Why am I allowed two?
Julia Child died last night in her sleep. She was 91. She contributed a great deal to our nation's sense of good food and wine, and her books are still in print, and selling very well, 40 years after initial publication.
Farewell, and a hearty Bon Appétit.
Yesterday I went out to Talon Winery, which is out on Tates Creek Road, at 37d54.438,-84d27.139
This is the first winery in Fayette County. They've been there for 4 years, but are just now announcing their presence to the public, and should have some releases available in retail outlets soon, although I'm not sure where.
They've got 5 wines so far, and they are about 50% from Kentucky-grown grapes, with the eventual goal of being 100% Kentucky-grown, mostly estate-grown. They have enormous tracts of land, and although only a little of it is planted right now, they hope to expand over time. They've got *very* cool equipment, including the automatic bottle filler/corker/labeller machine, which appears to be the only one of its kind in the state.
The wine-maker there is, to a small extent, a student of Chris Nelson, of Chrisman Mill, but he has intentionally avoided learning about Chris' actual wine-making style, so that he can develop his own. Which is very good, I must say.
They have a Cabernet, Chacellor, and a Chardonnay, a blush and a sweet-ish niagra-based wine. The niagra, which I was sure I'd hate, was actually pretty good, I must grudgingly admit. And the blush might just grow on me, with lovely peach overtones. The Cab is big, jammy, and yummy, with a wonderful caramel/smoke/earthy backbone and enough tannin to squirrel away for a year or five. And the Chardonnay is ... well, it's a Chardonnay, but it's not over-oaked. And they make a point of aging only in Kentucky White Oak, which is probably unique in the world, outside of a Bourbon distillery.
The winemaker there (Bah, I didn't get his name) is very knowledgeable, and knows exactly what he likes. He's clearly willing to experiment to accomplish it, and based on some of the stories he told, he also knows how to deal with the unexpected things that fate and the harvest throw his way.
I encourage you to go out there (see map linked above) and see their spread. Even if you are completely uninterested in the product, the place is beautiful, and a great place to go for a summer picnic.
Oh, and their grand opening will be on the 14th of August, with live music and food.
Alec Saunders mentioned the Rosemont Grenache Shiraz Mourvèdre.. Somehow, I've missed that one, althoug it sounds like *exactly* the sort of thing that I would like. Thanks, Alec.
May friendship, like fine wine, improve as time advances.
And may we always have old wines, old friends, and young worries.
This is the toast that I usually give at annual gatherings of friends - at our annual (or, sometimes, twice-annual) meeting of Sams authors; at our new-years/Christmas dinner of some of my dear freinds, which I suppose may not happen this year; and at a few other select events.
This year, friendship, like fine wine, has shown some unexpected qualities. Some, which have been mediocre in the past, have proven themselves to be of enormous depth and value. Others, thought to be wonderful, have shown themselves to be plonk. Still others, cellared and forgotten for 10+ years, have been discovered and found surprisingly sweet, and that much of the cloudiness that was there before has settled out, leaving a sharp clarity.
So, enough analogy.
But, as Solomon said, woe to the man who falls down and does not have a friend to pick him up.
And, so, to my dear friends, old and new, thank you, and may you always have old wine and young worries.
Drinking Mead in the winter always reminds me of Dandelion Wine, in which Ray Bradbury talks about those sips of dandelion wine in the dead of winter, where each mouthful is sunshine, and freshly mown grass, and memories, and happiness and warmth.
I've held on to these bottles of Chrisman Mill mead for 2 years now. I thought that mead was not really supposed to age gracefully, but this is still blooming, and I think that I'll try to keep the last bottle a little longer. I don't want to overdo it.
This mead is a wonderful golden color, and still has the tastes of clover, honey, and sunshine that I enjoyed so much in it when it was new, but they have blossomed a little. It no longer tastes quite so green, while at the same time, you can taste, somehow, magically, a golden delicious apple in there somewhere. And, the last time I tasted this, it was still just on the edge of being too sweet. That is completely gone - no more syrupy sweetness - and just the lovely summer flavors are left.
This is truly a wonderful wine, and I only wish that I was not about to run out of it. And I wonder if I will ever get my copy of Dandelion Wine back that I loaned out at the end of last summer.
