Funky drrrrty tired lil bish, kindof a bretty little mess–not a speck of fruit left in it. All fig and kalamata and koala-piss running rocky-road dropped on hot pavement. The Spectre of Death hangs heavy in the mouth, but doing a Revenge of the Nerds electric violin solo of green nuclear bitterness over freezing wind-swept North Coast iceplant. Get back in the Cozy-Coupe, girlfriend, and take this 12-1 charmer somewhere warmer.
2008 WIND GAP Syrah Sonoma Coast 12.1