Of Dreams and ThingsApr 22 '00 (Updated Apr 26 '00) Write an essay on this topic. Last night I decided to write about my most memorable wine. It was a little bit difficult, since I planned to pen this ode about a bottle I hadn’t yet opened. Not being one to let petty details sully an otherwise splendid idea, I forged ahead. The bottle in question was a 1978 La Tache from the fabled Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. This small and exclusive Domaine in Burgundy produces some of the most acclaimed wine on earth. Short of the Vatican, it is hard to imagine any place where such importance is given to such a small area. Bottles of just released vintages fetch $1000.00 or more, and well-aged examples easily command prices in the multiples of that number. Since I am, above all else, a sensible businessman, I do not subscribe to the purchasing of such high priced bottles. There are far too many great wines available for much, much, much less money. But I would never tell someone else not to spend their wine dollars, especially when the purchased bottle is a gift for me. That was the case for this wine, given to me, with a twin bottle, some 15 years ago. It has rested quietly in my makeshift cellar, mostly forgotten, as aging wine should be, waiting for whatever impulse would bring it out. I settled into my favorite over sized chair, a large balloon glass at the ready. Resting quietly by my feet, Rex, the Grate Dane Puppy who had just celebrated his first week as a member of my household. Rex, already fast becoming an expert on the Verisimo School, last night drifted peacefully off as Giacomo Puccini’s epic Tosca played out a tale of love, betrayal and intrigue. Some half way through the bottle, I began to realize that this truly was one of the most incredible wine experiences I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying. It ranked well into the top ten, edging out all multiple tastings including a 50 year vertical of d’Yquem I attended last fall. With no notes or prescient observations recorded, I feared the episode might well be lost to memory, though that would not be a terrible place for it. I then decided to e-mail a short description of the event to the fair goddess of wine, Leah, just to have some record of the event exist. In her particular fashion, she devised a plan to have me share the secrets of my experience, in some viniferous version of cyber-show and tell. Several posts later, I drifted off to bed, dog in tow. Imagine my delight, upon awakening I found all my notes regurgitated back in a near poetic fashion, arranged by the great mistress of Bacchus. After reading them through several times, I determined that the way they are presented gave as good a telling of the event as any I could now devise, so below is presented a pseudo-contemporaneous telling. With gratitude to Leah, I give you my most memorable wine. Having endured both ecstasy and agony this week, I decided the best curative would be indulgence. While I have been blessed with many memorable wines, I wanted this one to be uniquely mine. No Prom Night Boones or Bad Wedding Reception White Zins for me. No... I headed down to that wreckage I call a wine cellar and found a bottle I have been resting for 15 years. Back in 1985, I was gifted with a brace of '78 La Tache. A liquid gold from Burgundy, from the mythic and mystic Domaine de la Romanee-Conti itself. I am half way through the bottle and I can only say: "I'm glad no one else is here to share the sucker." Mud and truffles, this wine is truly the reason we cellar. I don't think I can find the words to justly serve this wine. I wish I were Tennessee Williams so that I could compose a conversation with this wine. I wish I were Papa Hemmingway so that I could force the reader to understand; Bully them with my prose, coerce them with my language. Maybe I'll just enjoy it for the personal pleasure that it is. When I hold this wine up to the light there are exactly six sections of color visible, ranging from a deep ruby at the outside edge, to very near amber in the center. Even at this age the wine retains opacity, through to the center ring. It sheets the sides of the bowl, refusing to dissipate, slowly returning to the bowl like sorghum. The nose is like walking into a freshly turned field, filling the lungs, almost suffocating. Once, several years ago, I visited a mushroom farm . It was a series of long buildings, inside of which they grew millions of white button mushrooms on long trays, stacked to the ceiling. That smell, the wet dirt and blooming fungus, that is what this wine has. I know you understand, but how do you tell someone who has never tasted it, that mud, freshly turned soil, is such a very good thing in a wine. The middle mouth adds tiny but concentrated raspberry and the slightest hint of currants. I have found myself holding every swallow just a bit longer than I normally would, because every second this wine is in my mouth new sensations emerge. Not new flavors, but a renewing of the flavors already tasted. It is like the everlasting gobstopper from Willie Wonka. If I hadn't taken a second sip, well over an hour ago, I think the finish would still be there. It isn't overly strong, but like the sheeting on the glass, it refuses to go anywhere. I'd like to buy the world a La Tache and keep it company. Burgundy is an agrarian region. The foods for this wine are big, hearty foods, with root vegetables and bread with 1/4 inch crust. This wine is like someone you've been with for a long time, A lover whose every nuance you know. A body that still thrills even though it's a little thicker now than then. Someone with whom you are so comfortable you can spend hours together in the same room and never feel the need to speak. No occasion can rise to this wine, but it stoops with ease to elevate a simple lunch or dinner, celebrating nothing, commemorating everything; connecting, bridging, linking, and spanning heights otherwise unknown and perhaps, unreached. Wine is gone. Will sleep with Rex tonight and dream of Burgundy and a time when I still took vacations.  |
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