...sundry vinous hijinks ensues!
The crass, diminutive simian managed to make his way to the District about a half phase of the moon ago, and, in order to fete his return (and to pay proper obeisance to the two bottles of Rougeard he brought in tow), the local DC disorderlies gathered at the high altar of free weekend corkage, Dino.
With the Disorderlies assembled, we began our evening with a 2002 Zilliken Saarburger Rausch Spatlese, Auction Bottling because, you know, Maureen is in the house, and a white has to be either Trimbach or riesling, and preferably both. I thought this was pretty textbook MSR: lithe, zippy, off-dry fun that listed more to the rockier side of the fruit-mineral spectrum (at least to my palate), but with enough stone-fruited padding to pacify even the most anti-anti-flavor wine elite from making an angry pirate face and going "arghh!"
Nathan opened one his Rougeards, the 2003 Clos Rougeard Breze to be precise, and I got an nostrilful of oak. But, even though the wood was a little pronounced on the nose, and the wine itself was a little tight upon the first pour, it opened up and the oak became more agreeable as the evening progressed and the wine was a welcome, though stern, contrast to the easier drinking Zilliken.
The final "white" was a 2002 Gravner Anfora Breg and I was expecting it to be funky, bretty, austere, jammy, oxidized, reductive, sherried, and maderized agglomeration of wine geekiness (well, no, not really, but hyperbole is fun). Instead, it was just plain delicious. Yeah, there was some tannins, but they weren't obtrusive or astringent. Yes, it was dry, forceful, and potent, but there was plenty of fruit there to make this an agreeable and approchable quaff. Yule likes this, and I am almost certain my non-geek friends would like this too.
As we were enjoying the whites, I was catching up with Bob at my end of the table and we were comparing our smartphones. I had just recently purchased a Droid Bionic after my Crackberry died an ignoble death, and. between sips of Saarburger Rausch, I was singing rhapsodic for Words with Friends, one of the more popular time-suck apps currently available on Android(TM). He seemed underwhelmed with the 97 point Triple Letter, Triple Word I had just dropped on one of my Words with Friends Nemeses. When I asked for his Words with Friends ID, he quietly mumbled he had to catch up with Nathan, and made a quick escape to the other side of the table.
In the meanwhile, Cole had opened up a bottle of 1985 Chateau Palmer and invited me to take a sniff. I recoiled initially from the first gust of funk, but Cole thought it ok. Luckily, I was proven not insane when Jonathan thought something was off with it as well. Into the decanter it went, and with some time, the funk blew off, leaving a cedary aroma in its wake. On the palate, the tannins felt more or less resolved to my coarse tongue, buffeted softly by a dark-fruited elegance with hints of woodsiness in the background.
Nathan also opened up his 2003 Clos Rougeard Poyeaux , which I thought showed extremely well. I think I remember some people considering the fruit a little ripe and obvious, but I was not one of them. Considering the vintage, I found the tannins finely grained and the fruit apparent, but nonetheless restrained. Just a nice, elegant, and drinkable wine.
Bob had returned and had also opened up the two sangiovese-based wines he had brought. The first one, a 1990 Carpazo Brunello de Montalcino was just stunning. It was a glassful of bright, sour cherries that whispered rather than shouted, kept together by a vibrant spine of acidity that made this wine way too easy to drink. The Monkey heartily approved and this wine was drained in a snap. I have heard that Carpazo has turned to the Suckling-side of Brunello, and, if that is true, that is a shame. Another honest sangiovese-producer bites the pointy, new oak dust.
After the Carpazo was sacrificed to the altars of the Simian and Dean, Bob, for shits and giggles, also decided to open up his backup sangiovese, a 2001 Montevertine , which showed firmer than the Carpazo, unsurprisingly, with more pronounced acidity and some drying bitterness on the finish. It still was a pleasure to drink, but, I could see this improving.
