Dancing about architecture. Writing about wine

As an avid listener of BBC Radio 4's Thinking Allowed, I was reminded on this weeks podcast of an enigmatic aphorism.

"Talking about music is like dancing about architecture."

Surely all I do on this blog is totally analogous to the aforementioned architectural boogie. Why do we do it? Why do we read it? Does it have any merit to write about wine? To commit hundreds of words to paper or screen only to edit our soul down for consumption, the secondary consumption (for reading about wine can in no way be a substitute for for drinking it) of a listless group of netizens killing time waiting for the UPS guy to deliver their latest fix of whatever takes their fancy.

At it's worst any kind of critical writing is breathing in second hand tobacco smoke. At a slightly higher grade it can be filled with jargon, in jokes and references designed to impress a credulous audience. Only at it's finest can wine writing fool the reader into the almost impossible. Assimilating the thoughts of the writer as if they were their own.

The basis of communicating about our chosen subject can come from a variety places. Other fields of human endeavour have a number of stimuli. I can only accurately talk about myself. Hopefully I'll find that I'm not totally full of shit.

1) Have some self respect
Nobody likes to get caught out by as lack of knowledge in their chosen field. Even an honest "I don't know" can leave oneself feeling rather crestfallen. An uncomfortable silence is mortifying. Setting yourself up as a blogger on any subject will, in the successful candidate, engender a a burning quest for knowledge and self development that drives the writer forward. This will not only help in avoiding nasty mishaps of the "I'm sorry I haven't a clue" variety, but also in the long run help develop the writers ability to entertain as much as inform. Am I boring you? I hope not. I'd hate that. Anyone who sets themselves up to criticise must hold themselves to the most rigourous standards, if not in the ultimate level of knowledge one has at any time, but in the desire to broaden and deepen their overall skill set as quickly and effectively as possible. It's a matter of self respect.

2) Whack passivity
With cricket bat. Just consuming is a de-humanising experience. I think it necessary to draw the line between things we consume from necessity and things we consume for love. I've no doubt that somewhere on the Internet there's a blog dedicated to white sliced bread or toilet tissue, but the people who write those are nuts. No, to fully engage intellectually with an interest you must not only consume, but also engage. This might be producing in, working for, trading in or educating about your chosen subject. Even if this merely means keeping a diary of the different hair care products we've tried or writing a letter of complaint about a shoddily produced yoghurt, it's the kind of activity that raises us above the level of consumer statistic. Engage the gray matter even if, like yours truly, you don't have a particularly large amount to  power up.

3) Drip, drip, drip.
While trickle down economics might be a broadly discredited theory in the modern world, trickle down knowledge might have a little more substance to it. All the bloggers, all the readers, all the critics in the world are slowly, surely and deliberately increasing the mass of knowledge, opinion and curiosity in the world. Wine is a great example. There may be a preponderance of three line descriptions on Cellar Tracker and Vivino may condense wine to far beyond the point where descriptions have meaning, but everything improves engagement. My hope is that eventually this will lead to better wine from everywhere, for everyone. Idealistic, I know, but I'm certain it won't happen without criticism and development of consumer knowledge.

Anyway, rant over. Apart from anything else I enjoy it. There's something addicting about writing that I've never experienced (aside from nicotine). So that's good enough for me. You'll have to excuse me, I'm going for a boogie. Norman Foster's just come on the wireless.

Casual Sex(ism)

"El Sentido De La Vida: Girly WIne from Spain. The real anti-wrinkle therapy."

I shit you not. That is the real text from the real label of this all too real wine. The shelf talker told me it was a Petit Verdot, Tempranillo and Cab. Sav. blend. So I just had to see what was inside the bottle.

 A brief search on the old Googles led me to the website of Viña Cerrón. Castilla la Manch? Jumilla? Both words instantly summon up the new wave of Spanish Wine making that quite frankly couldn't be any more up my street if it tried.

Pouring it out lead to even more of a sense of anticipation. The colour is deep, dense purple. Very little gradiation from core to rim. The kind of wine that convinces you it's going to steal your lunch money at break time. Heavy enough to stain the the sides of the glass with very broad legs.

Muted on the nose, this none the less had some nice, regal Petit Verdot character of dense bramble fruit and berry jam. Quickly, however, the punch of the oak treatment takes over your nostrils. Wood, tobacco and a sweetness suggesting at least some American or sawn oak barrels. This theme lasts throughout the wine.

Broad and swarthy in the mouth this wine hits you with a one two of instant berry attack and a woody mid-palate. It's a grippy wine. Not as smooth as I'd hoped.

Length wise, this disappoints. All you're left with after a few moments are slightly furry teeth and a feeling that the abyss has just stared back into you. After some time in the glass it even loses it's initial attack. Inside and outside the bottle this wine is charmless.

If you really want an effective anti wrinkle therapy I recommend avoiding this wine. It made me screw my face up.

They say it's your birthday...

If you watch the videos then you know I'm a fan of Moulis-en-Medoc. If you get a line on a good supply it can be great value for money. The problem that presents itself to Bordeaux fans in Japan is very simple. Moulis generally isn't expensive or prestigious enough to warrant good shipping or good storage. Reefers? Forget it
Pssst. I think I've stumbled on a stash... In Yamaya...

This is a '94 La Closerie du Grand Poujeaux from the North east end of Moulis. Still a little purple at the core, but smoothing out to a convincing brick garnet at the rim. The initial look of this wine suggested that it might be great condition. The first pouring  greeted me with a very nice nose indeed. Plenty of those trademark Bordeaux savoury tones of leather and tobacco, plus a surprising amount of cassis to accompany it. This nose, I'm sorry to say, isn't really standing up to the rigours of being open after 20 years beneath (a surprisingly well preserved) cork.
In the mouth this is textbook Bordeaux. An initial attack of dark fruit, drying to earth and leather. It's a little austere, but has enough stuffing to be at least enjoyable. What we're really here for is the aged Merlot. Plump and supple, this is a very nice roast dinner wine. You'd better finish the bottle quite quickly though. Oxygen is dulling the flavours by the moment.
You might wonder why I'm writing a Wine Mothership post about this wine. Where's the utility to 20 year old Moulis?
Your answer is in the question. There will be a good few people turning 20 this year (the legal age to drink in Japan) who would be seriously impressed to receive a birth year wine like this. Soft and easy to drink. Classy bottle, goes well with a celebration. Just don't tell them how cheap it was. Or that you bought it at your local Yamaya.
And leave one for me.