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Thor

Thor Iverson
Nishinoseki Tezukirui Tokubetsu Junmai Sake (Japan) Im terrible at discriminating the elements of sake; so much of the core of it tastes more or less fine to me, and Im often more excited by the gross textural appeal of unfiltered versions than I am of anything more normal. But lets give it a shot. A little soft and tropical, leaning on banana and a fake sort of bubblegum notion of peach, but smooth and flowing. The texture is utterly seductive, but the content of that texture just isnt that interesting. (10/10)

Tentaka Kuni Hawk in the Heavens Junmai Sake (Japan) 2007 is stamped on the bottleI think. Its very faint, and obscured by characters. The sake, however, is not obscured by character...it is a character, dancing and leaping around the palate in a way that, at least in my experience, is pretty unusual for the genre. Do I like it? Yes, its pleasant enough. (9/10)

Igarashi Syuzo Tenrazan Junmai Daiginjyo Sake (Japan) 500 ml. Medium-dry says the bottle, and it certainly is, but as is somewhat typical (at least in my limited experience with sake) theres as much of a textural feeling of sweetness from the alcohol as there is from any residual sugar. Whats nice here is that the alcohol, so often an incessant bagpipe drone in sake, is completely integrated and well-balanced; youll know it not by the taste, but by the headache the next morning. So, what else? White peaches and syrup-infused pears, and rather a lot of both. Almost overwhelmingly fruity, in fact. Theres alsowell, this is a little on the obscure and dated side, but a long while ago there was a sugar-substitute (made from ever-beloved saccharine) that came in the form of a clear liquid. This tastes like that. And I suspect its not lost on anyone, whether or not theyve tried the long-forgotten product of which Im speaking, that to make this comparison isnt exactly a compliment. I want to like this more than I do, due to its supple form, but I feel like Im drinking a simulacrum of sweetened fruit. (11/10)

S. Maria al Monte Amaro (Liguria) Complex, citrusy, and achieving equilibrium between its bitter, sweet, and aromatic elements. Very pleasant, with just enough bite. (8/10)

Isastegi 2008 Sagardo Naturala (Northwest Spain) I like cider in various styles, but prefer dry. And this is dry. Also: nicely bitter, electric, and raspy. It cannot be ignored. (8/10)

Artesano Mead (Vermont) 500 ml. Very floral. I know that, by definition, all mead is more or less floral, but this is really flowery, as if the bees got pollinated wind of a warehouse clearance sale on microgametophytes. Its good, but I think it might be of more use doled out in very small amounts, or perhaps used in cooking. (10/10)
 
Did you find the Tentaka Kuni on the savoury side? I ask because it's already a full sake, but your bottle is, well, not fresh. It might actually be from 2008, if those numbers are written as "20 07" (year 20 in the Heisei calendar), but either way, it's a bit long in the tooth, at least as intended at release.

The Tenranzan, incidentally, is named after a "mountain" that is all of 195 meters high. Only significant because some Emperor stood on top of it once.

Not a fan of the Nishinoseki generally, but a good candidate for warming.

The mead note reminds me that I've got a bottle of tej in the fridge that I've been ignoring.
 
Did you find the Tentaka Kuni on the savoury side?
The note is old enough that I no longer remember, sorry. I can tell you it was a closeout (about 50% off release price), and thus probably on the old side. I can also repeat that I just suck at notating sake. I've just never really gotten the hang of it. I feel like I can write beer and spirit notes, albeit I write them like wine notes and with that language, rather than the language their devotees use, but sake is, for whatever reason, difficult for me.

Anyway, thanks for the background info. All interesting.

S. Maria al Monte is a personal favorite, especially in the fall.
I think this glass was consumed at Esca, but at this point I couldn't promise.
 
Just to mention, I believe that S. Maria al Monte is actually produced today in Genoa (Liguria), not the Vallee d'Aoste. The bottle labelling could be more clear on the matter, however.
 
Considering how many microseconds of online research I gave the issue (having written a bunch of question marks in the actual note), I'm sure you're right. Is it just an office in the VdA, or have they moved in toto?
 
originally posted by Thor:
Considering how many microseconds of online research I gave the issue (having written a bunch of question marks in the actual note), I'm sure you're right. Is it just an office in the VdA, or have they moved in toto?

The idea I have in my mind, possibly and probably incorrect as it is just sort of the conclusion I came to without finding out from the source, is that the recipe is associated with a Duke of Aosta and that that said Duke wasn't necessarily from the Vallee d'Aoste. The bottle makes reference to d'Aoste, but I don't see where it says Vallee. It also says that the product is bottled in Genova (that is, Genoa), which is of course in Liguria. I very frequently see the product referred to on retail websites as coming from the Vallee d'Aoste, but my current understanding is that that is not the case.

