And the Oscar Goes To...

Here is what I hope is my successful entry for this month's Monthly Wine Writing Challenge--#mwwc15.  (Learn more about the #mwwc here.)I have looked forward to writing this each month I have participated--successful or not--and I look forward to the other successful bloggers' entries.  Keep writing!

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           The glitz and glamor of the Oscars--actresses dolled up in designer gowns, draped in thousands of dollars of jewels, and actors looking dapper in tailored tuxedo suits…the red carpet…the acceptance speeches!  This is the pinnacle of moviemaking, the ultimate sign of success in Hollywood.  Getting to take home one of those little gold men, Oscar, means one has really made it. 

Though there are numerous wine awards across the globe—all the way from state fairs to regional conferences to prominent magazine honors—because wine is so subjective, there is no one “Oscar” for the wine world.  There is no single way a wine would be considered successful.  In fact, the definition of success in the wine world probably varies depending on whether you make wine, market wine, or drink wine.

The Marketer

           The marketing and selling of wine might be the easiest area in which to gauge achievement. Obviously if a wine makes money, there is some level of success.  Two years ago I blogged about the top-selling wines of Wyoming in 2012 (read that blog here).  I would say that most people wouldn’t consider Franzia chilled red a “successful” wine; however, people drink it!  So some level of accomplishment must be given here.  Maybe the accomplishment doesn’t go to the wine itself, but to the technology that allows wine to be kept alive for weeks after opening, or to the marketing of these products to a multitude of consumers, or to the frugality of drinkers when choosing what to enjoy (which is what I finally decided when I was contemplating wine sales of my home state). 

Maybe judging the success of wine through sales is a bit complicated too.

The Consumer

Then let’s judge the success of wine through the wine drinkers, the people spending this money on wine.  One wineaux (AKA, wine lover) said that a wine is successful when a producer has met the quality to have people enjoy it.  True...but we just learned that people may enjoy a wine based more on price level than actual quality.  Another wineaux said, “When multiple bottles sit on a table surrounded by happy friends and family savoring and enjoying each sip.”  This is a more correct statement.  Here the wine is not being judged on price, but on experience.  The experience of enjoying wine is one of the most important aspects of wine, and yet, it is another intangible, another level that can not really be measured. 



Some of my favorite wineauxs enjoying the experience of wine!

Sommeliers and wine critics would be more objective about wine quality, but even these experts have subjective points of view. 

The Critic

I learned very early in my wine career that there were generally two sides of taste:  the Robert Parker Camp and the Jancis Robinson Camp.  (This camp seems to be expanding; it could also be called the Alice Feiring camp, or the Jon Bonne camp, or the Eric Asimov camp.) Parker has become known for loving big, fruit forward, heavily oaked, generally more robust wines with high levels of alcohol.  Are there many quality wines with these attributes?  Of course!  However, do all wines with these characteristics exhibit excellence?  No. 

The Robinson et al. camp supports more natural wines:  wines with less inference after harvest, more organic or biodynamic grapes, higher acid levels, and lower alcohol in the end product.   Of course, both of these are over-generalized statements about these wine authorities, really doing neither camp justice. 

The point is that even those who spend years researching and honing their crafts and levels of wine knowledge have specific tastes in wine, making the idea of success still unclear.

Alice Feiring et al. books on wine.

The Wine Maker   

Another group of experts in the field of wine would definitely be the wine makers.  They are uncompromising judges of what makes a wine successful.  True, they also want to sell wine, but (I am going to claim) the majority of producers genuinely care about the products they make.  According to two very dedicated winemakers, success starts in the vineyard, no matter where grapes are grown.  William Allen of Two Shepherds (of Sonoma County, California) and Patrick Zimmerer (of Huntley, Wyoming) use grapes grown in very different environments, but both state that wine starts with the grapes, and this is the ultimate deciding factor on the outcome of the final product.

