A few weeks ago, I spent a whole week thinking about Bordeaux. For 3 days, I tasted through the 2016 vintage as it seemed the whole of Bordeaux descended on New York City. I’d like to offer my thoughts on the vintage.
I want you to imagine something. It’s 1958. You’re a 34 Yugoslav immigrant, fresh off spending 18 months in a West German internment camp before escaping to Canada. You own a few sets of clothes, a single plate, and the smallest knife you could buy. And all you want to do is make wine.
You want a wine which is singing, right out of the gate, you need to find the old-school growers who have been in Napa for 30+ years and have top grapes to sell. The great secret is that these growers, who mostly make their living selling their crop, almost always produce a tiny quantity of wines on the side.
it is a romantic ideal saying, a certain bottle is exceptional because the little bit of dirt it comes from is just a special place graced by God and the Fairy Folk, and that very well might be true. Yet does this ignore the human agents?