truth in labelling

there are many california wines that are an oenophile's equivalent of savoring unicorn confit. produced in tiny quantities, they often don't get new england distribution. however, i'm in a rare position of getting to try and buy lots of juice mere mortals never know. you read and hear lore and romance; misty memories from older colleagues who happened to be *there* just when. you hope a bottle may eventually find itself in your happy little hands. or at least on a table where you'll be dining.

writers wax rhapsodic, and everybody says it was the best thing since<***>.

well, i've got a bottle of one of those rare birds right here. it's from a legendary napa winery, celebrating a very important anniversary. the owners get all sorts of sentimental kudos for being pioneers in the valley. i could build a paper cabin with the piles of reviews slavishly comparing it to grand cru chablis.

i was excited and hopeful for my first taste. here's the thing: (quelle surprise!!) it tastes nothing like chablis. NOTHING. even if my tongue were excised, i would not be fooled. chablis is restrained and austere. even haughty. full of chalky limestone and tradition. the kimmeridgian soil in chablis is truly unique, and those fossilized ostrea virgula certainly haven't found their way to the substrata of california. wines from chablis do not present sweet toasty oak on the nose, nor generosity of spirit on the palate, no residual sugar... no need to go all geeky here. i have no intention of this being a cork dork blog.

so what i'm wondering is this: if it doesn't walk like a duck, why insist you heard it quack? why feverishly compare it to something it's not, nor ever will be? why not examine it on its own merits?

i've always thought one of life's great wonders was the diversity of the world. it keeps me curious, it keeps me interested, it makes me learn.

moving forward...