Hmmm. Rip Van Wineblogger awakens. But only for a quick blink. A lovely last bottle of the 1983 Pichon Lalande tonight was surprisingly tasty, still fairly supple, though it tired quickly in the glass, with lovely pure fruit, very little sediment and close to a perfect match with a grilled venison tenderloin. This has been one of those hate-to-part-with-the-last-of-a-great-one deals, where the perfect occasion never seemed to present itself. At some point you have to give it up and just drink the thing. This wine had more punch and pizazz a few years ago, but it was still a delight. Maybe it will inspire us to open a few more of the fading stars in the near future. Maybe I'll even remember to post about 'em.

Oh, yikes! I've been away so long they've gone and changed the whole set-up on me. What a slacker!

Well, I'm still a little under the weather from an overindulgence last night, so no flowery prose here. I'll just mention a few of the things that we opened and you'll understand why (there were only four people here).

Dinner at our place in summer usually starts out with a bottle of Prosecco, in this case a NV Loredan Gasparini Venegazzu. The first bottle was incredibly difficult to open and totally flat. It'll be fine for cooking with. The second was yummy.

This was our first experiment at home with alligator loin, so we didn't know quite what to expect. The meat was delicious, grilled with just a little olive oil and Joe's Stuff. The 1989 Prince Poniatowski Vouvray L'Aigle Blanc turned out to be a pretty good match.

And, for the main course, a lovely ostrich fillet. Now we almost always have a Central Coast Pinot Noir with ostrich, but we wanted to try something different. Our guests were wondering how their last bottle of 1986 Pesquera Ribero del Duero (Crianza) was doing, and since we still had two and knew they were probably fading, we opened one. It was fading fast, a shadow of its former self. Don't you just hate that?

Next up, a 1993 Anderson's Conn Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. I last posted on that one here, so I thought I knew what we were in for, but this bottle bore no resemblance. It was tight as a drum and it never opened up. Don't you just hate that, too?

Anyway, both of these bottles were put aside, and we went for the Pinot. There was something horribly wrong with the 1997 Hartley-Ostini (Hitching Post) Bien Nacido. A raging VA (volatile acidity) problem, not typical in my experience with this wine, that was impossible to get around. It was refreshing after the Cab, but only for a sip or two. That bottle also got put aside, and it's still there.

Maybe my taste buds were just numbed out at that point, but the usually excellent 1997 Foxen Bien Nacido didn't thrill me, either. It was, however, an improvement over the Hitching Post by a mile. Everyone agreed that it's hard to beat the ostrich/Pinot match. Although California Syrah, which we didn't try last night, can work pretty well, too.

Well, at this point, having had too much wine to know better, no one wanted to stop. So the Pesquera and the Conn Valley ended up getting drunk as well. I don't believe I participated in that part much, but I confess that it gets a little fuzzy.

So that's the story. Hey, I know one or two of you are reading this blog, or at least linking on it momentarily. Drop me a line sometime and remind me to post something. I'm getting forgetful in my old age.

How often do you taste a Zinfandel that you'd describe as "silky?" Not often enough, I'll bet. For one thing, common wisdom says they don't age, and, well, young and silky don't usually go together. The 1991 Lytton Springs Winery Lytton Springs Zin (a/k/a "black label") is no longer young, but its texture alone is reason enough to try to hunt one down. There's a touch of old-style about this one, with its age bringing out more raisin and fewer berry flavors, but for me it was a delight, and it's still packed with plenty of fruit. I've always loved this wine, no matter the vintage -- including the '89, which was probably my favorite Zin from that lackluster year. Ridge bought the winery (which used to make a nice Cab, as well) in 1991, but kept the old "black" Lytton Springs label through 1994, after which they renamed the wine Ridge Sonoma Station. I could swear they messed with the formula, as well. It's never been the same since.

