Shafer’s new bottling is called 1.5. It is not a magnum, so I think it’s kinda funny in a dumb way that they call it 1.5. But my kvetching disappears as I pull the cork. There’s so much fruit that I’m thinking of an impossible blueberry wine with crushed dark cherries. Fresh too. Bracing. Kinda snappy in a military way. But still fruity. In a military way. Whatever that means. You’ll just have to taste it to find out and I regret to report that this will likely sell out in a flash, as the wines of this brilliant winery have done.
All posts by Doug Frost
September 2005
In September, I was back in Rochester, New York to shoot another version of CORK, an on-premise training DVD from Constellation. A truly humble name, eh, Constellation? Oh, well, if you’re that big…
Working on this project made me consider the meaning of the word Constellation. So I did a wall sculpture called Constellation that some of you might someday see…But I really enjoy the people I work with on the CORK project. And I like being in Rochester and visiting Wegman’s, one of the best grocery groups there is. It must be living proof that I am a hopeless geek that I’m actually excited to visit a Wegman’s and see what they’re up to.
But once again I’m in Rochester and I want to go to Tastings, Wegman’s on-premise venue, and they’re closed both nights I’m in town. One of these days…
I visit another local restaurant instead. Nice place, I’ve had a good meal there before. I show up at 8:40 pm though they close at 9 pm. On a Sunday night, that’s not such a good idea in most restaurants. Here too the service issue becomes amusing, if nothing else.
I seat myself at the bar and shout a hearty “hi there” to the bartender. She grunts something like hi. “May I see a menu and order some dinner?” I ask. “Oh. Yeah.” Menu comes out, I peruse quickly, order quickly, I mean I know the kitchen wants to close soon, though there must still be about thirty customers dining.
I order a beer, and order a glass of red wine to go with my entrée. I figure, let’s be nice, let her get things arranged in advance, and it lets her know that I’m cognizant that she may want to clear out fairly quickly after close. The appetizer arrives; it’s good. About one minute later, my entrée arrives. “I don’t know why he did that,” she mumbles, “I told him you were having your appetizer first.” Suuuuure, you don’t know, I’m suuuure.
Oh, well, it’s good too. I eat them both, finish my wine, and wonder why I haven’t seen the bartender in a while. It’s 8:55pm. Twenty minutes later, I finally found a manager. He was helping someone with a ringout at the host stand, of course. I always find it gratifying to watch people count money at the front door, don’t you?
He disappears for a few minutes, then the bartender is back. She drops the check down. No comment, turns on her heels and walks back to the kitchen. There was a table behind me, laughing about their own situation. They were seated by the kitchen which was OBVIOUSLY closing down for the day, I mean, it was OBVIOUS. Crash! Bang! A few pans are dropped. The table started yelling at the kitchen, “Hey, you guys aren’t loud enough!” I’m serious, that’s what they were saying.
I sign my check and wait a few more minutes. Nobody in sight. I wonder to the front door and stand for a few minutes, hoping at least somebody could manage a “Goodbye”; I’ll live without a “Thank you.” Nothing.
I’m beginning to think that restaurants should be evaluated only on Sunday nights. That’s when you find out what they’re really up to. Everything else is just for show…
August 2005
Many more Spanish wines to rave…
Olivares Altos de la Hoya 2003 Jumilla is a bright and juicy Monastrell (the French like to call it Mourvedre but it’s not their grape so it’s not their choice) with 10% Garnacha. It’s rather New World-ish but that doesn’t have to be a dismissive descriptor, instead it’s friendly and fruit-laden, dusted up with spicy clove at the end.
Olivares Dulce Monastrell is old school, more like a Fondillon (see below) than a modern wine. And Olivares Panarroz 2003 is nearly as rustic, though that rusticity is exaggerated by the backward nature of the nose at present. It has a toasty note that is almost roasted.
