We have a vacation home in Idaho. When we bought it in 2007, it fired my imagination and awakened some long-suppressed McGee survivalist genes. “We have a hideaway in Idaho, so we need guns, ammo, and canned food. Lots of canned food. And maybe a wine cellar.”

The guns are safely secured in a safe in the basement, the ammo is in, of all things, genuine ammo boxes near the safe, and we accumulated a pantryfull of dried foods, rice, pasta, coffee, and lots and lots of canned foods. “Don’t worry about having too much food,” I assured Joan, always supportive but now looking over the top of her glasses as though to say, ‘are you kidding me?’ I calmly explained, “We’ll eat all of this stuff up long before it goes bad.”

Our home has the codename “Mistmar;” not a random name, but I cannot divulge the history behind that moniker for security reasons. The command center of the Mistmar compound is in the basement, and looks suspiciously like a wine cellar, complete with two easy chairs and about 140 bottles of survival fluid, to be opened in case of attack or perhaps other emergencies such as random curiosity. Little did I know how valuable this stash of wine would become to my own personal well-being. Because, when buying several cases of chili, Chef Boy-ar-dee Mini Ravioli, and Campbells soups, the unspoken assumption is that sometime, someday, one actually has to eat all that food. Before I continue, a quick disclaimer; I have NOTHING against canned food, and although some of my friends and relatives turn up their noses at Dinty Moore Beef Stew, Joan and I have been known to CHOOSE to stay home and eat that, as opposed to going out to real restaurant nightspots like Jack-In-The-Box. Having made that admission, on one recent trip to Mistmar, I noticed that about 90 cans of food were all going to expire within the next month or two. Time to dive in and eat the emergency vittles, so we can replace them with ALL NEW gourmet cans of vittles.

Well, the effort to eat everything up stalled today. I was, for whatever reason, unable to open the twelfth can of Chef Boy-ar-dee Mini Ravioli. Several times, my hands moved toward the can opener, then began to shake uncontrollably, after which I quietly sat down in a wooden dining chair and stared blankly out the window. Almost as if a divine voice entered my consciousness, I remembered – THE COMMAND CENTER. I ran downstairs, thinking all the while, “Mini Ravioli, almost Italian, need robust wine, hmmm, ZINFANDEL”. The wine repository did not let me down, offering up a bottle of Four Vines “Biker” Zinfandel, one of my very favorite Zins in the 20-to-30 dollar range. Here, I was asking for a lot; I needed a truly great wine to transform a can of survival food into a palatable repast. Some might question why I would waste a premium wine on a meal such as this, but I say, the meal is the sum total of your experiences at the table. Whatever that means. After opening the wine to let it breathe for a bit, my hands deftly swept up the can opener as though they were nunchucks in Bruce Lee’s hands. One and a half minutes in the microwave, which coincided EXACTLY with my projected wine-breathing period, and voila! – I couldn’t wait to dig in.

Let me tell you something – Chef Boy-ar-dee Mini Ravioli ROCKS when you can top it off with the full frontal flavor assault of the Four Vines Zinfandel. The Biker wine has an amazing fruity bouquet, that either compliments the marinara of the ravioli, or completely overwhelms it; but either way, it’s great! You know what’s even better? I finished the can of vittles, and still have over half the bottle of wine left! Yes, it’s a fine day at Mistmar – and I can sleep well tonight, knowing that the McGee family compound is fully prepared for any culinary emergency. It’s just a matter of making good choices about pooling your resources.