The one-way street

I recall having a conversation once, a while back, with Michael about the pleasures of fine wine, as we were in a taxi on our way to Logan airport. He always has a ready smile and is quick to laughter, but that day was a little different; he said little, and it fell to me to keep up the banter. Yet when I mentioned that I'd had a good bottle of wine recently, his eyes perked up and his mood lightened. We have pretty similar tastes in wine, and soon we were exchanging recommendations and telling stories of all the great bottles in our past, and the ones that got away. Michael had come to fine wine later in life than I had, and like any other convert could no longer go back to the commercial swill that passes for wine these days.

I have been spoilt beyond my wildest imaginations in that between drinking and eating with Michael, RK and a few others, I have been fortunate enough to be inducted into the world of delicious but oh-so-expensive wines. I have been ruined for table wine, ruined for the mass-bottled stuff with gaudy labels and dubious origins. I try my best not to be snobby about it, but once you have had your palate challenged by the structure and intensity of a first growth Bordeaux, or by the depth and complexity of a Brunello di Montalcino, then it is pretty fucking hard to go back to drinking Trader Joe's wine, or Charles Shaw. As Michael put it so eloquently, fine wine is a one-way street.

The other night RK led a couple of us on one of the most decadent adventures I have ever been on. Apart from having apertivi at I Ricchi (well executed, but not spectacular), followed by dinner at Marcel's (mind-blowingly good and deserving of its own blog post, which is soon to follow) - we had six bottles of what we can only modestly refer to as "the good stuff".

Fuligni, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
RK brought this wine to I Ricchi for a "'taste-test" - he wanted my opinion on it as he was considering serving it at a dinner we were going to host later this year. It opened weakly, I thought, without the traditionally arresting nose that I have come to expect of the Brunello grape. It went on to fill out a little but never developed into a big, strong wine. Sweet fruits - apricots and dates, very jammy, very little tannins or acid to speak of. RK and I agreed, this wine was, well, drinkable.

(*Easily the most backhanded compliment one can make about any wine.)

(**How spoilt are we, that we label a Brunello merely "drinkable".)

Sassicaia, Tenuta San Guido, Bolgheri, Italy 2004
After that disappointment we were determined not to repeat our mistake, and chose as a followup one of the best wines I have ever had the fortune to drink. Along with Ornellaia, this wine occupies the highest echelons of the Super Tuscans, and can be considered Italian wine nobility. It was a deep ruby red and had an intoxicating bouquet of forest flowers along with a little smoke. It drank smoothly upon opening, but after being given 15 minutes really began to open up, and presented flavours of lavender, violet, and a little chocolate. It had a buttery mouth feel, very mineral and almost chalky - and was very fresh, lively and danced around your tongue. We had this with first a mushroom appetiser and then some bizteca, and in accompaniment with the food it kept morphing into something different with each taste. Every sip was an adventure in itself - and all conversation fell away as we rolled the wine around our tongues, each time searching for an added dimension, searching for another facet of this wonderful wine. It never disappointed. RK put it best when he leaned back in his seat and said simply, "Luxuriating."

Valdicava, Madonna del Piano, Brunello di Montalcino, Italy, 2001
At this time Brody joined us, and not wanting him to miss out, we ordered another bottle of the Sassicaia, meanwhile pondering what could we possibly move on to that would not represent a step down. Onward and upward indeed. We settled on this Brunello - it had a pretty label, very simple and sleek. Once I smelt it I knew I had fallen. This was the kind of Brunello that made me such a fool for the grape - dark, rich, velvety, complex. Perfect balance of tannins and acid, flavours of crushed berries with a deep earthy musk. The oak was strong but not dominant, and the finish lingered tantalizingly, long after the last sip was gone. Excellent, excellent wine, and while choosing between this and the Sassicaia made for some interesting debate, I say we were being silly, and should have just thanked our lucky stars to be able to drink two such fine wines.

Chateau Lafite Rothschild, Pauillac, Bordeaux, France, 1996
We then moved the party to Marcel's, where Ty met us for dinner. In the taxi ride over RK was already plotting, hatching plans and considering options for our next bottle. When you have reached perfection, where do you go? What would we drink next? The answer must have jumped out at him, for he made his decision within seconds of browsing the winelist. And what a selection it was.

The '96 has been acclaimed as the best wine that Lafite Rothschild has produced in recent years, and received a 100 point score from Robert Parker. As much as it was possible, my first sip and swallow made me completely and utterly forget the wines we had had earlier. The intensity almost knocked me out. Who knew wine could be this big, this powerful, and at the same time this complex, this delicate? The 96 Lafite was still in its infancy, and one could sense that it would develop into a beautiful, beautiful wine in 20 or 30 years time. But our time was now, and I did not complain.


Beautiful legs, strong terroir in the nose. Licorice, cream, cassis and a touch of mint. It was like drinking a decadent dessert, but with earth and minerals and acid and tannins and all the other flavours that make red wine so good. Huge, huge wine.

Hermitage, "La Sizeranne", M. Chapoutier, France, 1947
There was only one thing that could complement youth and technical precision, and that was age and grace. The present day M. Chapoutier has gotten on the capitalist gravy train and now makes a wide variety of wines, and has even expanded beyond French soil. The Mondavi of France, if you will. Still "La Sizeranne" remains one of their prestige labels, and while it is no first growth today - a bottle of the 1947 vintage promised much, especially after the Lafite.

As the maitre d' tenderly presented the bottle, we could see the label slowly peeling off. This was a wine that was made as the world reverberated and rebuilt itself after the dropping of the atom bomb and Hitler's surrender. The Marshall Plan was established, offering American aid to devastated European nations and presaging the United States' ascent to global superpower status. While all this was happening, somewhere in the Rhone Valley a master craftsman made this wine - without the technological advances we now take for granted, with minimal science and even less capital at his disposal.

It was astounding. Clearly the wine could have kept for another 10 or 15 years. It had lost much of its colour but still presented strongly, with a heavy taste of cedar and pencil shavings. As it continued to breathe, it became stronger and stronger, accompanying our meats perfectly while being absolutely enjoyable in its own right. It was truly, and pardon the cheesiness, a wine for the ages.


As we polished the bottle off we each marveled at the sediment that was left in this bottle - this bottle that was older than any of us at the table. Older, even, than Brody and myself put together. It was sobering to think that it was conceivable that Winston Churchill, one of my heroes, might have had this same bottle of wine. Entirely possible. That was enough to put a wistful smile on my face.

To say that it was quite a memorable night would probably not do it justice. It is not every night - and a school night, even - that one gets to try a bottle of wine that retails for more than a thousand dollars, and a bottle of wine that is from the World War 2 era. Oh, and let's not forget the others we had before that. As I walked home I despaired, for I knew I was going further and further down that one-way street Michael had talked about.