Illustration by Andrew Saegar, tHEARTdept.Hey, fellow lushes! Has this ever happened to you? Life is going along perfectly peachy keen and then things start to break down. It’s almost like you walked under a ladder and kicked a black cat while smashing mirrors.This past seven days had been particularly dreamy: the awesome weather, a winning streak of swell meals–including some fantastic fried chicken and collards at Steelhead Diner and killer congee at Seatown–and, oh–holy shit!–that private jet day trip to Walla Walla for a tour of a groundbreaking planting project at Cadaretta’s F-Block in the Southwind vineyard near Milton-Freewater, Ore. (There’s nothing quite like than watching a geologist and a winemaker crawl into a freshly dug pit in the ground, fondle stony loam, and get all hot and sweaty talking about terroir. That’s a fancy French word for soil . . . and, but of course, much, much more.)Then my good fortune came to a screeching halt in the middle of the night Wednesday. The other shoe dropped on my half-empty glass when my fridge went on the fritz. Suddenly, it was ice cream for breakfast, and, fueled by a sugar high, I cooked up a game plan for dealing with all the melting food in my freezer as I hit #10 on my speed dial for my favorite appliance-repair guy. Yes, I have a go-to repair dude, because, hey, when you cook a lot, you break things. I do anyway. (Someday, The Wino might tell you about the time the microwave caught on fire during a Christmas-cookie-making party.)OK, well, anyhoo, the only upside to this monumental meltdown was that in digging through my stash in the freezer, I found a bunch of Rendezvous pulled-pork barbecue that had been shipped from Memphis. I had squirreled it away for a rainy day. And who cares if it was 80 degrees? This discovery called for an impromptu Swine and Wine feast.Many smoked pork fans swear by beer with their meat, but The Wino is big on big reds. And–hell’s bells–if there’s a photo of Davy Crockett in his coonskin cap on the label? Even better.Fess Parker played Davy Crockett–and Daniel Boone–way back in the 1960s. Long after those shows were off the air, he launched a winery in California. The Wino digs the winery’s Frontier Red because it’s cheap and by cracky, it tastes damn good. It’s made with a blend of grapes that originated in the Rhone region of France. (Go to Paris and hang a right.) Those grapes–syrah, grenache, mourvedre, cinsault, and petite sirah–grow well in the New World. Which is what the French call any wine-making region where people don’t constantly wear berets.The wine’s complex, like a good barbecue sauce; it’s got layers of flavors: plum, cherry, pepper. At nearly 15 percent alcohol, it’s teetering on the verge of what wine geeks like to call “hot.” But it’s balanced, so it doesn’t come off all boozy. Especially when swigged alongside that big phat BBQ sammie. The Wino gives Frontier Red a ripping four out of four brown paper bags! So . . . anybody got any recommendations on where to get a new fridge?Follow Voracious on Twitter and Facebook.