The wine is thin, the wine is light. The wine is the color of old cranberry juice. The wine has a sour edge and spritzyness that verges on cooked/refermented/Gino's homemade-type wine. The nose is perfumed, strange: magic markers, rose butter, overcooked strawberries. This wine should go on thin, dry, crispy rye pancakes. There is a whiff of blood, which is to say, iron, there is a ferrous whiff, a floral whiff, a succession of interlocking whiffs, a daisy chain, where some of the links are sharpies and some are bloody steel. The palate is opaque but thin, brittle (thanks mr. finger), and short-lived. The vague, almost imaginary spritzyness adds to the sense of acidity, overdoes it, feels like pop rocks on the sides of the tongue.
I am determined that there is something I am missing. I will have another glass and then continue.
No comments:
Post a Comment