What that means is that the past few weeks have seen me immersed neck-deep in California wine. Figuratively speaking, of course.
I was thinking – a dangerous thing for sure – and pondering the now storied results of the Judgment of Paris and the thirty-year anniversary rematch.
There was much spitting and dumping which broke my heart. Okay, so I did more dumping since I’m still uncertain about spitting in public. The dribble issue, you see.
I’ve spent some time reading the varying opinions of winemakers, wine growers, bloggers, columnists, ad nauseum, and finally decided to jump into the fray myself.
Karma’s a bitch. But she’s only a bitch if you give her reason to be. I think Karma’s going to have a great time with these three clowns.
I won’t name any names, but I recently spoke with a Master Sommelier whose lip actually curled (!!!) when talking about Paso Robles Cabs. Was that a sneer or what?!?
You would have seen the devolution of a quasi-professional tasting into little more than a greedy drink-fest.
As I used to tell my friends about my working as a barback, it was the hardest work I ever did for minimum wage in my life.
While the visit to Caesar’s was pretty horrific – in fact, I haven’t returned – the one jewel was the glass of Calera Pinot Noir which was presented to me to make up for all of the Wine Fubars they had committed.
While whether I’m actually nuts or not may be a topic of endless debate…
One month later, I finally decided to taste it. Had to let it *age,* you know.
Do you think I’m going to say bad things about a well-made example of my favorite varietal? I think not.