While drinking the sangiovese, Bob and I were discussing Italian reds, and he mentioned how he thought sangiovese was overrated. His passion clearly lies with nebbiolo. Now, I guess I could see the point, but the more I drink sangiovese-based wines, the more I realize that I love them. Sure, they might be simpler and less aromatically arresting than a Barolo, but there is something about the pure drinkability of unspoofed sangiovese I just find irresistible. I have been buying more Barolo and Barbaresco as I have been shifting more towards Italian reds in recent months, but the more I drink Montevertine, the more I want to get to know the terroir of Radda a little better. The more I try an old-school Brunello, the more I want to explore Soldera and Biondi-Santi, Conti Constanti and Il Poggione. Hell, I can't wait to drink the 70s Lungarotti I bought in auction several months back. Sure, nebbiolo may be more serious and intellectual, but sometimes you want something that is lower-maintenance and requires less than 30 years to hit its stride. Which may mean Chianti Classico, but also may mean buying more Gattinara, Carema, or perhaps Valtellina. Luckily, Doug brought one for us to try.
We open a 1999 Ar. Pe. Pe. Valtellina Grumello something or other. Corked . No nebbiolo for the Monkey tonight and no great noble Italian red variety debate. Sangiovese reigns supreme. Godzilla stomps a crippled Rodan.
So, we instead turn towards the Southern Rhone, because Jonathan is here, and he opens a 2004 Charvin Chateauneuf de Pape . It has a nice bite to it. Definitely larger framed than the other wines, but still keeping it classy. Baby may have back, but she can still do pirouettes at the Bolshoi. Think hippos in leotards and Fantasia for a proper visual illustration.
Jonathan and Nathan reminisce. Nathan complains about certain statistical analysis and ridicules Doug for being a Dukie (he uses choicer language). Jonathan recalls Beaucastel being $15 back in the 90s. Nathan counters that Verset used to be $25 in the 80s. Jonathan retorts that he thought 1989 Chave was fucking expensive at $40. I proclaim that I remember a 40 oz. bottle of Colt 45 being $1.99 in the early aughts (I think it still is, actually). We then all think fond thoughts of Lando Calrissian.
The other French red we open is a 2007 Overnoy Arbois Pupillin (poulsard). Look, it's Nessie! She lives! A pale, faint red in the glass, the wine seems to tremble in my mouth with such a lively, almost nervous acidity that is coiled around a generous amount of fruit. Just gorgeous stuff. It is too bad you have to sacrifice a virgin daughter to a sea monster or a Grecian deity in order to get a bottle now. Iphigenia at Aulis indeed.
The final French red is a bottle of 1995 Chandon de Briailles Corton Les Marechaudes . Half the table thought it irredeemably corked, the other half was laughing at the poor rubes who thought it corked and bogarted the bottle for themselves. I was on the side that thought it corked.
Cristi finally arrives after corralling his kids at the public pool (the subtitle of this dinner is Waiting for Deszo), and he brings a 1999 Molettierri Taurasi Riserva . It was a sucker punch on my palate, and I mean that in a good way. It was weightless intensity with really pure, broad, mouth enveloping fruit, buttressed by plenty of acidity and tannin. Just good.
We end with some dessert wines. Bob brings an 1989 Domaine Cauhapé "Quintessence du Petit Manseng" Jurancon Moelleux . It seems to be declining. Bob says it was much more interesting 10 years ago. I take him at his word.
So, Bob opens up his backup dessert wine, a 1989 Huet Le Mont Moelleux 1eme Trie . Amber colored, sweet on the nose, but vibrant and light on the palate. Yeah, it was good. Whaddya expect? It's fucking Huet.
After my post-prandial nap, we disassemble, like Voltran into its constituent parts, awaiting the next offline invasion of DC from the wine geek denizens of the interwebz.
As we depart, and I shake the Vulgar One's hand goodbye, he looks ups and imparts this last bit of sagacity to me, "You are the biggest tallest fucking Korean I have ever seen."
