2 New Wine Treasures

Little Vineyards.  Went there once, like a fool, when it was closed.  Decided to visit again, on a day I was sure they were open.  Thursday.  Did a full tasting inside, with Linda.  Each pour rattled me.  The non-vintaged Band Blend, the ’08 Syrah, ’08 Petite Sirah.  My favorite: 2008 Center Stage.  Like the formidable reds at this Little spot, tucked away scenically, serenely, to the side and behind B.R. Cohn.  Linda told me that the bar at which I was tasting came from an old bar in downtown Glen Ellen, where Jack London himself, one of my favorite novelists of ever time, used to sit, scribble, sip and smoke.  In fact, it’s rumored that the burn marks on this counter’s surface owe genesis to Mr. London himself.  

The collective profile of these reds: deep, pronounced, haunting.  Lingering.  They pushed more than a lasting impression in my mental recorder, my notebook when I returned home from my newest of winery discoveries.  Mr. London still with, as well, telling me to soon go back, buy a bottle of the Band Blend, 2008’s Center Stage.

Robert Craig.  Had wanted to taste a bottle from this winery for years.  And the other night, thanks to my longtime wine comrade, Mr. Adam Glatt.  Enjoyed a bottle of the 2008 Affinity, which is mostly Cabernet Sauvignon.  Boastful notes of blackberry, herbs, slight tobacco or cigar box, chocolate, carrying me to an animated finish.  As I understand it, this bottle, Affinity, is RC’s flagship.  Not difficult to decipher the reasoning.  This wine is provocative, textured, ravishingly redolent, and this wine writer’s terrifically assured the others at Craig’s Napa tasting salon continue such.  Looking for my phone, as I eyelessly type.  Need to give Mr. Glatt a ring.  Want some more seductive Cabernet serums on palate, brain.  I understand they have a Zin, Chardonnay, and a Cab/Cab Franc cuvee.  Another adventure, on books.  In journal.  To locate, capture, more treasure.

[5/27/11, Friday]

vinoLit, 5-24-11

Allergies aside, Wine’s side continues to deliver a memorable ride.  Finally get to taste a Robert Craig wine.  The music, paired well this podcast.  As wine is poetic, I realized while taping, it should be expected that the verse flying through the speakers would co-mingle magically.

Still reflecting on the team with which I’m so propitious to work.  Already lived the through the opposite.  And although I hated it at the time, I’m now feeling indebted, as it made me all the more appreciative.  Still sipping for what I’ve developed an instant Affinity, reflecting on my Now.  Sip, sip ...

Profiled Wine Scribe

As the night’s stance slouches, I swim in certain circles.  Those whirled in wild wine.  Napa, Sonoma?  What does it matter?  It’s like a game that never ages in appeal.  The wine, twirls the stage in unexpected ways.  Still waiting for this cursed podcast to upload.  Why am I doing this to mySelf?  This isn’t wine, certainly not writing, Literary.  This waiting for digital.  Virginia Woolf never had to shiver through this nonsense.  Capote.  This sitting, teaching me.  Robert Craig’s Cab, too.  More past authors.

10:27p.  How is that possible?  Wine may like time, as it brings grapes closer to barrel, bottle.  Not me, the writer.  When this blog sinks, the author finally flies in lines, imagist ties.  Battling between two impetuses.  Wine, writing.  Writing about wine.  Confined.

[5/25/11, Wednesday]

The OenoPhilologist’s Gist

It embodies tranquility, poetry, true Equilibrium.  Up early 2morrow morning.  Lovely.  Back2Napa, to exist in the wine’s true quarter.  Is that a dart at Sonoma’s side?  Of course not.  I’m typing on Sonoma’s mountain lean.  Thinking about the tasting Room.  Won’t fib, I miss it.  This Sunday, my birthday.  You’d expect me to take the day’s total.  but I’ll be clocked.  Pouring, writing.  Working, for the novel.  It’s almost done.  Each page, indebted to wine, wineries, their winemakers.  Wine writing, not blandly paginating wine reactions.  This wine, revolving me with predictability’s lack.  My instabilities stack.  Let me out of the barrel.  Meant 2B feral.

Pictures, Books

Finally an opportunity to freewrite.  Been scribing seriously for a submission, all day.  What’ll be in my glass tonight?  Not sure.  My mind’s not even in wine’s world, at present.  Easily over 1,000 words for the day.  Two minutes before 5p.  Should get back to the manuscript, my Literary blend.  This book, like a blend of varietals, appellations, clones, vintages, winemaking styles, and irregular barrel placements.  No book written like this before, certainly not with a pervading wine motif.  I might sound arrogant, but I’m just confident in this project.  Wine does this to me, my writing.  It makes me think of possibilities, my penned wine efforts on a shelf.

[5/22/11, Sunday]

Oenofinale

In this last entry for the day, I react to the catches.  Vineyard images.  Now, 10:42p.  My Saturday night.  An actual Saturday night.  But still, I can’t get careless, lost in these stills.  No wasting time with social media accounts.  In fact, as I sip this Meritage, I seriously self-counsel over closing such engagements.  Speaking of the current pour, glass occupier, it takes shape to which I can’t help but skate agape.  Think I may be tired of writing about wine, alongside wine.  So maybe I’ll for once sip more than I scribble.  Still aching from my run earlier.  Can’t decide if it’s euphoria, what I feel, or genuine affliction.

Either way, it’s self-induced.  Topic next, flavor profile.  Actually, no.  The vines.  That’s what I want to talk about.  How green they jump and sensitive lenses.  Was hard for me to halt in my pushing of the “take” button.  Is that what it’s called, that silver circle?  Anyway, couldn’t have cared less about the cars honking at my XA on the road’s removed bank, emergency lights jabbing.  I could just stare at these scenes like I did then, earlier today.  How do I reflect on this diagrammatic delivery, accurately, sufficiently?  What varietals grow on what I record?  Who’ll sip it, them?  What occasion’ll surround it? 

Here’s where the problem lies, when the Literary world meets wine’s time.  Excess analysis.  “It’s a vine collection, it’s wine,” one could punch.  But, to me, one from the Literary quarter, it’s a level collection elevated.  Different altitude.  I understand why people from removed parts of the country, world, sprint to our counties.  Napa, Sonoma.  Feel like I’m a figure on a game board, with this wine, the curiosity it encourages.  New notes: smoke, leathery blueberry, damp twig.  Does that make sense?  How do you voice descriptors “professionally,” universally?  Just deciding to sip a couple more, before descent.  But as I fall, on the mind, always wine, writing, wine writing, wine writing while drinking wine.  Notice I didn’t say “sipping...”

[5/21/11, Saturday]

Back from the first run in months.  Slightly depleted, but not exceedingly.  Tonight, in studio till emptiness be this scribe.  The vineyards today, had me re-thinking all I was thinking.  Tonight’s Cab, the bottle I bring to Mom and Dad’s, sure to push afflatus.  Who knows how much wine-intwined lines I’ll scribble.  This weather also encourages.  No end, today.  Not for me.

Feel like checking out M.F.A. programs.  But how would I ever fit that in?  One day, I will again matriculate, add additional degree, degrees.  Need to continue with the studies.  Maybe I’ll enroll in a wine appreciation class, something wine-connected.  The vines me remind.  So I rewind in kind, another varietal find.