So, apparently, this is a very divisive wine. At least on Reddit, where all the experts live. Some people like it, some people think it's shit. Rumors abound that the winery uses an additive called Mega Purple to enhance the flavor, which is ironic because I tried this wine shortly after writing a scene ( for Que Será, Syrah) which involved the possibility that someone was using this or something similar (a grape juice concentrate) to boost the flavor of their wine.
In any event, I’m not a huge fan of pinot in general—we’ve discussed this—but I quite liked this wine. There was a lot of tobacco on the nose (cigar tobacco, to be exact) also lavender blueberry, sweet fennel and wet earth. I’d say it had good legs, but Reddit says I shouldn’t (cue eyeroll, because do I look like I care?). It’s off-dry with a silky mouthfeel and a lingering finish. Notes of cassis, black cherry, wild blueberries.
Here's the scene in question:
I mostly listen while the others talk—eating and drinking and attempting to figure out what I don’t like about this wine. It’s dark, round, full-bodied. Maybe a little too round for a cabernet. And a little too off-dry, as well. A little too flabby. Of course, Geno might be blending it with something else—a merlot, perhaps (because Sideways isn’t entirely wrong about that) or even white zinfandel, although Vitto would have to know if it’s something like that. “Do you think Geno’s adding a concentrate?” I ask Leo, who’s seated beside me.
And maybe I said it a little louder than necessary, because conversation instantly stops and everyone stares at me.
“What?” I ask, glancing around the table. “It’s not that uncommon, is it? I thought a lot of wineries did that?”
“Are you looking to throw down, Legs?” Gianni asks—and I’m pretty sure he’s joking, although not entirely. “’Cause those are fighting words.”
“Unless she’s right,” Leo says. “In which case…?”
And then we’re all looking at Vitto, who shrugs and says, “I mean, anything’s possible, I suppose. But no winery that wants to keep their reputation intact would even think of doing something like that. Even to suggest it is not good. That kind of talk that could ruin a winery. It’s only about one step above claiming that someone’s been adding wood chips to his chardonnay to give it more of an oaky flavor. Supermarket chains might do things like that but…”
“Unless she’s right,” Leo repeats.
Vito nods. “Yes. Fine. Unless she’s right. I hope she’s not but…I just don’t know. I’ll try and find out.”
“It was only an idea,” I say again, in a very small voice.
“You said what you thought,” Leo points out kindly. “That’s not wrong. It just never occurred to us before.”
I nod, to show I understand, but it’s clear they’re having strong thoughts about it now. And not happy ones. And I guess this makes it official. I am the family buzzkill.
Que Será, Syrah
Pour Decisions: Book Three
They may be keeping secrets and telling lies, but a little white wine never hurt anyone.
Allegra
It’s not every day that you inherit one-third of a winery. I should be on top of the world, floating on Cloud Wine, as they say. Instead, don’t you just know it? I’m about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life. And that’s saying something. My family has always viewed me as something of a screw-up, not always fairly. But in this case? They’re not only dead right about me messing things up; they don’t even know the half of it. Yet.
Complicating my quest to redeem myself, earn my sisters’ respect, and help them turn our winery into a straight fire success, is my low-key relationship with Sheriff’s Deputy Clay Romero. Sure, there are risks involved in sleeping with the enemy, but ‘what’s meant to be will find a way,’ right? And whether Clay believes it or not, I know we’re fated. With a capital F.
Clay
We’re Capital F somethin’ all right; but I don’t think it’s fate. Ever since Legs (AKA Allegra Martinelli) blew back into town, I’ve been flirting with disaster. Literally. I doubt that woman’s ever met a rule that she didn’t want to at least bend. And, as luck would have it, it’s my job to try and stop her. I love my job, and I think I love her. But there’s not enough wine in Napa to convince me that I’ll be able to hang on to them both.
Legs keeps likening us to Romeo and Juliet. And as I keep trying to remind her; that kind of story tends not to end well. I’m sure there are exceptions, but are we gonna be one of them? I guess we’ll find out.
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