Carchelo Monastrell 2004 is also from Jumilla and this time the ¾’s of Monastrell is ameliorated with Merlot and Syrah. It’s in the style of Beaujolais, but far more interesting than that left-handed descriptor.
And another solid performer in Jumilla, Casa de La Ermita, has a couple of wines to show. The Crianza 2002 blends Monastrell, Cabernet Sauvignon and Tempranillo to create aromas of black raspberry, strawberry, with lots of black cherry creating an almost sweet nose, including baking spices and clove. The mouth is juicy and tangy and a little tannic. If the finish is somewhat short, this is pretty throughout, with a hint of raisins.
The tannins step forward expectedly in Casa de la Ermita’s Petit Verdot 2002. But despite the leanness of the 2002 vintage, this is impressive wine with bright red raspberries and cherries. It’s surprisingly fruity for the grape with some barrel derived hints of caramel and baking spices. The wine is juicy, tangy, with blackberry, lots of red cherry and plum and a roasted, toasty oak note. If only because it’s such an unusual success (who does Petit Verdot well?), it deserves attention.
And one of the all-star labels of Jumilla is Finca Luzon. Their 2004, 2/3 Monastrell and 1/3 Syrah, is laden with chocolate and boysenberry and is drinking absolutely the best it could ever drink, I believe.
A Jorge Ordonez label that’s new to me is the Wrongo Dongo, also from Jumilla. This Monastrell is a bit short but very stylish, juicy and jammy throughout.
La Mancha is very much the origin of many of the newest (or at least new to the market) bargain wines arriving from Spain.Campos Reales has a Vino Joven Tempranillo from 2004 that is as easy as pie. Condesa de Leganza 1999 has some plump character to it as well. Finca Antiigua’s Tempranillo 2002 shows a surprising note of overripeness (well, it’s warm there in La Mancha, even in a less than ideal vintage like ’02. More like spiced red currant jelly than wine.
And speaking of crazy bargains, the Eguren family’s Codice is commonplace on every critic’s list of great values. The 2003 is not only tasty, it shows some ability to age. I hope to pop a few of these in a couple of years, because I wonder if there isn’t more to come from this particular bottle. On the other hand, people age perfectly nice wines beyond their best moments. Still, the amount of oak showing on the wine seems to be increasing with this release, and I don’t believe this wine is over-oaked, but I hope that it might show a bit more in a couple of years.
The new Protocolo (also from Eguren) is, of course, just plain drinkable, but not at all plain.
Navarra may be known for Rosado but far more important wines are happening here. Vega Sindoa (Bodegas Nekeas) is a well-known producer of pretty wines, mostly varietal bottlings. Castillo de Monjardin Deyo Merlot 2002 is aromatic and intriguingly well balanced. Palacio de la Vega has a pugnacious Cabernet Reserve 2000, and a still youthful if Brett-ladenTempranillo Reserve 1999.
Senorio de Sarria no. 9 2002 has a very intensely spiced nose from the rather aggressive American oak usage but the fruit itself is rich and plumy, with a finish of cinnamon and sawdust (American oak comes from sawed staves and you can smell that).
Penedes might be famous for cava, but many more styles of wines are emerging from the region. Jean Leon was certainly the first to convince Americans that wines from classic varieties could be made here. Leon first brought Cabernet and Chardonnay to everyone’s attention back in the 1970’s and the Jean Leon name has been continued by the Torres family, but the quality hasn’t suffered.
However, in truth, I would have to argue that Jean Leon wines are not so much better than they were twenty years ago. They are better, but other labels have improved to a greater degree. And the Jean Leon Cabernet Reserva 1998, as well as the super label, Zemis 2000, are just plain brutal. Time will heal things, I’m sure, but I tend to fuss about wines that are willing to demand that much time from its consumers.
The Torres family made the most famous red wine of the region, Torres Gran Coronas, and then in the early 70’s, theTorres Gran Reserva Black Label, set new standards for greatness in Spain. That wine continues to be delicious, but the Torres stable has evolved and brought new wines forward in the last decade.
