Dense medium ruby with wide pink edges. Intense smoky–it’s not an oak-smoky, it’s green-brush-burning-smoky, wrapped around deep sugar, carmelized molasses, root beer and starlight mint, rug-burn and Charleston Chew, a concentrated deep dark stew of sultry components jacked up on the nectar of life and straight sex.
This is a pretty good-sized house I honestly haven’t visited in quite some years. I feel like it is still family-owned? I should point out here when I say “A good-sized house I haven’t visited” I don’t mean an actual big house people live in nor do I intend to visit. Back when I had 22 followers, everybody knew what I meant by such statements, but now that there are so many more complete strangers, you need to understand when I say “house” I mean domaine and when I say ‘visit’ I mean merely tasting the product. Kinda like when I say “label” I do not mean a piece of paper, I mean ‘brand’; and when I say “line” I mean an imprint series of wines inside a label. You’ll get it. Now OCCASIONALLY, I will say, “What an awesome label!” and although this statement will be very VERY rare, it usually means someone has designed an actual piece of paper to paste on a bottle which is really cool. It’s all about context. You’ll get it. Just stick around.
Late-breathing, this thing gets denser and sultrier. A sharp spice punctuates the stewwed fruit and a bit of alcohol. This thing is rich and concentrated and Syrah-ey and I am guessing well into the 14’s. Let’s say 14-6. Shall we taste it?
In the mouth, thinner and more acidic than I expected. All that syrupy-fruit you expected is–gladly–missing and in its place a robust tincture of thin fruit and bright lemon, turning a bit bitter mid in classic Burg fashion before rich fruit finally swells into the tannic finish, where everything settles down peacefully. It is a classic recipe in the mouth, preceded by some serious American OOO-RAH in the nose. I am going to scale back my alcohol guess to the hi-13’s after tasting it. 13-9. Wonderful classic stuff going on in the mouth, but after lush velvet heroin in the nose.
There’s basically 4 types of Pinot in the world. a) Pinot you can stand a fork up in: stewed Syrah bullshit messes. I try to drink as few of those as possible, but I WILL drink them. Often in restaurants, and I just ignore the fact they are called “Pinot”. I order them to please the crowd and pretend they are Syrah. b) Thin vapid bullshit messes, smelling of Pepto-Bismo and Vitamin C. Note these first two are exclusively Californian. Just different price-points. The former is $60 and latter is $30. c) Pinots which shape-shift and compel, never exposing their full hand, color doesn’t match concentration, nose doesn’t match taste, all kinds of intelligent things going on you keep coming back to again and again as the wine changes constantly from funky chords to blazing fruit, spice and soda, musk and mint, depth all over the place, THAT is this wine. d) Pinots which drive a straight-arrow train through town A to Z, you know exactly what you are getting from the first sniff to the last drop–even though nothing is simple–THIS is last night’s wine, straight up.
This pretty much brings all the best of California concentration in to the pot with Burgundian funk and briar and I like it. It is the best of both worlds.
2010 BOUCHAINE Pinot Noir Carneros Sonoma Co. 13.8