Smoky Mountrain Wine Fridge
Moments. That is what we get in the wine industry. That is what you get as a consumer. Wine gives us moments. Sure it takes more time than that to finish a great bottle of wine but there are small bursts of energy that slightly overwhelm the senses when a wine hits you in all the right places.
When a wine is memorable what sparks those memories? The spice, the smooth silky tannins, the round earthy fruit, the grip of minerality, the waft of melon fruit. When I am drinking an amazing wine and having a conversation with someone I cant help sometimes in mid sentence to curse and praise the wonderful phenomenon mindlessly swirling in my glass interacting with the air and changing as we speak. I feel the need sometimes to burst out with new descriptors as the wine evolves because it overwhelms me. These are the moments that make wine worth it. This is what men and women have pored over across time. Continue reading »
What makes a wine tickle the toes? The usual suspects will probably pop up such as balance and finesse. Words like depth and integration take the stage at some point. For me its how all these elements come into play on the palate. The nose is very important with its ability to connect to the olfactory highway but the weight and texture of the palate interacting with the nose job is what really gives me the tickles.
For me it’s that moment when wine washes over your palate and all the receptors of your senses are in harmonial bliss (did I just make up harmonial or is that a real scrabble approved word?). The alcohol is just right and not all up in your grill burning everything in its path. The fruit is present and mingling with others at the party such as tannin and acidity but not letting them take over the conversation. Everything is pretty much seamless. These cohesive melodies comfortably strung together are the makings of poetic wine quotes across time and the reasons wine writers are compelled to wax on and off about a particular bottle. Now That’s interaction, man. Continue reading »
So again this week has taken its toll and I have not been able to finish my post about Linden Vineyards. I am almost there but won’t be able to have it up for another day or so.
So in the meantime you can follow on my stream-of-conscious blog. You may have heard of it. It’s this thing called Twitter. Anyone? No? Joking. I am full on addicted like crack to this new little application and use it so frequently that when it shuts down I don’t know what to do. Except maybe taste more wine. Here is the link to follow me and hopefully I will see you on the flip side as well as this side. Until we tweet again. Cheers
Smoky Mountain Spring. The First Wine Fridge
Virginia has been making wine since the 1600s. Yes the 1600s. It all started in Jamestown when the settlers were actually required at one point to plant vines to help viticulture thrive giving the British an offshore wine market.
So why isn’t the Commonwealth a big name on the national wine map? Well, a couple of things got in their way. First was Phylloxera. That nasty little mite that just loves to munch on vitis vinifera roots. As the settlers tried to no avail to make decent wine with the scourge at their doorstep the population began to lose interest. Tobacco was thriving and focus turned toward this as a cash crop. Beer and whiskey became popular because it was easier to make and wine was shown to the way to the back burner.
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As the sun was threatening to sink below the horizon we entered Gettysburg Maryland. The Chevy Cobalt was packed with all kinds of cool camping stuff that we thought were essential for the journey. We kind of over did it because…well, we had a car. This wasn’t some Appalachian Trail hiking survival adventure. But we were going to “rough” it a couple of times so we wanted to be prepared.
The iPhone GPS showed us the way to our first campsite and as we crept through the little colonial downtown I realized we had not yet bought wine for the evening. We were having so much fun cruising down the highways and rocking out to Eclectic Six that I lost sight of one of the day’s most important goals. My wife began to furiously reload the GPS for a general search for wine shops in the area. We had to get wine, stop and grab a couple more supplies and get to the campsite, set up and start cooking all before the sun went down. Prep for my slightly ambitious meal idea just wouldn’t be fun in the dark, or at least not the first time out. Our second night camping was when the art of cooking in complete dark wilderness came to full realization.
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