Allen, who primarily works with Rhone varieties, knows that if grapes are grown to show the purest expression of the variety and vintage year, his job is then to do as little manipulation as possible to the fruit when turning it into wine.  The real work happens in the vineyard, deciding when to pull leaves, change the canopy, thin the fruit, and irrigate the vines.  All of this is before determining the precise ripeness through flavor, sugar, and acid levels after Mother Nature has, inevitably, made the decision to pick a bit of a gamble.  (Read more about Two Shepherds wines here).

Two Shepherds wines--success starts in the vineyard.

 Though Zimmerer grows hybrid grapes in an environment that could be considered almost completely opposite of Sonoma County, he echoes the thoughts of Allen.  He agrees successful wines happen in the vineyard, but his gamble with Mother Nature is even more intense.  Wyoming grapes always take a chance of whether they make it to ideal ripeness due to so many more natural weather obstacles.  Hail storms, mid-May freezes, September snows, an early or late frost, and a short growing season all hinder ideal picking conditions.  However, sun, water, and soil enable Zimmerer to be the steward to help the grapes along the way, finally ushering the fruit through fermentation to the bottle.

Table Mountain Vineyards--Wyoming vines and wines.

The Ultimate Test

            Even winemakers agree that to truly produce a successful wine, it is enjoyed with friends, a meal, or a special occasion.  The wine should reflect the year the grapes were grown, the weather, and the work it took to make the end product.  Sometimes even this level of success takes the same patience as waiting for the fruit to grow and the wine to ferment. Often a difficult vintage year where Mother Nature was uncooperative and yields were low can turn into quite a victory in the bottle if just given some time.  Allen says this is accurate of his 2011 wines, wines that will eventually delight consumers as one of his best years yet.  Zimmerer also states that each harvest, especially in Wyoming, is very extraordinary, but with special care and attention every step of the way, the final product can be celebrated as a success!

            Winemakers are probably the last people to want to dress up and walk a red carpet in the fanciest of clothes…and maybe this is a good thing since truly successful wines are so subjective and difficult to choose.  A successful wine isn’t necessarily one that gets the highest rating, or makes the most money, or gets the most accolades.  A successful wine is one that shows where it is from, not only the region, but the time and the weather.  It is a wine that was loved from vine, to bud break, to leaf, to fruit, to harvest.  It is a wine that is cared for deeply after picking, even if that care is shown by the least amount of intervention possible.  A successful wine may have to sit in the bottle while the winemaker patiently waits for it to be ready to show its true sense of time and place.  Then, this wine is enjoyed by consumers—genuinely and deeply enjoyed—maybe with special people, maybe at a special location, maybe for a special event.  Whatever the case, it evokes memories as well as creates them.  The Oscar would be awarded with a “Cheers,” a sip, and a smile. 

Tradition!

This is my entry for the wonderful monthly wine writing challenge to which many self-abusing wine bloggers and writers subject themselves.  I have joined the fun on several times but had taken a bit of a hiatus.  Well...I'm back!  Click here for more information:  #mwwc14.

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I grew up in a very small, tight-knit family.  And when I say small, I mean small.  My dad had one sister; my mom had one brother.  In grand total, I had four first cousins, only three that I actually knew.  This family also lived very close together.  So close, I actually lived about thirty seconds walk from my grandma’s house on our family ranch. 

This time of the year, I often smile to think of what a wonderful childhood I had with this close family.  Though we had specific holiday customs, my family also had traditions all year around.  Sunday dinners at my grandma’s house.  Christmas Eve opening of presents.  Fires in the fireplace.  Hunting and cutting live Christmas trees.  Games after holiday dinners.  Hide and seek with the cousins.  The list goes on and on. 

One item missing from this list of traditions is noticeably wine.  My family was not a family of wine drinkers.  They really were not a family of drinkers at all.  Except for the “pork chop in a can” my dad would drink when he opened up his cheap beer, alcohol wasn’t a part of my family rituals.  Food, on the other hand, food was.  Not only was food there at all of the above instances, but food was usually the center of and focus for these occasions. 

