Sunday, June 15, 2008

Wine 10

Sadly, I must say again, Ugh. This is another bad wine. I was, however, thrilled to discover that it is so for an entirely different reason. My first thought on its nose was honey, although D---, of my brave tasting crew, quickly identified the taste as Marsala. This wine has maintained plenty of character, and perhaps accrued extra in an attempt to make up for its sad, diminished neighbors. This is a thick, syrupy wine, with a heavy nose and plenty of fruit to go around.
It is a case, though, in which the fruit has mingled and combined into a robust and overbearing mix, not unlike a compost pile. I wouldn't compare this wine to a compost pile, of course, nor wine in general, although that is pretty apt, but that is rather the method I choose to describe the intermingling of flavors of this powerful red.
In another twist making this a peculiarity, the aroma of the wine carries over strongly into the flavor. This is, though, a very dry wine, and the tannins kick through everything eventually, overwhelming the entirety of the fruit and leaving only a mildly unpleasant tingle in the mouth as if one has just committed a tactical error which one is in imminent danger of expelling.
The company was good, though, and we enjoyed this wine floating in a swimming pool, hot and nearly exhausted after a long day of wasting time. We looked very hard at racing motorcycles. We ventured onto the World Wide Web via a crawly browser through a dial-up connection. We pondered the meaning of life even as we played a game of Marco Polo in the pool in which we now soaked. We drove little cars around very fast at sunset. A good time, I hope I am being clear, was had by all.
We wrapped up the day by sitting on a porch, looking out over pineapples and pine trees and strumming a banjo, singing mournful songs about java beans and the blissfully mercurial quality of love and loss.
Now I'm headed off tired to bed, ready for another long day performing my particularly important task within society, that of the tourist. All the best, and don't be shy: if a wine has turned to garbage, you needn't feel a pang about dumping it. Sometimes, down the drain is the place for a wine.

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