I was done. There was nothing left. I cried uncle. Generous servings along with delicious wines had done me in.
The first two bottles were great, don't get me wrong. This one (time to rest? bottle variation? planet alignment? full moon? sun spots?) was absolutely outstanding, and I stretched that bottle out over two nights. It lost almost nothing the second evening.
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?