My grandma was a fabulous cook, especially of homemade, traditional fare:  all items made from scratch, many items from recipes passed to her from her mother or grandmother, most items eventually committed to her memory not even requiring her to look at an actual list of ingredients as she cooked.  This was a very special trait about her, a trait she also passed on to my dad. 

Now that I have lost both of my parents and this food-loving grandma is in a nursing home with dementia, I have spent the past several years attempting to recreate or find recipes as close to those original ones as possible.  My grandma’s oyster stew and her egg noodles are dishes that I have either found a recipe close enough to pass as hers or have adapted what I know she used and got the taste as close to hers as possible.  The beef stew and dressing I still don’t have a written recipe for—they are both a dash of this and a pinch of that, even with me cooking.  I plan on writing these down before my memory begins to fade, so my kids will have something when they cook.  I indeed count myself lucky that the bread dough recipe for rolls I have just as Grandma used it, written down in the exact amounts of ingredients needed.  Of course, now that I am the head of a wine-loving family, each of these special, traditional foods has a wine custom linked to it.  

My well-used recipe and cook books of traditional recipes.

 

Homemade Bread

Scald 1 cup milk with 2 tbsp. butter; let cool to luke warm.
Stir 2 packages dry yeast into ½ cup warm water until dissolved.
Mix 1 egg, 6 tbsp. sugar, and 1 tsp. salt well.
When milk is cooled to lukewarm, mix the above ingredients together in a large bowl; add ½ c. cold water.
Add 4 cups sifted flour, two cups at a time. Using 1 cup additional flour, knead the dough into it on a flat surface.
Place dough in a greased or oiled bowl and let rise until double in size, about an hour.
Knead. Shape into loaves or rolls. Place in a greased pan. Let rise until double in size again.
Bake at 350 degrees for thirty minutes, until golden brown.

 These rolls are served at every Thanksgiving with turkey and dressing. I serve a dry Riesling and a bright Pinot Noir with the turkey dinner.

A wonderfully dry Riesling and bright California Pinot Noir, perfect with turkey dinner.

Egg Noodles

 2 cups flour
½ tsp. salt
2 beaten eggs
1/3 cup water
1 tsp. olive oil
In a large mixing bowl, mix flour and salt. Make a well in the center.
In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, water, and oil.
Add egg mixture into the well and mix until combined.
Sprinkle kneading surface with extra flour and knead dough until elastic—8-10 times total.
Let dough rest for ten minutes.
Divide dough into fourths.
On a lightly floured surface, roll each fourth to about 1/16 inch thick.
Roll each quarter up, slice about 1/8 inch wide, and separate noodles.
Let noodles dry for up to four hours.  

Add to chicken stock for chicken and noodles.


Oyster Stew

2 cups whole milk
2 cups light cream
2 dozen oysters
2 tbsp. butter
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
Celery salt to taste
Heat milk and cream together in kettle; do not boil.
Drain oysters; reserve all juice.
Place oysters in a sauce pan; add 2 tbsp. oyster liquor, butter, and Worcestershire.
Heat oysters until plump and edges begin to curl.
Bring remaining reserved oyster liquor to a boil; stir into cream mixture.
Add oysters; season with salt, pepper, and celery salt.
Serve immediately.

 The chicken noodles and oyster stew are our traditional Christmas Eve meal; I serve a Chardonnay with both, either buttery California style or more acidic Burgundy style. I will often mull a sweeter wine for the kids and non-wine drinkers.

A buttery Napa Chardonnay pairs well with both chicken noodles and oyster stew.

As the holidays wind down, I put away my cookbooks and clean my kitchen, yet again, after incorporating these traditional family recipes from my childhood into my adult celebrations.  I don’t use the term blessed lightly, but I truly do feel blessed when I think back on my close family.  My grandma was an excellent cook, and I like to think that I have gotten a little bit of this from her.  No, I hope I got a lot bit of that from her.  Though my family’s traditions today are quite different from when I was young, I hope my children look back on these years when they are adults and have the same fond feelings I do.  Yes, food will definitely be a part of their memories; however, I am guessing wine will also be a major part of their recollections as well!   