Montsant truly is baby Priorat, a wine with Priorat intensity, Priorat structure and balance (a remarkable achievement for such a powerful style of wine), and Priorat soil-derived aromas and flavors. Fra Guerau’s 2002 is muscular and well-made.Cellar Capcanes Cabrida is lighter on its feet and just as chockfull.
Casta Diva has a Fondillon, which is an ancient style of wine and an anachronistic manner of winemaking, something that is as much a product of Roman ideas as it is Spanish. Take an overripe and raisinated red and place it in amphorae, calledtinajas in Spain, and let it age far more quickly than it would in barrel or bottle. It creates something that is more like Port than table – something nutty and filled with dried fruits like raisins, figs and dates.
A wine from the modern era, Casta Diva’s 1995 Fondillon is absolutely delicious. It loses nothing in its modernity and gains everything from its illustrious background.
Spain’s most famous desserts are Sherries. But a huge chunk of Sherry is made in a dry style. The aperitifs are Finos andManzanillas; the Manzanillas achieve a bizarre lightness of being, despite alcohol levels over 15%. The secret is a particular sacchromyces, a sugar eating yeast that provides the wines with a barrier against oxygen as they age in barrels. Most Finos rest under a thin layer of the foam, or flor, produced by the yeast.
Manzanilla is different. It’s aged in the coastal town of Sanlucar de Barrameda, and the flor may be six or more inches, not only protecting the wine from oxygen, but adding more flavor and character: nuts, salt, and earth.
Any Manzanilla you buy will be a fascinating experience, as long as you buy it fresh. Drink it with a chill and consume it with grilled and oily foods, if you like. The tartness and salt note lance through the food.
But perhaps you had a Manzanilla and didn’t like it. Perhaps you’ve tried the big names in Fino, say, Tio Pepe or La Ina, and didn’t get what the fuss was about. One word of caution; if the Fino you tried came from a bottle that was room temperature and open on someone’s back bar for the last two months, forget about it. I’m not sure what you tasted, but it wasn’t a real Fino.
Perhaps Fino, and Sherry, are non pareil; the big brands (such as La Ina and Tio Pepe) are not the least interesting bottles available. If we didn’t know the brands so well, it would proper to describe those two as shockingly good wines. Certainly they are absurd bargains.
For Manzanilla, another enormous house, Domecq, produces a lovely Manzanilla. My personal favorite is La Guitana, but that’s just me. I buy it in half bottles and finish it on the spot. Even the next day, the wine has less of the delicacy that gives it such grace.
Once Fino loses its flor and is aged further in barrel, as in versions called Amontillado, the wine can handle weeks or even months open on a back bar. But not Fino.
Fino’s older iteration is Amontillado. Here too the big names have a lot to offer: Domecq has cheap stuff like the Medium Dry; it’s a good drink. They also have an outrageously extravagant Amontilado called 51-1. It’s labeled as a VORS, which means that the wine is at least (!) thirty years old.
Sandeman’s friendly Character Amontillado is every bit as tasty, if less complex.
Williams & Humbert also makes the ubiquitous Dry Sack. I’ll admit that it’s not particularly compelling. But in comparison to all the other cheap labels of yesteryear, it acquits itself very well.
And there’s a lovely bottle of Dry Sack labeled as a 15 year old; it’s very nice dessert wine.
Harvey’s has that other well-known label: Harvey’s Bristol Cream. It too is better than people assume. Sure, there are far better examples, but you can’t beat the price. I’m serious, taste it blind and you’ll see it’s not a bad wine.
The landmark old wines of Sherry are unrivaled wines. These intense desserts can be made by concentrating the wine through long barrel aging or by other extreme steps. Say, for instance, with Lustau’s East India. It’s aged in hothouse conditions, just as with Madeira, all to mimic the effects of a long ocean voyage to India. Gonzales Byass’ NOE taps the former route to richness, and as a VORS, the youngest wine in the blend is thirty years old. Considering that a barrel would theoretically evaporate all its contents every twenty-five years or so, that should be a very expensive wine. It’s not. It should be.