But I am willing to stand corrected by someone who knows more.
 
originally posted by Levi Dalton:


But I am willing to stand corrected by someone who knows more.

I highly doubt, at least on the subject of amari, that there are many, if any, people who fall into this category.

There is probably some hermit-monk of amari (a long lost order) deep in the Piedmontese hills who has every bottling ever and who, by candlelight, pours over ancient volumes of amari knowledge with his wizened eyes.

Someday, I will decapitate him with a champagne saber and I will enter The Quickening, but until that day, Dalton, I will deffer to you for all my amari-related knowledge.
 
Well anyone who actually had plural volumes on the topic of amari would definitely be ahead of me. It is difficult to find much writing on the subject in book-length form.
 
You could sell at least one copy to me. I like reading much better than beheading Italian monks in order to steal their life-knowledge.
 
I actually was going to do a book at one point, because I figured it would be pretty easy since I already had every sample you could possibly acquire from any source in the United States within easy reach. So the samples are all there, so, easy right?

The problem is having anything solid to say about backstory. There isn't really any secondary literature outside of what Amaro is, the brand of who makes it, and (sometimes) what it tastes like. And outside of producers like Vergano and Cappellano, the middlemen offering amaro in this country don't have much of any details for you. So if you wanted to figure out the real deal with the backstory for the S. Maria al Monte, for instance, you would most likely have to either engage in quite a bit of correspondence in Italian via post or email, or you would need to go to Liguria and visit the distillery and talk with the people there in Italian. And it isn't like producers of amari are handing out trips to Italy in that way that, say, certain gin or rum producers are delighted to have you out for a visit if you are in the industry. Nor are there amaro "Brand Ambassadors" walking around the streets of New York.

In other words, I thought I could write a somewhat helpful, decent enough book about what the different flavors were, what the proof was, some degree of information about the ingredients, and perhaps even get the name right (for the beverage we have been talking about, should we refer to S. Maria al Monte or Nicola Vignale? I think it is an open question), but I didn't think I had the time, fluency in Italian, or dough to write the great book the subject really needs and deserves. And I wasn't into doing something that was decent and half assed. So I shelved the idea.

Maybe down the line I'll change my mind.

There is also the whole question about whether or not to include the several dozens of amari that are available in Italy but not available currently in the United States (do a wine-searcher look at Italian retail shops some time), or not. If yes, that means going there, and for some time. If no, then the book is even more half assed. Quarter assed, actually.

I would really like to either read or write the story of how each of these beverages relates to its place (recipe calling for ingredients native to the specific region?) or time of origin (recipe calling for exotic ingredients due to what exactly? an growing interest in the exotic? a new trading partner?) and including specific regional ideas about how to serve them or even refer to them (Centerbes vs. Chinato vs. Rosolio vs. Nocino vs. Fernet vs. Ferro China). And I'd like to do that before the products themselves cease to exist, or have their recipes commercialized beyond all recognition of the original. Keep in mind that the Fernet Branca you drink today is not the same as the Fernet Branca that people drank even 40 years ago. Keep in mind that a real Rosolio can only be made during one season each year: when the roses are in bloom. But that's probably not how the last Rosolio I tasted was made. It probably didn't have anything to do with real roses at all.

That all being said, I would hazard that the greatest "amaro" of all time isn't produced in Italy. It is Green Chartreuse, and someone who knows should really write a friggin' book. The whole story is unbelievable, except that it happened and we have the beverage to toast that story with.
 
So the samples are all there, so, easy right?
Since you and I both know you're not Robert Parker, you and I both know you wouldn't have written a book in which you thought that tasting was the same as knowing.

Maybe, somewhere out there, there's an Italian collaborator with whom you could work closely and then one day, for reasons that are entirely unclear to you, with whom you could have a spectacular falling-out that would ruin everything and force you to finish on your own. (Wait, is our mutual pal 2B reading this or not? If not, I just wasted an in-joke.)

And it isn't like producers of amari are handing out trips to Italy in that way that, say, certain gin or rum producers are delighted to have you out for a visit if you are in the industry.
It's too bad there isn't more amaro made from barbera.

should we refer to S. Maria al Monte or Nicola Vignale? I think it is an open question
*sigh* Next time, I'll spend more than two seconds looking at the bottle and tapping away on my mobile, 'K? (unnecessary emoticon)

If no, then the book is even more half assed. Quarter assed, actually.
I used to tut-tut the completist impulse, especially since I'm frequently paralyzed by it, but in these dangerous days of dying print the temptations are overwhelming.

It is Green Chartreuse, and someone who knows should really write a friggin' book. The whole story is unbelievable, except that it happened and we have the beverage to toast that story with.
Wait, I thought there was such a book? No?
 
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