Whining in Napa: More Vinegar than Haribo
I was expecting good, solid, robust wine in Napa. The kind that earns descriptions like “this wine is surprising. It has notes of Mount Rushmore, the full bodied integrity of a Nixon and a fruity bouquet reminiscent of the Huckleberry Finn 1995.”
Imagine my disappointment when then only word that sprang to mind was “vinegar”. I don’t know much about wine, but I do know a lot about vinegar. Normally all wine tastes like Haribo sweets. And I admit, I barely drink. Even when I was reviewing cafes and bars for a percentage of my living, I did it from the detached and unbiased view of a practical tee-totaler. But my philosophy then was that anyone can sip beer, but how many can find bars in the catacombs of Paris? 0.0001% of the population, and seeing as I fall into this niche bracket of savants, I felt that curiosity rather than drunkenness is was my contribution to the bar-reviewing world.
So, back to Napa’s vinegaryards. I tasted things that made my face contort in all sorts of directions. First I looked like I’d tasted a lemon, then as if I’d gobbled a fermented sock, then as if I’d stuffed my face with radioactive Gummy Bears. I looked as good as the wine tasted.
I’m sure there’s some brilliant wine out there, can someone please point me in the right direction..?