This wasn’t a one-time, in-one-sitting tasting. This turned out to be a three-day adventure for him and a nearly identical adventure for me. And most of it’s ’cause we don’t know everything we should know about Mourvèdre. But we do know just enough to be dangerous.
The next night I had a roasted turkey thigh and poured a glass of the same wine – with some trepidation, I might add. After all, could a wine that caressed the barbecue sauce so beautifully the night before possibly be any good with plain ‘ol turkey?