Romate Cream Sherry is disgustingly rich, more fig juice than wine. The many and grand wines made from Pedro Ximinezor Moscatel that are flying through the marketplace at present are of another world, albeit one in which dessert wine is generally enjoyed as a fruit or pastry condiment rather than something drunk by itself.
Lest it seem like all dessert sherries are sweet, they’re not. Romate also makes an Amontillado, called NPU Amontillado Special Reserve, that is a true classic. Though it too is at least thirty years old, you can still smell the flor that grew upon the wine decades ago.
Finally, a few German wines to report on, starting with a 1990 J. J. Prum Graacher Himmelreich Auslese, which was showing more age than I would have expected. Indeed, I’m guessing there was something wrong with the bottle. J. J. Prum wines are meant to age, and I’ve had thirty-year-old versions that tasted younger.
On the other hand, it was delicious. The nose was mushroomy and truffle-laden, lots of honey and apricot; the mouth was sugary and powerful.
The Graacher Himmelreich 1976 Auslese was up next; it had huge earth aromas. Some call it petrol; in the words ofManfred Prum, the owner, it’s a far too complicated aroma to call it something so simplistic. Firne, the Germans call it. Slate, honey, beeswax, candied lemon zest, baked apples, cinnamon hints, candied orange segments at the end. This was an amazing wine. Most 1976’s are long dead. It might have been the “miracle year” (because it started out so badly and ended so gloriously) but it was always a low acid, short term vintage.
But those who complain about Prum’s insistence upon high sulfur levels and some CO2 in the bottle should drink wines like this. Remarkable.
So, we tried the superior vineyard, Wehlener Sonnenuhr Auslese, also from 1976. The sugar is higher, this ‘76 is far more complex, and just as youthful. Yes, the sugar is higher here, but it sticks out less. Integration is a good thing. The citrus is more interesting, more lacey, like orange foam, instead of orange candies in the Graacher.
Multiple citrus fruits and long earth. Even more amazing than the Graacher ‘76.
Gunter Kunstler’s ’98 Hochheimer Hoelle Auslese is sweeter than the ’76 but hides it beneath acidic armor – oranges, apricots, tangerines, with earth of a smokier variety. The sugar on this was ridiculous, so was the balance.
A lot of people love these wines, but the wines aren’t as slavishly lusted upon, like a cultish Napa Cab. A lot of wines have sugar, but the deft acidic lift of this wine, even in an area that makes big wines and in a vintage called super-rich, is unlike all but the greatest sweet wines in the world.
Schloss Saarstein Serriger Schloss Saarstein Auslese 2001 – more sugary stuff, and even more acidity. The orange and apricot of the previous wine are built of sterner stuff, hints of unopened flower and drippings of caramel – the flower is from great Riesling, and the caramel comes from botrytis.
July 2005
In July, I left for Greece. It was a short trip, but that’s fine since my family couldn’t come along. Athens, Santorini, the Pelopennese, Athens, go home. No one feels sorry for me, I know.
Santorini is one of the truly remarkable places on the planet. It’s an ancient volcano, all blowed up, as they might say, now a sunken caldera.
The remaining hillsides are populated with those famous Greek homes of white plaster, or with vines. The vine training is something I’ve never seen before. The canes are twisted and woven into a round form, like a basket. The grapes spill onto the dry ground, volcanic dust and broken rock. There’s no rain to speak of, so there’s no harm in letting the grapes rest on the earth.
The basket of canes protects the vines from the sun and wind. The vines drink what little they can find from the ground and then soak up the fog and mist that appears most evenings as the moisture condenses out of the Mediterranean Sea and air. At night, the walls are wet and so are the leaves of the vines. By morning, everything is dry again.
