One co-worker dealing with something, then me, then another, then me walking into the kitchen with water spraying everywhere. We just roll with it. Pour ourselves some wine and make do with what’s ado. In office at “my” desk, not at that foldable one. Tasted a bit downstairs, the Zin seeming to show with more show and sexiness than any of the other offerings. Even that Santa Rita Hills Pinot doesn’t recite with the romantic revolution that my Dry Creek beauty does— She tells her own story, a story that can only be hers, HER way. She smiles and walks and blows kisses at me from the glass before even putting it to a writer’s lips. She tilts, she tells, she relaxes and instructs. I just witness and listen and know I’m a different wine writer these past few days, since that sitting in the hotel lobby at Sonoma Mission Inn a couple mornings ago, and especially this morning pouring myself a three ounce oration and listening to everything she says— each blackberry verse, each lavender pull, each stand and sit and sprint of her enigma.
Not sure how much time I have in this “lunch”, and don’t care. Just listen to the wines, what they, the she’s, tell you to do. Sip more, write more, tell more, recite more in the language of wine’s angularity— Have all my wines for tonight, ready, cued, ready to pour. Have to leave in just under three hours. More than eager to recite as I do, see how that Chalk Hill blend is tasting, and that Chardonnay. Tasted a couple wines at Lancaster while there. That ’14 Nicole’s showing with more vibrance and sky, climate and focus than most of the past vintages. I was surprised, and a bit saddened that my previous favorite, the ’10, has been shoved off stage.
So… next wine of focus. Why not open something off-book, not-expected, some surprise for people when they walk in? Why not? Wine should never be overthought and, I mean, definitely not over-planned. Thought I heard a door slam out on the crush pad— Why don’t we give more tours there, show people the dormancy, the spooky feel of the tanks and all the weird sounds they make, all the ambient echo and tangible haunt of where they visit? Maybe I should start. Wine is so much more than wine, I’ve been thinking the whole day, especially when in that copy room or mailroom at CHE.
Pinot Noir calls me. Not sure why. All the Pinots we have here. Wanted to open them all the other day and didn’t. Well, after “lunch”, I will. Why not? Why not tell a story different, why not surprise people? Wine is Newness and randomness, and doing things just because you in that moment, in that minuscule umbrage of time, you CAN. So, I will.
Notes from just about a half-hour ago…. “Perfect rained asphalt touches […] cold redwood tree exterior […] Washington weather […] industrial structure and lotsa fruit”. Just me having fun, and putting self in the head of some of the people that come into the TR. Seriously…. How could someone not have fun in there, working there? You don’t like people? Guess what, NEITHER DO I. But I make it mine, I own it as I want to own it and operate it as I see ought.
Break over. More wine. More notes.