Perhaps you are expecting a Beaujolais to accompany this most “drinkable” film — or a nice, sparkling rosé that befits its whimsy?  Nay, child.  I say a more serious beverage is needed to honor the movie that played so serious a role in my generation’s formative years.

Ferris is important; we all know it.  -Isms, herpes, Gummy Bears, clammy hands, something-D-O-O economics . . . all very important.

And so I have opened a bottle that better befits this most excellent use of Ben Stein’s staggering intellect.  Specifically, I am partaking of Bogle Vineyards’ Phantom — the 2004, although the 2006 would be easier to track down today.

Don’t be distracted by the name; I am not making a fluffy comment on the elusive Mr. Bueller, the phantom of Chicago.  Rather, I am interested in Phantom’s three varietal components: Zinfandel, Petite Sirah, and Mourvèdre.

It’s easy to think of the chameleonic Zinfandel as the Ferris of the equation.  Fruity, jammy, and boyish when it needs to be . . . spicy and dissembling when the occasion requires . . . giving good grapes bad ideas. . . .

And the Petite Sirah is our Sloane: smaller grapes, supportive in a blend, likely to age well.  It grounds ZinFerris, adding richness and complexity to his Dionysian romp. Together, they produce a peppery spike that one may easily liken to the couple’s trademark sass.  Ask for Abe Froman.

And finally, the Mourvèdre.  We would know this to be Cameron by nothing more than its share of the blend: 3%.  (2% in the ’06.)  This sounds about like the amount of influence poor Cameron was able to muster on the course of the Day.  The grape itself is slow-ripening, which also sounds like our friend Mr. Frye, and it grows in particularly tight bunches, which will quickly call to mind a quote you all remember.  This grape loves the heat, thank God, since Cameron is still trapped in Egypt’s land.  Wine makers often use a dash of Mourvèdre to intensify a mixture’s color; now, I’m not saying Ferris and Sloane used poor Cameron for his dad’s Ferrari . . . or at least, not solely for his dad’s Ferrari.  But the comparison remains apt.

Speaking of which, the deliciously deep ruby color in my glass is ultimately nothing like the luscious cherry of a 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California – but what the hell, they’re both red; I see no reason not to toast the latter with the former.   I’m going to defend it. Right or wrong, I’m going to defend it.

Thank you, Simone.