One nice Cab. And not enough of it. Lady and/or gentleman, I present to you Girard Reserve Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 1990. Still going places, by the way. I confess I do appreciate a little eucalyptus in my red wines from time to time. I'm not quite sure how it found its way into this one, but it did. I've often been amused to find, on visits to California, a big old eucalyptus tree growing right next to a vineyard I've always associated with that flavor. Whether that's the case here, I couldn't say, but this wine went beautifully with a very nice porterhouse steak and, although it got a bit dense and inky toward the bottom of the bottle, there was an abundance of rich, dark fruit, with that minty, sassy euc thing providing a refreshing zing throughout. If you have two, try one soon. If not . . . oh, well.

Merlot. Isn't is almost a cliché these days? At least the California varietal type, I mean. Well, there still are some superlative examples out there, and one of them has been made for many years by Arrowood. I drank my last bottle of the '90 Saturday, and it was mellow, balanced and beautiful. This isn't a wine I buy every year because, frankly, it isn't a wine I can find every year. But I do look out for it and it does reward.

(Oh, and remember what I was saying about boycotting French wines being bullshit? I changed my mind. Buy California! Or Spain! Or even Italy! But what I already have in my cellar, I'm drinking, dammit. Not pouring down the drain. That stupid, I'm not. So....)

In the 1990 mode, we also opened a bottle of the Pichon Baron. Oooo, la la! Still drowsy and not quite integrated, this was a killer bottle that probably would have been more fun to drink by itself than with a hunk of buffalo tenderloin. I frankly don't know what possessed me to open a bottle of Bordeaux with buffalo to begin with. While the Arrowood was a beautiful match, this one sort of strutted around insisting it was important and refusing to play its part in the ensemble. To its credit, however, it maintained this position throughout the meal and refused to surrender.

Ok, ok, enough of that already. It's true, though. The Pichon shows every indication of greatness and is lovely (even if a bit closed) today, but still has a way to go. Something to look forward to.

A few brief and foggy notes.

We opened a 1987 Silver Oak Alexander Valley Cabernet a few nights ago. Reeking of volatile acidity, with nasty vegetal stuff behind it, we just let it sit and went for a 1991 La Jota Howell Mountain Selection, which was massive, dense and dark and got more so as we got deeper into the bottle. The last pour was like ink. I'll let these sit a while yet and hope the fruit lasts. It's there now but hard to define other than as something like "blackberry thicket."

But the Silver Oak saga wasn't over. The next night, the VA had mostly blown off. The typical SO flavors were more evident. It was OK. Before the prices at SO got tacky, I bought lots of the stuff. I didn't like the '87 Alex much when I tasted it on release and didn't buy any (I bought a double dose of Napa instead, which sold for the same price back then), and this bottle was contributed by my S.O. But there is some question about these '87s generally. Are they going to mature before the fruit dies? And is anyone else getting sick of asking this question?

On another note, I've gone and gotten a serious revived crush on Brunello di Montelcino. Must be the change of seasons. With spring trying to take over from one of the nastiest winters in recent memory, I'm reluctantly releasing my passion for Rhones in favor of lighter reds. But care is required. I don't have nearly the stash of Brunellos that I have of Châteauneufs. We tried a 1990 Nardi with an absolutely delicious game dinner at a restaurant a few weeks ago. Near the top of its game and possibly a touch past. But perfect with just about every dish from quail to venison. And just the other night, a revelation. We've been making a Jacques Pepin recipe for veal scallopine with shallots, amagnac and a touch of cream for years without finding a completely satisfactory wine match. Burgundies were good but never a bullseye. A 1988 Col D'Orcia Brunello hit the mark spot on. Another star just beginning to fade. Maybe. Don't know why I didn't think of this before. Aged Brunellos are amazingly versatile and go with lots of dishes that are too "red" for white but not "big" enough for a hearty red. Unfortunately, they are now also expensive, as well.

I used to actually be a fan of brett (brettanomyces). I kind of like that animal, leathery component in red wine. But it's finally starting to occur to me that it tends to overshadow the wine's own unique character to the point where all really bretty wines start to taste alike. That's a bad thing.

