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Riverside Landing Semillon Sauvignon Blanc

Cost: $4

Alcohol Volume: 12.5% (7.4 standard drinks)

Pairing: Pizza and misery

Verdict: ★★★★ “I’ve probably drunk worse”

We need to talk about Australia. Emotions about the big sandy bastard include: “Why is everyone moving there?” “Should I move there?” and “Is Tinder in Melbourne really that great?” However, we’re in the business of only asking the important questions so our query is: “How is your wine so cheap and am I going to vomit now?”

By way of explanation, you should know that Mitch went to Australia and in Australia he bought this unpatriotically cheap bottle of wine. In spite of our clear nationalistic loyalties, it would have been rude to pass up the opportunity to try a bottle of wine half the price of a bottle of Fat Bird. So try it we did, picking the Aro Valley Pre-School playground as our venue. This is regrettable and we want to use this review as an opportunity to publicly apologise for the children who inevitably became stuck to the slide as a result of spilt wine (yes, we do cry over spilt wine).

The first hint of the standard of wine that we were drinking was that it was labelled a “2014 Vintage”. We respectfully submit that this is an oxymoron*. As Lydia acutely observed, there are remnants of dinner on plates in her room that are older than this wine. The wine glugged out of the bottle and into our Happy Meal McDonald’s cups and the first taste was anything but sweet. Sometimes we try to be sophisticated when doing these reviews, this was not one of those times. An unnamed reviewer remarked that Riverside Landing just tasted like “every other fucking bullshit white wine” they had inhaled in their life.

This wine was cheaper than a clean skin and better than a Marlborough-reject wine. We liked it. As an aside, we should note that it’s becoming increasingly clear that we may be drinking this because we want to, not so you didn’t have to, but that’s probably OK? Right? Mum?

*We know that’s not what wine vintage means but just shut up.

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Ten things I wish my friends knew about being Māori

: 1). I wish my friends knew that when they ask me what “percentage” of Māori I am—half, quarter, or eighth—they make me feel like a human pie chart. I don’t know how people can ask this so nonchalantly, but they do. So I want to let you know: this is a very threatening