And, with that, he is gone.
The crass, diminutive simian managed to make his way to the District about a half phase of the moon ago, and, in order to fete his return (and to pay proper obeisance to the two bottles of Rougeard he brought in tow), the local DC disorderlies gathered at the high altar of free weekend corkage, Dino.
With the Disorderlies assembled, we began our evening with a 2002 Zilliken Saarburger Rausch Spatlese, Auction Bottling because, you know, Maureen is in the house, and a white has to be either Trimbach or riesling, and preferably both. I thought this was pretty textbook MSR: lithe, zippy, off-dry fun that listed more to the rockier side of the fruit-mineral spectrum (at least to my palate), but with enough stone-fruited padding to pacify even the most anti-anti-flavor wine elite from making an angry pirate face and going "arghh!"
Nathan opened one his Rougeards, the 2003 Clos Rougeard Breze to be precise, and I got an nostrilful of oak. But, even though the wood was a little pronounced on the nose, and the wine itself was a little tight upon the first pour, it opened up and the oak became more agreeable as the evening progressed and the wine was a welcome, though stern, contrast to the easier drinking Zilliken.
The final "white" was a 2002 Gravner Anfora Breg and I was expecting it to be funky, bretty, austere, jammy, oxidized, reductive, sherried, and maderized agglomeration of wine geekiness (well, no, not really, but hyperbole is fun). Instead, it was just plain delicious. Yeah, there was some tannins, but they weren't obtrusive or astringent. Yes, it was dry, forceful, and potent, but there was plenty of fruit there to make this an agreeable and approchable quaff. Yule likes this, and I am almost certain my non-geek friends would like this too.
As we were enjoying the whites, I was catching up with Bob at my end of the table and we were comparing our smartphones. I had just recently purchased a Droid Bionic after my Crackberry died an ignoble death, and. between sips of Saarburger Rausch, I was singing rhapsodic for Words with Friends, one of the more popular time-suck apps currently available on Android(TM). He seemed underwhelmed with the 97 point Triple Letter, Triple Word I had just dropped on one of my Words with Friends Nemeses. When I asked for his Words with Friends ID, he quietly mumbled he had to catch up with Nathan, and made a quick escape to the other side of the table.
In the meanwhile, Cole had opened up a bottle of 1985 Chateau Palmer and invited me to take a sniff. I recoiled initially from the first gust of funk, but Cole thought it ok. Luckily, I was proven not insane when Jonathan thought something was off with it as well. Into the decanter it went, and with some time, the funk blew off, leaving a cedary aroma in its wake. On the palate, the tannins felt more or less resolved to my coarse tongue, buffeted softly by a dark-fruited elegance with hints of woodsiness in the background.
Nathan also opened up his 2003 Clos Rougeard Poyeaux , which I thought showed extremely well. I think I remember some people considering the fruit a little ripe and obvious, but I was not one of them. Considering the vintage, I found the tannins finely grained and the fruit apparent, but nonetheless restrained. Just a nice, elegant, and drinkable wine.
Bob had returned and had also opened up the two sangiovese-based wines he had brought. The first one, a 1990 Carpazo Brunello de Montalcino was just stunning. It was a glassful of bright, sour cherries that whispered rather than shouted, kept together by a vibrant spine of acidity that made this wine way too easy to drink. The Monkey heartily approved and this wine was drained in a snap. I have heard that Carpazo has turned to the Suckling-side of Brunello, and, if that is true, that is a shame. Another honest sangiovese-producer bites the pointy, new oak dust.
After the Carpazo was sacrificed to the altars of the Simian and Dean, Bob, for shits and giggles, also decided to open up his backup sangiovese, a 2001 Montevertine , which showed firmer than the Carpazo, unsurprisingly, with more pronounced acidity and some drying bitterness on the finish. It still was a pleasure to drink, but, I could see this improving.
