It is exceedingly rare that I toss a wine down the drain but that's where the rest of the glass went. It was not corked, just horrid. Sour, dead on the palate. Cooking with it would make whatever I cooked taste bad too, so now I sit with it. 2007 Cheverny, Le Domaine du Moulin: Pinot Noir and Gamay. Avoid.
And tonight I bought a bottle of overpriced South African Chenin Blanc, made by the fabled Teddy Hall.
It was a 2006, and as flat as a pancake, though the wood was still evident, and that's about all.
So I am cross.
My guilty pleasure to wash away the nastiness, though I mess with the timeline. Hey, it's my blog. This was laaaast week. A...blush...Moscato. In other words: sweet. That explains it, they crow! She has no taste, of course she hated a wooded Chenin Blanc and a risky red. She's a cretin.
No man. Those two were bad. I know bubbly Moscato is not serious, not proper, is naive, is shallow...but...I liked it!
Look, root vegetables. That proves I have gravitas.
And it's good for sipping chopping vegetables (I chop vegetables instead of chopping people), or dessert. It tastes just like the Moni's grape juice I drank as a child on special occasions, when the adults were quaffing special wine.
Thash my shtory an I'm schticking to it.
Thinks: maybe that's why I almost sliced my thumb off!