I'm sorry, but this is just plain stupid.

The no politics rule is about to be broken, because I need to make it clear that I sympathize COMPLETELY with the sentiments expressed here, but come on, already! Just who exactly do these guys think they're hurting by pouring out the '86 Margaux and the '95 Dom Perignon?

In all, Tim Wright and Tommy Cortopassi, co-owners of the restaurant, unceremoniously dumped 12 bottles of vintage French wine worth about $1,000 into a white plastic bucket.

Wright and Cortopassi poured with gusto on the sidewalk outside their front door on South Virginia Street to protest the continued opposition of France in the United Nations to the U.S. campaign against Iraq.

I've tried to make this point before, elsewhere, and I'll try again here, so listen up, all 3 of you. Boycotts are stupid and usually end up hurting the wrong people. The people who make their living from growing grapes in France, many of whom can't afford to drink their own wines (although that certainly isn't true of, say, Corinne Mentzelopoulos) aren't the ones making foreign policy. But if you feel you need to punish them anyway, or to deprive the French government of the tax revenue from the wine you buy, don't buy it! "The French" have already been paid for the bottles that went down the drain in Reno last week. They couldn't care less if that wine passed through a human digestive system on its way to the sewer. And I'd bet some poor American shmuck is going to end up getting the cost of those wines added to his dinner tab. Let's get real here, folks!

Okay. Well. We now return you to our regularly scheduled blog.

The problem with allowing so much time to go by between posts here is that I get intimidated by the sheer volume of stuff I want to write about which, naturally, leads me to procrastinate further. So I'll just jump in here in no particular order and ramble a bit.

Well, speaking of Aussie Shiraz, our wine group had a blind tasting of 'em a few nights after I posted on the Charles Cimicky (immediately below, in case you didn't follow that link). You'd have thought I would have recognized them instantly, but I didn't. Which is to say, I guess I did but publicly rejected that intuition as being wrong because, well, the wines had no bacon fat, big, ripe cherries or spice. Which is to say that they all tasted a whole lot like the Shiraz I'd just noted had the same deficits a few days earlier. This is discouraging, because I've always liked the stuff and I'm now despairing of ever being able to find one I like again. This is especially disconcerting because I'd much rather be buying wine from Australia right now than wine from France. (Ooops, that's politics, let's move on.)

1996 Sanford Pinot Noir Barrel Select (Sanford & Benedict Vineyard). I had a few bad bottles of this a few months ago. Or perhaps they were asleep. This was was neither bad nor sleepy. It was quite nice, though I thought it got a little rough around the edges toward the bottom of the bottle. I'm noticing that California Pinots seem to go through a lot of ups and downs -- at least the ones I've been drinking. I thought the '96s were all goners. Not so.

Ah, here's a beaut. 1993 Arrowood Malbec. What a fabulous bottle of wine. And, frankly, nowhere near ready to drink. The first glass was heavenly but still more in-your-face than I usually like with food. It turned out to have a love affair with my nicely dry-aged NY Strip, though. The concentration and depth in this wine and the lushness of the fruit as it wends its way through its 10th year of life are very impressive. The rest of the bottle was still somewhat closed, though. Delicious anyway, but definitely asking for more time. I hope I live long enough to see these come into their full maturity, 'cause I only have one left but then it's time to start on the '94s. I'm likely to try one of them first, actually, because it's entirely possible they're not quite as massive.

A few briefs (it's been a while on these): 1990 Viader. Developing just beautifully, so tasty it's hard to stop drinking. The bottle was gone before we knew it. 1994 Flora Springs Trilogy. Following the Viader, there actually seemed to be more stuff here, but it was a touch on the premature side. Totally enjoyable now but obviously still holding something back. If you only have a few, try one now anyway to gauge your own schedule for the rest.

I'd just let this sit here while I go do some prep for dinner, but this is Blogger, and you never know. So I'll put it up, just in case someone comes along looking for something to read. More soon. Really.