The Assyrtiko vine may have been grown here, in this fashion, since before the last volcanic explosion, the one that pretty much killed everything, except the grapeseeds and legends. Large rocks from Santorini are found on islands hundreds of miles away, blasted into the air when in the 4th century BC all hell broke loose.
It’s a vanished and sunken bowl of a volcano. My room faces into the interior of the caldera. Perhaps three miles away is the center, still active, though I don’t see anything. The hills are brown and red and the white homes hang above the cliffs like exposed bone sprouting out of the hide, like teeth, baby teeth. The sea is darkening; the sun has disappeared into the ocean.
A line of darkness follows the base of each cliff, just shadows, but it’s as if each cliff is floating slightly above the water. There are two ships in the center of the caldera’s sea; one is an almost Chinese skiff, like a sampan, the other looks like a pirate vessel. They circle each other, occasionally a flash bulb glows as they take pictures of each other. Are they disappointed with their selection?
There is a steady glint on one of the hills. I’m thinking of a rifle.
The swallows which give my hotel its name, Celladonia, swerve and twitter across my vision. My laptop sits like a black hole on my legs.
Two cruise ships have been lazing about, like fat men in a tub. But now the lights are coming on. Music comes and goes from all quarters of the warren about me and from the ships in front of me.
When it first blew up nearly 4000 years ago, it’s thought that this was a mighty city. Then two thirds of it just went up in the air and down into the water. Some people think that this was Atlantis. Now we float above its aquatic grave.
I was fortunate enough to have dinner with Paras Sigalas and his wife Antonio. He’s the winemaker Jancis Robinson calls the best winemaker in Greece. He might well be; he’s certainly got my attention on Santorini. His Assyrtikos are fantastic. He makes a red from the Mavrotragano grape; it too is delicious. It’s a 2003, and black plum, vanilla, rose hips and saffron, a touch greenish. “Yes,” he says, “if it’s not ripe enough, it has green tannins, so I let the alcohol go to 14%.” It smells like Grenache meets Pinot Noir in some ways as well.
He offers two dessert wines. One he calls Vin Santo. It’s deliciously honeyed and nutty and I have a good chuckle about the name. He shows me the bottle; it says Vin Santo. How do the Italians feel about that label, I ask?
Oh, we invented Vin Santo, he says. In the 1450’s the Venetians bought the wines of Santorini and called them VinSanto, which is short for Vino Santorini. That’s why the Italian haven’t been able to stop them from naming the wine.
Back then the wines were sent in goat sacks. In the 19th century, barrels were used to move the wine to Russia. The craftsmen of Santorini were famous for their great woodcrafts but there was a problem; there was no wood on Santorini. So the barrels of wine went to the Black Sea and they sent back wood. “We traded wine for wood,” Paras says.
I’ll have to add more of Greece later.
Early summer saw some tasting as well, especially from the Loire Valley. There’s great stuff afoot there these days. Pascal Jolivet is always trustworthy; all the wines are pretty and carry some elegance even in the super ripe 2003 vintage. And their 2004’s are very fine as well. The Chateau du Nozay Sancerre is far more complex than all but the very best California Chardonnays. Yes, I know they’re different grapes; I’m serious that comparing them in this way ends up with Sancerre and Pouilly Fume as the more compelling actor in this conflict.
Henri Pelle Menetou Salon – okay, you haven’t heard of it, but that’s your fault. Try it; first rate Sauvignon Blanc, even in a warm vintage like 2003. Another Henri, Henri Brochard has some delightful 2004 Sauvignon Blanc to offer from both Sancerre and Pouilly Fume.
Even white Burgundy seems to have handled the heat of 2003 fairly. Bouchard’s Bourgogne Blanc ’03 won’t change anyone’s world, it’s far too simple for that, but despite the richness and alcohol, it still carries pretty earthiness.
