One has to wonder what James Laube is using for taste buds these days.

After reading last November's Wine Spectator ten-years-after ("TYA") review of the 1993 California Cabs, I sort of got a little worried. I didn't buy a lot of '93s, but the ones I did buy, I bought by the case, and I'd tasted them and thought they were pretty darn good. One or two of them got "respectable" (i.e., 90+) scores in this review. But a lot of them didn't.

This isn't the first time I've noticed that wines heavily hyped by WS when they came out got less than spectacular reviews once they'd had a chance to develop some. You'd think they'd try to cover up this kind of discrepancy, but my suspicion is they just don't credit their readers with long-term memory. Or they rely heavily on turnover.

Anyway, curiosity getting the better of me, I decided to crack a '93 Philip Togni Cab tonight. Laube thought this was a "beef stew" of a cabernet. Well, whatever floats his boat. I love the way Philip Togni makes wine. I'd still be buying by the caseload if he still shipped to Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, wine shipping (in case you hadn't noticed) is going through a little prohibitionary period right now and Pennsylvania (despite its attempts to prove otherwise) is still the Neanderthal of wine markets in this part of the country, so . . .

Anyway, if you have a few of these beauties stashed, sleep well tonight. They might not have totally burst out of their cocoon yet, but they're already providing lots of pleasure. The bottle tonight paired perfectly with a delicious less-than-medium rare grilled buffalo tenderloin. Every sip was a delight, with the exception of the last half ounce, which contained the only evidence of sedimentary pucker. Some unexpected tartaric crystals on the bottom of the cork were a bit puzzling, but without noticable effect. It happens. The wine was about as far from "beef stew" as I can imagine a wine being, with wave after wave of subtle fruit and mineral nuances and a rich, full mouthfeel. California but with a Bordeaux veneer. Classic Togni.

Laube gave this an 88 in his TYA. I'd give it a 94 minimum. But who's counting?

Don't mind me. I just can't seem to keep up. But despair over the Philadelphia Eagles' failure, yet again, to get to the Superbowl, has driven me to the blog. We made up a huge pot of chili to enjoy with the game tonight, and it (the chili) was pretty good, though a little heavy on the hot smoked Spanish paprika (pimentón) (it's marvelous stuff, but it packs a wallop and a little goes a really long way.)

Also poured in a healthy splash of 1994 Cline Zinfandel Reserve, which still packs quite a punch of its own. The rest of the bottle went really well with the chili. Right now I'm a little descriptor-challenged, and the ones that come to mind are football-related and quite impolite. I'll try to make a point of getting back here more often, but I've also resolved to get to the gym more often and so far I'm not doing too well on that score, either. Blaming it on the weather, you see.

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.