Fear—Or Why I Say, “Bring on the White Zin!

What are the three words that make wine enthusiasts all over the world shudder? 

“White Zinfandel, please.” 

The response to this is only rivaled by the similar phrase, “What is your sweetest wine?” 

Let’s admit it, we have all been there and judged that.  But should we?

Before you tar and feather me…with wine, of course…hear me out.

I have often said that wine drinkers are made not born.  And when it comes to wine, the biggest obstacle to making more wine drinkers is fear.

People fear looking stupid, and wine is an incredibly intimidating subject.  With labels in French, Italian, or Spanish, it is hard to know how to even pronounce some wines on a list.  Then when the expert swirls the glass around, inhales deeply, and names off numerous fruits (and sometimes vegetables, minerals, or animals), most have no clue what all this means, let alone how it is done.  It is daunting.  Really daunting.

In order to make a wine drinker, drinkers have to first find a drink they like.  Honestly, few people are going to begin with a dry, tannic wine.  Most need a “gateway wine” to get their feet in the wine door.  In my very scientific poll of wine drinkers (aka my Facebook friends and followers), many started with “wines” like Boone’s Farm, Annie Green Springs, or Wild Vines (gasp!).  Mogen David, Blue Nun, white zinfandel, moscato, moscato d’ Asti, and fruit-based wines were the most common training bras for the big bosom of the wine world.  Many that started with these wines—like me—now drink dry, tannic, serious wines.  But to get over the trepidation of the unknown world of wine, concessions must be made. 

Wines like white zin, moscato, and Blue Nun should be considered training wheels for wine, the practice sips preparing future wine connoisseurs for other wines.  These wines play an important part in the development of taste and knowledge.  (They also play important roles in the bottom lines of some liquor stores; the sales from these styles often allow for the ordering and sale of other, more expensive wines.) 

Our job is not to belittle others for their choices and attempt to make ourselves feel more prestigious based on the wines we know and drink.  Our job as wine lovers, educators, and sommeliers is to move drinkers to other wines they may like, and then keep exposing them to different wines, expanding palates one person at a time. 

So pour the Beringer White Zin, pour the Barefoot Moscato, pour the Ruinite Lambrusco!  The only word that should make the wine industry shudder is the word “No” when answering the question, “Would you like a glass of wine tonight?”

Wines to move beginning wine drinkers away from the “gateway wines”:

Moscato d’ Asti—a gateway wine itself, but it is less sweet than many other moscatos, and at least consumers see the DOC/G label on the Italian bottle.  Asti Spumantes can also fit in this category.



Riesling…any riesling—German, Oregon, Washington, New York.  My favorite producers of semi-sweet rieslings at great prices are Chateau St. Michelle, Starling Castle, and Polka Dot. 

Gewurztraminer…any gewürztraminer—similar to rieslings in body and style, this aromatic wine is a palate pleaser.  Though harder to find than a riesling, many more producers all over the globe are producing this varietal.



German wines…anything German—look for the words spatlese and auslese on the labels; these terms designate sweeter wines of higher quality.

 



Italian pinot grigio—generally more supple than New World pinot grigios, these are often slightly softer and fruitier than bitterly acidic.

Prosecco—some bubblies like Champagne and Cava may still be too dry and acidic for a beginning palate, but Prosecco is an Italian sparkling that is creamier and less tart than many others.  A great starter sparkling!



 

As Luck Would Have It--Dr. Konstantin Frank

Luck often has nothing to do with planning a successful vacation.  Often times, family trips take months to prepare and a lot of blood, sweat, and tears… maybe even some screaming.  Such was true for the excursion my family and I made to Upstate New York and the Finger Lakes wine region. 

The trip had been planned for over six months.  All family members’ schedules’ had to be synchronized.  Plane tickets were purchased.  A Canadian outing was added to the two-week vacation.  Lodging via a home exchange was carefully orchestrated with another family.  Hours of online searches and reservations were made.  Must-see destinations were researched. Anticipation was building.

Then two weeks before the trip, my dad died, unexpectedly and suddenly, in his sleep.