As usual, Jaffelin is completely reliable. The Macon Fuisse 2003 is textured and fine. Chateau Fuisse’s St. Veran is probably short of acid, but who cares? So it won’t live a long time, compared to most of the wines Chateau Fuisse produces. I’ll drink it sooner and enjoy it more.Bouchard’s St. Veran 2004 has richness; Jaffelin’s St.Veran is even better. It’s richness comes from the fruit only; no support from oak is required. Drouhin’s St. Veran 2004 is similarly pretty. And I continue to be impressed by Chateau de Davenay. Bouchard’s Beaune Premier Cru 2003 isn’t too rich to loose its traditional personality, but it’s a close battle between ripeness and earth.
A lovely Spanish discovery in summer as well: Casta Diva Cosecha Miel 2003 – A pure, bright and floral orange muscat nose, the floral notes are surrounded by flavors of lemon, orange, and honey; the mouth is round, very tasty, and very well balanced. This is what people mean when they call a wine “pretty”. A wine for light desserts, such as fruit pastries, or just a bowl of fruit.
June 2005
So I’m a bad blogger. I’m a very bad blogger. This summer was going to be bad; I already knew that. One of my parents was scheduled for knee surgery; and the recovery was likely to be time-consuming for him and anyone wanting to help him through the rehab process…
Then my mother broke her leg and ankle while she was visiting from her home in Florida, and that surgery turned out hinky and it took two months before she could fly home, and I had already volunteered to be the one to fly her home and try to get her set up…
And then we moved – the house, the office, the whole works. I knew about that in advance, but it didn’t seem to help in the planning and preparation, at least not to an impartial observer, I would think.
And my eldest daughter entered college. So we had to get her set up, buy her things for the dorm, the usual bit, if you’ve done that bit before….
So, I have excuses. But it’s disappointing to me because apparently there are three or four of you who actually read this. Why, I’m inclined to ask, but never mind. And there were some great wines tasted this summer, a great trip to Greece, things that I should have written down.
That’s why this blog exists, to be honest. I can’t remember what I did yesterday, much less a month ago, and the blog creates some sort of record. I have a few friends (really, I do) who can keep up with my scampering on-line, and people I don’t know give me feedback about wines I either missed or misunderstood.
The blog has been a place for me to talk about wines that I’ve tasted and been intrigued by, even if they don’t fit into some larger article or idea. For instance, back in June, I tasted the Feudo Arancio Grillo 2003 IGT from Sicily and found it deliciously bland. That’s how I feel about wines such as this. The wine is fairly austere but never astringent or unpleasant. Orange and lemon zest notes, a few green apple and green pear hints for good measure, a trace of almond at the end. I’ve always argued with myself about that almond note; most of the time I decided it was simply evidence that the wine was already tiring or had been exposed to some heat.
But that wasn’t quite fair. Some grapes, especially Italian whites, show a bit of almond. I’ll admit that I don’t know why. But I really like the Arancio Grillo, I really do…
Aspen Food & Wine was its usual zoo. But I got to see so many friends that it seems de rigour to attend. Bob Lindquist(one of my Syrah heroes) of Qupe is at one of the many parties. It’s always great to talk to him, though it was too noisy and I was too eager to try to get some sleep (what was I thinking?) to spend enough time chatting.
Bob asked me if I had his Marsanne lately. I replied no but that the sample bin is always accepting wine. He noted that I probably needed to try one of his older Marsannes, considering that I had written that California Marsanne doesn’t age. What was he doing, actually reading what I wrote?
And why am I writing this stuff down, where people can call me on it later? Oh, well, it sounds like he’s going to send me an old bottle. That could be very cool.
Marsanne, of course, ages brilliantly (if maddeningly) in the northern Rhone. But in the New World, it has struggled to retain acidity, at a minimum. I still haven’t seen that bottle of older Marsanne, though. Guess I’ll have to straighten out my cellar and find the bottles I threw down there ten years ago.
