We'll always have Texas

This is my entry from the Purple Pages 2024 Wine Writing Competition. It did not make it to the 60 entries that were published in July and August, but what good is a defunct Wine blog if you can't publish your own rejected material?

I had a great time writing this entry of my "Wine Moment I will never Forget" (the theme of this year's competition) which is actually about two wine moments, one I forgot and one I remembered, neither of which I will ever forget(again.) I frequently  relate both of these stories  to the lovely  and curious people I meet while presenting wine at  consumer tastings, usually when they tell me they don't want to taste something because they don't like it.  

Also, I will say that I do find my own actual wine descriptors here a bit lacking in wine writerly detail, especially after reading the lush, visceral entries that did make it in to the Purple Pages, but I didn't (and I guess still don't) want to write the mother of all dry tasting notes. This is a memory from more than 20 years ago, and I  did not have that vocabulary at that time. If you are hungry for some much better tasting notes of aged Tawnies, please check out my inaugural blog post on the Barros Colheita tasting from many years ago https://thenativegrape.blogspot.com/2011/04/7-decades-of-porto-barros.html. It hasn't aged as well as the '37 Barros Colheita, but hey, who has? 

 "We'll always Have Texas"

 

Selfie with Peacock at Quinta da Pacheca, Douro Valley

 

“You don’t like Sauvignon Blanc?!!” I was incredulous. Aghast. Disapproving.

 

My colleague (who did not like Sauvignon Blanc) however, was unapologetic. This was a customer of mine, a wine enthusiast and a collector. And I respected his opinion.

 

“Sancerre?!” I was all unmasked exasperation.

 

Cold, and unconcerned his deadpan one-word response came back, “No.”

 

This meant I should drop it but drop it I didn’t. How could this be? I still wondered days later. We were, after all at a time in our wizened wine careers when acid reigns supreme, Riesling is extolled and cellared, single vineyard Chenin Blanc is paired and celebrated, and Sauvignon Blanc (preferably from the Loire) drunk thirstily up. It’s so lively and mouth-watering. So alive. So energetic and complex. So perfectly paired with so many things, the raw oysters, the Chevre, Twelve o’clock somewhere?

 

I took my disbelief to anyone who would listen. My husband, other wine buyers, fellow wine reps in line to taste with said buyers, my husband, then it hit me. I knew why he didn’t like Sauvignon Blanc because… “I didn’t like Sauvignon Blanc!” Whoa!! There it was. Shameful and long buried. When I was getting started in the wine business, I didn’t like Sauvignon Blanc. At. All.

 

Sauvignon Blanc is racy and assertive. But one man’s racy and assertive is another man’s sour and overpowering. Distinctive, immediate and in your face expressive, it’s one of the first varieties I was able to pick out and identify. It often tastes like grapefruit. Do you like grapefruit? Grapefruit can be very polarizing. Herbaceous, grassy, peppery, vegetal, those flavors can be an acquired taste. Like fish sauce and kimchee if you didn’t grow up with them. One man’s fragrant, is another man’s stinky. 

 

I realized there were a lot of wines I now loved that I had no time for when I first encountered them. Like the first time I tried Port. I was a waitress at a casual restaurant in Austin, TX. One of the managers organized a little staff training that ended with a Ruby Port. Port is a fortified wine. Port is a sweet wine. Port is a lot, especially if you are not prepared for it. And so came my first ruling,

 

“I don’t like Port. At. All.” 

 

My manager started throwing out all the things she was tasting. Figs, raisins, tobacco. She went on and on. Easy and enthusiastic. Like she thought this was decadent and delicious. Like she thought this was one of the best things she ever tasted. I was pretty sure she was making it up.

 

I kept this opinion about Port straight up to the time that I was a wine buyer for a more upstream restaurant with a lovely and large (250-300 bottle) wine list. It was at a time right before 9/11 when the tech boom fueled dining scene in Austin was full of new and adventurous for the time options like this one. It had a wood fired pizza oven in the bar and a frozen Bellini machine. A lovely mural of Sienna wrapped around a spiral staircase from the bar area to the more formal dining area above. They were introducing Texans to Focaccia and Risotto and managing to fetch $13 a pop for Cosmoplitans. The list had been lovingly crafted and was full of beautiful vintages, ’97 Super Tuscans and California Meritages that had yet to full tilt their production and hit the big box stores. Cult California Cabs. Someone once dined hurriedly and left a third of a bottle of Maya on the table (of course we tried it.) It was here that I was taught the three “B’s” of Italian wine; Barolo, Brunello and Brancaia, not necessarily in that order. I counted verticals of Ceretto Barbaresco and a mag of Dal Forno Amarone every inventory.

 

And then the planes hit the towers. When someone asked to speak to a manager, they were less likely to be inquiring about renting out the private dining room and more likely to see if we might be hiring. I often felt a bit like Scarlett Ohara making dresses out of the old drapes. But the bottles remained, and I can still remember the feeling of overseeing them in the lovely climate-controlled wine room. Quietly resting. Totally unaware as I placed red x’s over their prices in our wine book as it grew slimmer and slimmer.

 

So, the next time I tried port, I was tasting with a rep. He pulled out a special bottle he wanted to share. I waved him off. “I don’t like Port.” He gave me a deadpan, unapologetic look that told me to try it. One small tasting of Dow’s 20 year Tawny Porto later, I was on my way to experiencing the insanely delicious and complex ways an aged Tawny Port can dazzle. The complexity, the length, the elegance, the texture. So rich yet so alive. The flavors went on and on. I swear I’m not making this up.

 

Strong flavors, like strong personalities, are often misunderstood. Sometimes they are so loud and so seemingly obvious that it’s easy to miss their nuances. We think we get them right away and put them in a box. I don’t like that guy. At. All.

 

Some people will always keep their distance. But I have learned over the years that if I keep pulling back the wrapper, every time I revisit them, they will show me something else. A different side of their personalities. Something I missed the first, second or tenth time I encountered them. Something I eventually started to crave, like fish sauce and Kimchee.

 

Hard to ignore. Sometimes harder to love. They may not be for everyone. But for me and Dow’s 20 year Tawny, we’ll always have Texas.