I smell Wet fir tree violet. Mineral brick old London alley on wood pushcart.
Beef. London broil.
I see. Aubergine with light brick and clear rim.
I see another 15 in her future.
Spice. Long mouthwatering finish. Tannins go on forever. White pepper. Mineral.
2 crushed velvet seats facing each other. A dark wood table with an aged cotton lattice tablecloth.
Marie Antoinette. Harpsichord. She’s eyeing you randily. A sound rodgering if you play the chords right.
Dried currant, clove, prune.
This wine’s at middle age. . Cerebral. S’got a young British girlfriend now, buxom and smart with dark thinly rimmed glasses. Looking at her for a second, you drift off in thought.
The table hosts some resting duck with cherries. The wine has earth, dried cherry, dried raspberry right between. So, so layered.
Bbc1’s on. She tells a joke dripping with dry wit. The wine agrees.
She’s full in a sweater. Powerful.
You walk into the bathroom. There’s a claw foot tub. Throwback of ’93. Feels like steeping into the 60’s. 61 to be exact. The wine tells you it’s past. So expressive, it oozes 1855. I want this wine.
The love of your life. Separated. You long for each other. The talks on the phone. “I love you” see you soon” this wine makes my eyes well up.
Heathrow. Feeling of anticipation, spinning in each other.
This is it. This is the one. Breakfast at tiffany’s. She replies breathlessly.
My heart swells.
I give it a shared 97+. With her sitting at the table drinking in the wine.
60% Cab. 40% Merlot
Cos D’Estournel. 1993.