In June I find myself staying at the Christian Lifestyle Institute Inn (or something like that – don’t even ask, someone’s idea of a practical joke, I’m guessing) and everyone is dressed up. There are lots of people in tuffeta and tux. This is where people come to do their BIG parties, their weddings, reunions and graduations, it would seem. This is the South.Outside young men in black tie cluster for the photographer, leaning in circles, without smiling. Staring into the lens. As if they were rappers, or boxers, or serious businesspeople caught in the middle of a big deal.My bathroom wallpaper is of the colonial Americana bent, estates, countryside, lighthouse on beige background. Only four figures feature. Two women, watching from the shore in capes and bonnets. One man in tri-corner hat, standing on the pier, surveying like an owner. Some yachts and fishing vessels are tied or buoyed out across the wall. Lost amid the beige is a solitary black man in a dingy dinghy. At first I thought the white man was looking for the black guy. But then I noticed that the black man was right under the cute little noses of the white female cyphers, an agglomeration of brown and blue and green squares. They were ignoring him. He appeared to be fishing. He hadn’t caught anything.
May 30, 2005
One of the songs I can’t identify is a beautiful swaying between a simple vocal round and total anarchy. Valerie Price and Brenna Whittaker have utterly satisfying voices, rich in any octave. It’s fantastic and haunting.
One of the last songs of the day is, once again, unknown to me, at least in this form. Valerie continues to emote as the song dies away, Lydia (accordionist) and Brad whispering light chords and just as our collective breath was to be taken away by the silence and then a drumstick scratching across the edge of cymbal (that came next), an ice cream truck drove by.
May 29, 2005
With war as the theme, Brad has a piece partially penned in Mandarin. He translates (and my memory is fuzzy), “The Noble Leader thinks. He continues to think. He is still thinking.” And so on till the end, “The Noble Leader realizes that he can not only have poor people fight the war, he can also make them pay for it.” Snickers all around.
May 28, 2005
Brad Cox is a fantastic pianist and composer who lives at present in Kansas City and we are the richer for it. An afternoon concert for the Memorial Day weekend and Brad has assembled one of his large scale bands, tenor sax, baritone sax, flautist (also piccolo), drummer, stand-up bass, a gifted accordionist who plays with a band here called Tango Lorca, and three singers.
Part of the afternoon is given to re-tooled gospel tunes. As usual with Brad, there are songs I should recognize but can’t. He twists a Zeppelin tune into a signature changing nightmare. Or dream.
Brecht and Weill’s Alabama Song is delightfully recognizable. The three singers trade the verses about; it’s wonderful and silly. Since the theme of the show is war, they do a version of Randy Newman’s Let’s Drop the Big One Now.
May 27, 2005
I had two Riscal Ruedas recently: the 2004 showed lots of apples with orange and a note of lime leaf; it was a barely warm bowl of apples. The mouth was apple laden as well, with notes of orange and melon, soft and creamy, simple but very pretty.
I found a bottle of 2002 Riscal as well. And it wasn’t aging particularly well. Well, I take that back. It was really pretty, with some barrel hints leading to truffle and mushrooms notes. But it was already slipping, and I’d like to think that Verdejo has better longevity than that.
Yllera Vina Cantosan 2004 Rueda had a very bright and pretty lime laden nose. There were complexing notes of orange, lemon, melon, white pepper and red apple. The mouth was more of the same, good and classic Verdejo (apple, melon, and orange) with some white pepper and basil mint hints at the end.
May 26, 2005
Marqués de Riscal virtually invented modern Rueda. It was a place of ancient styled dessert wines, and Riscal rescued theVerdejo grape from its interminable grave. Unfortunately, at least to my way of thinking, Riscal noted a similarity to Sauvignon Blanc, or so the story goes, and planted that as well. Sauvignon Blanc features in a number of Ruedas, and I love the Verdejo grape so much that I regret Sauvignon Blanc’s annoyingly vocal presence.