached my hand into the cooler; it must’ve been four feet deep, oval in shape with a circumference of 12 feet. I had initially plunged in for a beer, despite, (or to spite?) my bubbling gut. Instead, I pulled out a can that said “Underwood”. It was a well-designed, tastefully branded can. I popped it open, pressed the shivering metal to the cracks in my lips and sipped. 

I had expected a mouth full of carbonation and the taste of something stale and familiar. Instead, it was smooth, delightfully dry, a little fruity and went down like smooth as velvet. Confused, I took another sip, recalibrated my tastebuds, recognized it was Rosé and decided I fucking loved it. That I must, and would indeed, have more. 

A year later, we meet again. Howdy, darlin’. 

I drank a few cans that night and proceeded to grab a SUP and attempt to assist my fellow Stab friends on pasting the massive Stab High decals across the back wall behind the Waco Ramp. I wasn’t much help. I was there in spirit. In HIGH spirit! 

Wine in a can is genius. You don’t break glasses (although Underwood is delicious when served in a flute, for the snobs), there’s no stem attached and if you want to make violent hand gestures while telling a story you’ve told a thousand times, you can. 

And you won’t spill, much. 

Underwood’s wine is quality, I will say. It goes for about $7.99USD a can at the cute health store by my house in Venice. And after Stab High, when Union Wine shipped us a few cases, and I was the only one in the office at the time, naturally, I snagged three flats (to save my co-workers from their excessive drinking habits) and brought the Pinot Grigio, the Pinot Noir and of course that beautiful Rosé home. 

At last, here’s a bit of useful information if you’re opting to drink straight out of the can. Cans are deceiving, and a can of wine contains 375ml, a glass bottle of wine is 750ml. Crude math says if you drink two cans, you’ve just polished off a full bottle.

What I’m getting at is, it’s easy to empty a can or three. The rosé goes down smooth, quick and makes you feel like a teenage girl in a 29-year-old man’s body. Which we all can benefit from on occasion.