Otago Pinot Noir, thou spinning janus-head jelly-thou! One moment you play at La France and the earthy/mossy/leaf-mould grandeur thereof, then the next you are the tackiest girl buying the tackiest hair clip at the combination Claire's/Journeys/Gadzooks that floats above some nightmare Mall of America with tentacles made of awkard puberty trailing wetly down to the parking lots below. Whence the sourpatch/Mr. Sketch cherry flavoring? Whence the green pepper!? This wine, in stark contrast to the lovely Loveblock Sauvignon Blanc, tastes unfinished, tastes like a Pinot Noir made by a very talented backyard vineyard home winemaker from Northen England. These grapes, were they kidnapped and kept in a dark basement all summer? I exaggerate, there is fruit, but the poor red stuff has been snuck up behind and had a sack thrown over its head by a big, acidic, bully of a green pepper.
I expect more from the country that gave us Flight of the Conchords and Black Sheep.
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