So I have become a bit of a wine snob. Like in a pinch Ravenswood is delightful enough but wtf there is a lot of really good wine I’d rather pay more for and drink less of. And just not be smashed. Pity.
So when people bring wine to things I’m like, Oh! How sweet. And it is! I am never displeased by someone bringing me wine. Because usually it is at least Decent Wine. So grateful as I was, my expectations were not rolling high for what my friends brought to an evening of pie testing.
But fuck. We flipped.
Montepeloso Eneo Toscana Sangiovese Blend 2010
And then my friend said “I don’t drink, but it was a gift from my agency.”
And I said your agency knows what the fuck is up. With grapes. In Italy.
That’s probably about what I said.
Please don’t tell your agency you don’t drink and direct all birthday gifts my way. You will be repayed in pies and hugs.
It has this bordering on the barnyard funk thing but does not actually cross that line.
I mean it is soooo close to funk. But toes the classy line. It’s like, I could be so funkalicious but I choose to hang out and watch the funk. Vicarious funk.
Smoother than you’d ever want a man to be, lest you never trust him.
Mocha. Notes of.
Smooth. Oh I said that.
Blackberries and sage. And then some gently sizzled sage? Being burnt to appease the vino gods. And goddesses but alas they don’t hear my cries. The good wine was finite and I certainly finished it.
Or Matcha Mercredi. If you like French better than Spanish. Or Matcha suiyōbi if we are to be culturally (if not alliteratively) correct. And apparently the Japanese term for Wednesday means water day. And you need water to make tea. How apropos.
Although this matcha is mixed with juice. Fuck. I can’t work without wine, guys. But I will.
I would drink the shit out of the citrus matcha. It tastes of orange and pineapple and has a bit of texture but not too much. Well. Almost too much but it has the right amount of texture to make you say to yourself: this is health in a wine glass. I am doing something good for me.
I’m big on the psychosomatic response. It is reallll.
On the coconut flavor: it did not taste tooooo coconutty which in my book was good. And it had fiber so my digestive system was pleased. In fact it was more savory than the citrus flavor, I thought. So I would drink both of these. I’d choose the citrus as my first pick though.
There was a rougher texture to the coconut flavor. Which if you like pulp you’d be into. So if you like pulp and coconut go with that. If you just want tasty greens with the added benefits that come with matcha do that. Yea, antioxidants!
No more aging, here I come. I stopped doing that eons ago.
That is…pinot noir.
I dunno you guys. Rarely do I so totally agree with the winery tasting notes but SIMI was spot-on when they sold me on their 2013 Sonoma Valley Pinot Noir.
The look: pure ruby red. Like if you look at an actual ruby, you’d say that is the same color as that pinot by SIMI. Ain’t no fucking almost royal blue merlot. Your teeth will not turn purple. Pink maybe.
Take a whiff and get a nose full of cherry and spices I associate with pumpkin recipes. I’m not saying this smells like pumpkin, mind you. Just the spices I associate with it.
Take a sip and you get some roasted pear, and maybe a fig or so and some more rich pureed cherries. And you know what? Speaking of dates I recently got my hands on some fresh jujubes, aka Chinese dates, and I feel like if I roasted them they would go well with this wine.
This really did have a large amount of spice–FOR A PINOT. Because I do not think of pinots as having spice but this one is rich with the peppery ginger and perhaps a bit of nutmeg and…allspice? I taste allspice. Like I said, pumpkin-associated spices. It is a pinot noir that has been having a make-put session with its fifth cousin it is not really related to the Zinfandel and the two would hav beautiful baby grapelets.
There is some elegant acidity that keeps this a light-hearted pinot noir.
It is darkly light. Like my joyful dark soul.
A teensy bit of acid. And lots of love.
Oh, and for some reason it is making me crave the type of bruschetta made of thick grilled Italian bread that is half soggy with roasted tomato and garlic. And I might toss some sage in there.
You don’t need money
I mean, you do need to be a baller
as in you need to enter pie contests
then at that there contest you befriend the dude serving pie to the general Los Angeles NPR-listening public next to you. it turns out he is a graphic designer who is a judge for the labels portion of the San Francisco International Wine Competition and gets to bring home 8 boxes of wine entered in the contest.
he ends up being the co-host of many pie parties with you and your friend Alice
he brings home a 450 dollar bottle of fine champagne from being a judge at the wine competition and deems your birthday worthy of opening said bottle
so no one paid for that Armand de Brignac Ace of Spades, a fine brut rosé bubbly
but it got sipped straight down your greedy throat
THAT is how you ball it up in Lalaland.
It was good.
But you guys the bottle.
Does it matter? I mean yes, it IS very good. it WAS real champagne.
Its bubbles were more velvety and refined and effervescent and transcendent and je ne said quoi than the average pedestrian sparkly vino. The toasty taste was lilting and pleasant. The fruit is there but not too much. Maybe cherry and roasted apple if I strain my ears. Which is saying something, considering I use my tongue to taste, generally. But this is some refined shit.
For a rosé champagne that is supposedly a fave of Jay-Z’s it is oh so restrained in taste. Surprising. Until you remember the bottle. YOU GUYS the bottle. O. M. G.
Would I pay 450 dollars for it? No. Would I deem myself worthy of opening this refined, velvety, the-universe-in-my-mouth wine?
Hanging out with girls who try to make out with me has been a recurring theme to my late night LA drinking habit of late. Because apparently something in my demeanor says pansexual. I dunno. I mean I’m flattered but I digress because that has nothing to do with the wine I am talking about.
Oh! No I know why I was thinking sex thoughts. It is because I am reviewing another octopus wine and a friend of mine recently told me some rather lurid news. Did you know there was such a thing as tentacle porn? Holy shit there is. I have not looked because that thought rather terrifies me.
Let us move on. To the wine!
I give you The Argonaut, a sauvignon blanc by the same person (it is indeed one dude or so he says, hence the need for 8 arms) as The Tentacle.
Like me this wine is slightly rich and salty. Not that I am wealthy-rich, just sometimes full of it maybe? As for salty, well, see the “full of it” bit. Silly. But the wine is indeed rather rich for a white wine, and maybe it is the nautical influence, but I imagine the seas as I sip. It is brackish.
Golden, medium-bodied like my friend Leandra’s Corgi named Shipley (SHIPley!), and a bit fruity.
Like honey, if honey were in a salt mine and octopuses were in that mine with that wine. I fucking dig it. Ps the plural of octopus is indeed octopuses. Because it has Greek origins. It would have to be Latin to be “octopi”.
I smell overreach peach. I feel honeysuckle. I sense peach that has been macerated with some honey and salt, and that is good.
Medium bodied. Pears. Do pears blossom? If they do then this wine tastes of pear blossoms. I could drink the whole bottle but won’t. Wine is for sharing.