Dark purple-ruby with purple edges. Smells like vodka and Welches. Overt match-head over bread dough–no, corn tortillas–and lettuce left in the crisper too long. And over all the burn of alcohol. It has a certain stemminess, but a moldy stem. Fattens up with air, and adds a petrol note.
I’ve been meaning to try this wine for so long. But the label. Every time I pick it up or someone tells me about it, the label insults me and I storm out of the Hipsterdome. The nose is not improving with air. All kinds of awkward, off nuances flowing off it. Miserably oxidized. It seems to be stuck in a very contorted arena of profiles–and I can’t help but think: contrived. It can’t decide if it is dessert or the entrée. And then you taste it.
Sweet and round with a wide mid-section and gentle, perfectly orchestrated tannin descending from the top, growing substantial. It honestly tastes a lot better than it smells but the whole thing seems formulaic. This wine is packaged for and marketed toward the lowest of the low-hanging-fruit and yet is not cheap. I can’t quite decide who buys it. People with money and no palate, hung up on the wine-country-lifestyle but wanting something a little edgier than Tobin James or Belle Glos and not willing to do any experimenting. This is the gateway drug to Herman Story, Sans Liege and Orin Swift. Just lie back and think of England. Let the wine oppress you.
2009 SEXUAL CHOCOLATE Red Wine Central Coast California 13.9