While drinking the sangiovese, Bob and I were discussing Italian reds, and he mentioned how he thought sangiovese was overrated. His passion clearly lies with nebbiolo. Now, I guess I could see the point, but the more I drink sangiovese-based wines, the more I realize that I love them. Sure, they might be simpler and less aromatically arresting than a Barolo, but there is something about the pure drinkability of unspoofed sangiovese I just find irresistible. I have been buying more Barolo and Barbaresco as I have been shifting more towards Italian reds in recent months, but the more I drink Montevertine, the more I want to get to know the terroir of Radda a little better. The more I try an old-school Brunello, the more I want to explore Soldera and Biondi-Santi, Conti Constanti and Il Poggione. Hell, I can't wait to drink the 70s Lungarotti I bought in auction several months back. Sure, nebbiolo may be more serious and intellectual, but sometimes you want something that is lower-maintenance and requires less than 30 years to hit its stride. Which may mean Chianti Classico, but also may mean buying more Gattinara, Carema, or perhaps Valtellina. Luckily, Doug brought one for us to try.
We open a 1999 Ar. Pe. Pe. Valtellina Grumello something or other. Corked . No nebbiolo for the Monkey tonight and no great noble Italian red variety debate. Sangiovese reigns supreme. Godzilla stomps a crippled Rodan.
So, we instead turn towards the Southern Rhone, because Jonathan is here, and he opens a 2004 Charvin Chateauneuf de Pape . It has a nice bite to it. Definitely larger framed than the other wines, but still keeping it classy. Baby may have back, but she can still do pirouettes at the Bolshoi. Think hippos in leotards and Fantasia for a proper visual illustration.
Jonathan and Nathan reminisce. Nathan complains about certain statistical analysis and ridicules Doug for being a Dukie (he uses choicer language). Jonathan recalls Beaucastel being $15 back in the 90s. Nathan counters that Verset used to be $25 in the 80s. Jonathan retorts that he thought 1989 Chave was fucking expensive at $40. I proclaim that I remember a 40 oz. bottle of Colt 45 being $1.99 in the early aughts (I think it still is, actually). We then all think fond thoughts of Lando Calrissian.
The other French red we open is a 2007 Overnoy Arbois Pupillin (poulsard). Look, it's Nessie! She lives! A pale, faint red in the glass, the wine seems to tremble in my mouth with such a lively, almost nervous acidity that is coiled around a generous amount of fruit. Just gorgeous stuff. It is too bad you have to sacrifice a virgin daughter to a sea monster or a Grecian deity in order to get a bottle now. Iphigenia at Aulis indeed.
The final French red is a bottle of 1995 Chandon de Briailles Corton Les Marechaudes . Half the table thought it irredeemably corked, the other half was laughing at the poor rubes who thought it corked and bogarted the bottle for themselves. I was on the side that thought it corked.
Cristi finally arrives after corralling his kids at the public pool (the subtitle of this dinner is Waiting for Deszo), and he brings a 1999 Molettierri Taurasi Riserva . It was a sucker punch on my palate, and I mean that in a good way. It was weightless intensity with really pure, broad, mouth enveloping fruit, buttressed by plenty of acidity and tannin. Just good.
We end with some dessert wines. Bob brings an 1989 Domaine Cauhapé "Quintessence du Petit Manseng" Jurancon Moelleux . It seems to be declining. Bob says it was much more interesting 10 years ago. I take him at his word.
So, Bob opens up his backup dessert wine, a 1989 Huet Le Mont Moelleux 1eme Trie . Amber colored, sweet on the nose, but vibrant and light on the palate. Yeah, it was good. Whaddya expect? It's fucking Huet.
After my post-prandial nap, we disassemble, like Voltran into its constituent parts, awaiting the next offline invasion of DC from the wine geek denizens of the interwebz.
As we depart, and I shake the Vulgar One's hand goodbye, he looks ups and imparts this last bit of sagacity to me, "You are the biggest tallest fucking Korean I have ever seen."
And, with that, he is gone.