I rarely post on my other blog when I've had wine. For some reason I feel I have to be (relatively) sober when discussing politics, religion and, well, the other stuff I dwell upon there. Here, though, I find a glass by my side helps the flow of ideas.

Tonight we opened one of the first of our fabled '98 Aussie Shirazes. Shiraz's? Whatever. 1998 Charles Cimicky Shiraz Signature, RP some large score, as I recall, highly recommended or "awesome" by the proprietor of the establishment from which it was purchased. Right. Okay, well, it has an "awesome" amount of oak, that's for sure, but the only other awesome thing about it was how awesomely (is that a word?) it tasted and smelled like an overripe Zinfandel blend (e.g., healthy doses of Petite Sirah, Carignane, Alicante Bouschet, Mourvedre, a touch of Grenache, whatever). This kind of wine can be lots of fun, occasionally, but when I open a Shiraz or a Syrah, I expect at least a modicum of bacon fat, some big, ripe cherries and absolutely, positively some substantial element of spice. Not here.

On the other hand, before I start sounding too high and mighty, I believe I may have been a bit too hasty in my judgment of 1990 Burgundies (yes, from the mundane to the sublime we go.) That judgment was largely fueled by the fact that the LOML purchased a number of 1990 Amiot-Servelle Chambolle-Musigny Les Charmes several years ago, with which we've been steadily disappointed over the past year or two. Sunday night, the one we opened was so sour, so acidic, so fruit-less, so, well, bad that we decided to apply the pump and move on to a '95 Girardin Volnay Clos des Chênes (quite delicious and robust, though not particularly complex). But upon re-examinining it (the Amiot-Servelle) tonight, we discovered quite a soft, round, layered bottle of Pinot, a bit tired but whispering of greater things. The flavors in this wine at uncorking suggested that it's well over the hill, but if that were the case, there's no way it could have been as enjoyable as it was tonight after two days in vacuum. I believe we'll hold the last few bottles for a year or three more. They can't get any worse than the initial impression the other night and I'm beginning to suspect that they're just now beginning to wake up.

Happy New Year, one and all. It's not as if I haven't been drinking over the past few weeks, but nothing memorable enough to mention. Well, that's not entirely true. We opened a '95 Ridge Geyserville last night. They just keep getting better and better. Last year, we opened the '93 and the '95 together. My neighbor, who isn't a big wine drinker but knows what she likes, preferred the '93. She found it much more, well, user friendly. So we did a reprise last night. She still loves the '93 but she's now beginning to "get" the '95. It's always nice to hear a fresh perspective on good wine (and bad wine, too) from someone who has no pretensions or agendas and just speaks from the 'buds. My guess is that by next year, the '95 will be better still.

Our last '90 René Engel Clos Vougeot was consumed a few weeks ago with immense enjoyment, long sighs and smacking of lips. It was, indeed, a treasure. Some say the '90s are still in their infancy, but that's not what I'm finding. My cellar conditions were, admittedly, not so good for several years, but I like fruit in my Burgundy and I'm not so sure I want to trade it all in for those secondary flavors that sometimes come around later and sometimes don't. Anyway, we had no regrets about this bottle, except perhaps for the overbearing waiter who decided that our presenting it to him to open was an invitation to engage us in wine conversation. One reason I prefer to enjoy such bottles in the privacy of my own home rather than take them to BYOB restaurants.

I did discover an inexpensive but very nice little non-vintage champagne recently. Since traffic on this blog is so light, I'll happily share it without fear of cutting off my own supply. Hah! Raymond Henriot Brut. There ya go. I'm afraid I can't remember enough specifics to describe it, but it really grabbed attention in the midst of a group of both similarly and somewhat higher priced bottles (it goes for around $20, I believe). Good stuff.

After this week, though, I'm going to cut back on the bubbly for a bit. It happens every year. Bubble burn-out. Time for some concentration on those big, heavy reds that always seem to taste their best in the dead of winter with rich, comforting food and a roaring fire. Looking forward to it.