Six months too late to call it spring cleaning, I found three bottles of this hidden in the bedroom closet last weekend. Oops. Talk about suboptimal cellaring conditions: nearly 80 degrees in there all summer long. I decanted it, set the decanter in an ice bath to cool it off a bit, and waited an hour before drinking: I hope that mitigated any damage I did as best I could.
There's a visual texture to the wine that's unusual: there's a blackly rich core of fruit in the glass, thinning out to a less intimidating rim at the edge of the glass. Better yet, there's a suggestion of particulate matter, with bits stuck to the sides of the glass; presumably, more of the same in the wine itself lends it all an impression of body and richness. I have no idea why, but the older I get, the happier I am when my wines have a certain look of, well, relation to the world of the natural. I don't like wines filtered to a glossy smoothness; I want to be reminded that they were grown in dirt and raised in wood.
At first, the nose is off-putting, smelling sweet, strangely sweet, the sweetness of blackcurrant jam. It's only temporary, though: wait half an hour at least and its true nature will out. There seems to be an overall level of Brett here that teeters between "ugh, no thanks" and "OK, I can deal with this"; harsh patent medicines duel with roasted smoky notes, and no one comes out on top. Ultimately, the off notes mostly win out, which is a disappointment in the extreme; the quick flashes of roast coffee and bacon fat are there all too briefly before being one-upped by slightly metallic aromas of the medicine cabinet.
Still, there's enough interest here to make me want to finish (just) a (single) glass before tossing the rest of the bottle and waiting another year or two to try one of the six bottles remaining. The texture is beautiful, a rich, solid mass that glides forward on lovely, smooth tannins into a long, silky finish that most wines would kill for. Ultimately, though, the strange qualities of the wine carry the day, and you're left wondering what happened - I remember this wine being profoundly beautiful five years ago, but I'm just not feeling the love right now. Sadly, the warm cellaring spot probably didn't help matters. Oh well.
There's a visual texture to the wine that's unusual: there's a blackly rich core of fruit in the glass, thinning out to a less intimidating rim at the edge of the glass. Better yet, there's a suggestion of particulate matter, with bits stuck to the sides of the glass; presumably, more of the same in the wine itself lends it all an impression of body and richness. I have no idea why, but the older I get, the happier I am when my wines have a certain look of, well, relation to the world of the natural. I don't like wines filtered to a glossy smoothness; I want to be reminded that they were grown in dirt and raised in wood.
At first, the nose is off-putting, smelling sweet, strangely sweet, the sweetness of blackcurrant jam. It's only temporary, though: wait half an hour at least and its true nature will out. There seems to be an overall level of Brett here that teeters between "ugh, no thanks" and "OK, I can deal with this"; harsh patent medicines duel with roasted smoky notes, and no one comes out on top. Ultimately, the off notes mostly win out, which is a disappointment in the extreme; the quick flashes of roast coffee and bacon fat are there all too briefly before being one-upped by slightly metallic aromas of the medicine cabinet.
Still, there's enough interest here to make me want to finish (just) a (single) glass before tossing the rest of the bottle and waiting another year or two to try one of the six bottles remaining. The texture is beautiful, a rich, solid mass that glides forward on lovely, smooth tannins into a long, silky finish that most wines would kill for. Ultimately, though, the strange qualities of the wine carry the day, and you're left wondering what happened - I remember this wine being profoundly beautiful five years ago, but I'm just not feeling the love right now. Sadly, the warm cellaring spot probably didn't help matters. Oh well.
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