An entirely different kind of planning began in my family.  Extended family and friends were notified.  Arrangements were made for memorial services. Final resting place decisions were discussed.  His mother—my grandma—had just fallen very ill and was in the hospital in a coma-like state.  My siblings and I were already alternating trips to the out-of-town hospital to make sure someone was with her every day, and then we had to plan her son’s funeral.  And she wasn’t even awake or aware enough to be told what had happened to her only boy.

The details were all dealt with in their own ways in their own time.  Our grief was dealt with the same way.

The days passed and it came time to make another decision:  did we continue with our intended vacation or not?  Because we were doing a home exchange and another family was already planning on coming to stay in our home, the choice was fairly straight forward.  My family packed bags, finalized any post-funeral decisions, and said goodbye to my grandma, praying she would improve and this farewell to her would not be final. 

I cried when I left my grandma at the hospital to catch our flight.

I cried every single day of our twelve day trip.

I changed our flight to come home early when I learned a close friend’s father was facing the same fate as my own dad.

This story is not to make you believe I disliked the Finger Lakes region.  Quite the opposite:  I loved it there!  The many wineries I visited impressed me.  I immersed myself in and drank nothing but local wines.  Shipping home eighteen bottles and joining a wine club ensured that I had Finger Lakes wine to enjoy for the next twelve months.  As I opened and sipped each bottle after returning home, I savored the wine, remembering the roller coaster of that trip.  I had created an emotional connection to the area. When I finished my final bottle of New York wine about six months ago, I thought it would be my last for a very long time.

Finger Lakes wines that made their way to Wyoming with me.



Imagine my delight, then, when I happened to wander into an isolated, small-town Wyoming liquor store and looked at the shelf to see a bottle of 2012 Dr. Konstantin Frank Dry Riesling, not only a Finger Lakes wine, but one of my favorite wineries from our trip, the exact wine club I joined for a year.  It was my lucky day!  I bought two bottles—one to open that night and another one to savor later.

Though the price was only thirteen dollars (retail in Torrington, Wyoming), no dollar amount could be placed on the emotional connection I again felt to the wine region.  As I poured, swirled, and sniffed, the aromas wafted to my nose:  wet rock, green apple, and light floral.  I closed my eyes and smelled again the bittersweet days of that trip. 

2012 Dr. Konstantin Frank Dry Riesling, my lucky find.

As I sipped, the good acid, green apple, and soft floral tastes covered my palate.  The view of the vineyards and stunning Keuka Lake from Dr. Frank’s front windows came to my mind.  The lush green forests surrounding the water and the fresh air enveloped me once again.  I thought back to all I learned about wine on that trip and the knowledge of how important Konstantin was to the American wine industry:  grafting vinifera vines to North American root stock and proving that traditional varietals could be grown in the U.S. 

At Dr. Konstantin Frank's winery, an important part of American wine history.

Beautiful Keuka Lake from Dr. Konstantin Frank.

Finger Lakes beauty.

More of Keuka Lake's beauty.

The long finish made me ponder that life is like that wonderful glass of Dr. Frank Riesling.  Though the harsh pain from difficult times in our lives is as intense as the first sip of that dry Riesling, over time the hurt softens, but it still lingers, just like the finish of this wine.

Yes, I was so lucky to experience a wonderful trip to an important—though lesser known—American wine region. I was lucky to again find the wine that took me back to that vacation and reminded me how affected I was by the experience.  I was lucky to consume a glass of wine that evoked such an emotional response.  Events can be planned and fine tuned and retuned and planned again; however, lucky for us, luck will always have a place in the circumstances of our lives. 

It's Your Lucky Day



Did anyone else feel the luck of the Irish yesterday?  Celebrate a wonderful St. Patrick’s Day with wine?  Or maybe a green beer?  Okay, admit it...some of you celebrated with some whiskey, too! 

