Nose: I pushed my bike down pacific coast highway one for months. Was moping in my parents house post “breakup”, although I guess that is the wrong term as I am the only one who truly considered it any form of relationship. Dad ever so gently suggested I needed to get out of the house, and agreed to go halvsies on my muscle powered steed. So, in the spirit of Forrest Gump, I just started pedaling. Camping each night, worn out. First night I slept in months was in a field of chamomile. Sweet fresh smell mixed with cut grass. Small curls of wet firewood, it was northern Washington after all, and that part of the olympic peninsula rarely dried out. Everything carries the weight of water out past Forks. Pond water with lily pads and wet straw. Marsh grasses bent in the winds. And yet as the heart lightened, subtle orange peel, and the warmth of oak spices. Melted gouda with thin slices of jamon cocido. With a flirt of fig vinegar.
Palate: Oh dang what a lovely palate. Big smokey sweetness. Wild honey. Cinnamon tea brewing on the first morning campfire when it’s still cold out. Part of me wants to get going, but I’m stiff. But waiting for the tent to dry a touch before strapping it to my bike. I pack an orange (this was before I knew I was allergic), and freeze dried raspberries and apples. Need the fructose sugar shot. And picked up the afternoon before, a tonic, which I waited to drink until morning because, warm tonic, no bueno. I’ve always loved that tart kick and this pour brings me right there without going into the dark side. I like how sherry and peat dance.
Rating: 8 / 10 – oh damn this is good. Singularly good and weird. I tried it at the end of a 6 pour blind tasting and instantly clicked, but needed to come back on a fresh palate. Second time pouring it, and mad respect. adjusted the rating upwards again. This is such a good match for my palate.
