Pinot Noir: Handle With Care

I worship at the altar of Pinot Noir. Everyone knows this about me. Of course, our relationship isn't that old. It's just very intense, in a Romeo and Juliet kind of way, without the death and suicide. Pinot Noir and I only became friends (again) in 2004, but since that time we've seen the friendship grow tremendously.

My father is a Burghound. When I was growing up he traveled to France every summer with his three best friends. He would come home with fabulous presents for all of us (bonus!) and a tremendous amount of wine. When I wasn't drinking beer, I was drinking my father's amazing Pinots: Romanee Conti, La Tache, Grands Echezeaux, Bonnes Mares, Gevrey Chambertin....etc. I remember how exciting it was to watch him uncork and decant the wine each night, and I especially enjoyed going into the cellar with him to pick out a bottle together. I was hooked from my early teens.

Starting in 1988 migraines sidetracked me for many years, forcing me to be a non-drinker, for the most part. If I did drink, it was Rolling Rock. Yes, I see all your eyes rolling. It is what it is! I can't help it. I love bad beer. Just ask Jeff.

Anyhow, once the passion for Pinot Noir was reawakened in 2004, I was back with a vengeance. My father was aghast! I'd been reborn as a California Pinot lover! I think the word he used to describe me was dilettante. California Pinot? Are you kidding me? I raised you on the finest Burgundies and you re-emerge as a New World Pinot drinker who likes too much oak, too much alcohol and a fruit bomb that explodes like an overripe berry in your face? I have failed as a father.....or something along those lines. I just giggled. In my mind it would become my mission to get him to like just ONE Pinot from Cali. I can happily say I've been successful in my efforts. It doesn't happen often, but it happens.

In the last 6 years my palate has obviously evolved. Yes, I'll admit, sometimes I'm a sucker for a big Pinot, like Sine Qua Non, Aubert, Paul Hobbs or Peter Michael. All great wines, all larger than life. However, more and more, I'm yearning and searching for subtlety. Lately, my passion has been for Arterberry Maresh. Jim Maresh, the wunderkind of Oregon, comes from a storied family. His grandfather planted Maresh Vineyards, his father made one of the highest rated Pinot Noirs in history. Jim's brash, and talks some shit, but the wines speak for themselves. At just 26 years old he has taken Oregon Pinot to a whole new level. He's managed to make an Old World style wine in the truest sense of the definition. I'm working on my father as we speak to buy a case of this incredible wine, so stay tuned.  :)

So, back to this love affair? Why do I love Pinot Noir? Is it the fickleness of the grape? Perhaps, because like any good relationship, when it's great it's great but when it's bad it's horrid. Like an unrequited love, I will chase and chase until I have it in my clutches. And yet, there it is, always just slightly out of my grasp, aloof in its cockiness, knowing that once it succumbs I'll be putty in its hands. No wonder no shrink has ever been able to help me. I live for the hunt and am seldom deterred by rejection. Good thing I'm talking about wine here. 

I also tend to be attracted to its delicateness. Pinot Noir grapes appear to be sturdy on the outside, yet are squooshy on the inside. It's a metaphor for how I describe myself, and as you know, this blog is secretly all about me, so there ya go. Anyhow, I delight in the fact that Pinot Noir grapes are, in fact, petulant, as well as, delightful. They bristle at being too wet and shrink from too much sun. They aren't interested in being ignored and require much tender loving care to give you their best. Like any woman, I loathe a rainstorm, it makes my hair frizz, and I will always welcome the sun on my face unless it burns me. All Jeff has to do is be gentle yet consistent and I'm putty in his hands.

Ultimately, this is a blog post about myself. Just call me Pinot Noir. Handle with care.