I felt quite lucky yesterday as some of the entries for the Monthly Wine Writing Challenge have started to roll in.  This is #mwwc8--luck.  I was feeling a little unlucky as no one had sent in a written piece yet.  However, I should have known that March 17 would be the day people would begin to feel their lucky writing powers!  Please read the entries I have received so far.   

The Wine Raconteur with "Luck be a Lady"

The Indian Paradox with "Wine Pairing With Luck"

The Family Nose with "Luck, Chance, or Fate"

Wine Ramblings with A Tale of Two Harrys

The Sybarite with "Luck"

Renenute13 with "Wish Me Luck as You Serve Me Tokaji"

Joy of Wine with "All the Blessings in the World"

Duff's Wines with "Wanna Get Lucky?"

My Custard Pie with "Luck or Judgement"

Eat With Namie with "Confessions to a Lucky Drop"

Remember, entries are accepted through Sunday.  Hope to see more from you lucky wine writers!

Devotion

Today, my daughter turned twenty. 

I appreciate this irony as I sip on her birth year bottle of Caymus Vineyards Special Selection Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon:  in her eyes, her BIG birthday is still a year away (twenty-one), but in my eyes, her true big birthday is now.  She is no longer a teenager.  When she turned 18, in my mind it was easy to pretend that didn’t make her a real adult.  Going off to college, living in her own apartment, making her own choices…all of these I could rationalize that she was still my little girl.  My cute, dancing four-year-old or my sassy, leopard-print-loving ten-year-old.  I made it through the years of watching my little girl grow and mature in huge leaps and bounds. With getting later curfews, having long-term boyfriends, buying prom dresses, traveling alone, and paying college tuition.  Though each of these ripped a little hole in my heart, she was still a teenager.  I still had that.  But I can’t say that anymore. 

The day I gave birth to Ashlyn, I was actually two years younger than she is on this birthday.  Every single day of adulthood I have known, I have been a parent.  Every single day.  Is this sense of devotion I have to parenthood better than what other parents feel for their children?  Definitely not.  But is it different?  Very much.  I have never had a day without a worry of whether my babies were okay.  The anxiety of being a good parent is so instilled in my brain, I rarely have a thought without my children in the equation.  Parenting is all I know.   Though it is not all I have, it is what I have had the longest.  Longer than my college degree.  Longer than my career.  Longer than my love of wine.  Longer than anything.  Longer, even, than the time I have been married to their father. 

So as I sip my beautiful twenty-year-old wine, do I believe that no longer being a teenager means my daughter doesn’t need me?  In some ways, no, she doesn’t. I look at her and see the young woman she has become. She is a beautiful woman, inside and out.  She is strong, independent, smart, and driven.  I know my devotion to parenthood--often at the expense of other parts of my life--has been well worth it.  I know that one chapter of my parenting is, in fact, ending.  I also know how thankful I am to still have her brother at home.  To still have a child to devote time and energy toward, until he, too, will move closer to adulthood.

With this birthday she has taken yet another step in her growth toward autonomy and life without her mother, father, and family. I’m reminded of the saying, "Give your children roots and wings." As I sit sipping a glass of wine with her dad--a glass she is not yet old enough to legally share with us--I know that she will be expanding her own wings a little bit further. I also know that no matter how old or independent she is, I am always her devoted mother.  I have given her the wings she needs to fly out of adolescence and into true adulthood.  But I also know she has strong roots to bring her home whenever she needs it. 

Not a Box of Chocolates

The deadline was quickly approaching.  I looked at my calendar and hoped I had enough time.  My search probably should have started months ago; however, the limited time period I had given myself had to work.  I started investigating.  I had a vague idea of what I needed to find, but could it be found?  Could this be done in time? 

My fortieth birthday was quickly approaching, and I had still not purchased a birth-year wine to enjoy on my day. 

The mission:  find a 1974 wine of (hopefully) stellar quality to be shipped to my home in Wyoming…in the middle of one of the coldest winters in years.   Yes, I had work to do.

Wine is always a mystery.  From the time a grape begins to grow on the vine, the mystery of the weather, the animals, the harvest, the fermentation, and the aging all create a vast unknown of what a wine will be. Add to this decades in the bottle after the initial production and aging, and it is quite clear what a true gamble getting an excellent bottle of well-aged wine really is. 

