I feel a little silly with an empty bottle of wine sitting right
here next to the computer. I will definitely remove it the next time a client
stops by to work on a book. But I like to be reminded of the remarkable taste,
and more than that, the remarkable bouquet that the bottle once contained.
When you attempt to write about wine, you ought to be aware that you're
exploring an experience that no one can describe and few can afford. Oh, there
are plenty of decent wines available at every price point. Often wines that
cost $25 aren't "twice as good" as those that cost $12.50, but it's likely
they offer nuances of flavor that make them worth the extra expense from time
to time. The same could be said of those $12 bottles, when compared to Trader
Joe's "Reserve" Chardonnay at $6.
But the other day I had an experience from the upper end of the wine trough. I opened a bottle of Les Fort de Latour
1999 that had been sitting in increasing isolation in my basement
"cellar" for years. The cellar stock has been dwindling because I gave up buying wines
for aging. Why? Worthy bottles were becoming absurdly expensive and the
wines themselves, when I opened them years later, were often mediocre.
My standard
explanation was that I was storing the wines right next to the furnace, but if
I'd really believed that I would have moved them. The more likely explanation
is that when you hunt for "deals" in the upper reaches of the wine
world you're likely to end up with off-years, badly handled wines, famous
varietals from fly-by-night producers—in a word, clinkers.
I wouldn't say that the quest was useless. There were
usually hints of great breeding, elusive wisps of remarkable complexity, though
now showing a little fatigue, like the last few films of Jean Renoir or Howard
Hawks. I could probably mention fifteen or twenty classed growth from Bordeaux
that I've enjoyed over the years, often as a guest of my friend Tim, who
maintains a more active interest in this important field of study.
In any case, this particular wine was different. It may not be the best wine I ever drank, but I can say with confidence it's the best wine I can remember drinking.
How to describe the
bouquet? No point taking about melons, blackberries, or leather. It was as if a
hundred feather-light purple pixies were dancing in my nose. Was it a foxtrot or a
gavotte? Hard to tell. It was the olfactory equivalent of listening to the
first movement of Ravel's Gaspar de la
Nuit, after having drunk a bottle of wine. Diaphanous, sweet, rich,
complex, and rather static, worthy of contemplation in and of itself. The act
of drinking the wine came almost as an afterthought.
I will say no more about that evening of bliss. It did not
commemorate a birthday, anniversary,
promotion, or retirement. But it will remain memorable long after I
remove the empty bottle from the desk here.
And it makes me wonder if it might be
worthwhile rebuilding my stock of better-than-average wines just a little. The kind
that might benefit from twenty years in the cellar. We'll be getting a nice property tax refund in the mail soon. Surdyk's is having a sale...
But twenty years is a long time to age any wine. Maybe we should shoot for ten.
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