Mystery one solved:  I found the wine I was looking for—a 1974 Fontanafredda Riserva Speciale Barolo.  I love the Nebbiolo grape, and I knew that Barolos age with grace…as I like to think I have been doing.  The wine was located. 

Fontanafredda Barolo Riserva Speciale 1974.

The shipping took several days to hash out since the wine was coming from NYC to Wyoming in weather that was not only reaching well below freezing, but even below zero.  My nerves started to twitch the instant I received the shipping notice that my birthday bottle’s journey across the cold U.S. was underway.

Mystery two solved:  the wine arrived unscathed.  The two-day shipping actually ended up being three, but that is another mystery when living in rural America:  when will the package actually arrive?  Upon arrival, the bottle was pristine. 

On the back of the bottle was a special sticker that this wine was purchased from a private collection.  The plot thickened.  Where had my bottle been for forty years?  I could easily trace my own path the past four decades, but what about this vino?  Had it been with just one owner before the specialty wine shop (where I made the purchase) bought the bottle?  Had it been passed from cellar to cellar, only to end up in Wyoming as part of a mile-stone birthday celebration?  Perhaps I will never know.

 

 

Beautiful bottle!

Mystery three solved:  the bottle opened easily.  I left the bottle out at room temperature about half an hour before opening.  I decanted the entire bottle, and the first glass we (hubby and I) had without filtering. 

There was so much beautiful sediment left in the bottle and still some light, tiny sediment particles in that first glass.  I was so nervous about whether the bottle was still alive that I feared filtering it might actually aerate the wine, and I wanted to do anything to make sure the wine still showed well.   After being poured in the glass, the color of beautiful brown, Fig-Newton filling reflected back at me--slightly hazy, but looking good with no visible flaws.  I was on pins and needles to see if my wine gamble had paid off!

Beginning to decant.

Fig Newton filling colored.

 

Slightly hazy, but a wonderful aged, brown tone.

 



Mystery four solved:  the wine was very aromatic (so much so my daughter said she could smell it all the way across our dining room table!). 

The first sniff was of fig and baked plum; then the smoke and campfire aromas came through.  Next was dull earth, then cedar and automotive garage.  The complexity of the wine made me smile.  The mystery was so close to being solved.  Would this wine live up to my expectations?

Aromatic on the nose.

 

Mystery five solved:  the wine drank beautifully!  The first touch of the wine on the tongue was the fig and baked plum from the nose.  This was followed by a punch of acid, making my mouth water.  The earth, green pepper, and herbaceous flavors led into a lengthy finish of baked plum, wood chips, and sawdust. 

 

Drinking wonderfully.

 

We opened the bottle at 8:35 p.m. and finished the first glass after 9:00.  I did filter and funnel the second glass since I was no longer worried about the flavor dissipating.  The second glass was just as good; in fact, my hubby liked it better at true room temperature.  We finished the second glass each (and bottle) two hours after the initial opening.  The wine still had so much life.  The fruit flavors were somewhat muted, but the acid, earth, herbs, and wood were shining through.   

My mission was accomplished:  even though I almost sabotaged my assignment, the mystery of the birth-year wine was solved. 

Like life, wine is such a mystery.  (I would say that life is like a bottle of wine, NOT like a box of chocolates.)  We never know what is coming in our future, just as wine producers do not exactly know what the future of their wines may be.  Even the best and most experienced winemakers must deal with the unknown of the weather, the birds, and the aging process.  Two bottles of wine stored right next to each other over the course of forty years may age differently. 

Twenty years ago I had no clue what I would be doing when I turned forty…except maybe feeling old.  Life will throw us all curve balls and take us down paths we could never have imagined.  We will face life, death, and the unknown.  But at the end of that path, we are like that mysterious bottle of wine--better for our aging, with so much left to show, not quite knowing what tomorrow--or the next day--will bring. So…bring.  It.  On!