I think there’s value in showing the poor as well as the illustrious in my drinking history, so here we go. I was looking for something to open with a somewhat sweet (don’t ask) Chinese-ish dish for dinner. My mind went right to a Spätlese Riesling from Germany. It also went to a particular vintage – 1999 – which have always shown a pleasant seamlessness to their construction that I thought would work well with the somewhat commercial slickness of the dish. Now here’s where things go off track (apart from the entree choice . . . ). I start thinking, well, maybe a need a treat – something a bit nice. The moment I enter the wine cellar, I also hear the kids trying (once again) to finish each other off, so it’s gotta be something nice, but easy to find. No thoughtful pulling out and examining bottles tonight. So I grab the first 1999 I spy – the Haardter Mandelring Scheurebe Spätlese from Müller Catoir.
I haven’t had a 1999 Müller Catoir for quite a while, and I don’t think I’ve ever had Scheurebe that old, but Müller Catoir is a damn fine producer and has an odd specialty in Scheurebe (which most producers relegate to early-drinking guzzlers if they don’t ignore it altogether), so it wasn’t a completely bizarre split-second decision. Anyway, the wine smelled like someone filled a day old grapefruit rind with Diesel, and didn’t taste much better. Plus, it was really sweet. Almost dessert sweet. Ugh. Old German wines have a way of shaking off the funk after a day or six open in the fridge, so I’ll be sure to report on any Lazarus-level heroics, but this was nasty tonight.
So the big win (not the Patriots) was the post-dinner decision to have a dram. I was down sorting through the available bottles when I spied one buried in the corner that I’d forgotten I still had – 12 year old Redbreast Pure Pot Still Irish Whiskey. It’s quite sherried on the nose but with a big, fat, juicy malt middle. There’s some Bourbon-y raw wood, and a touch of coconut too. The big malt richness carries over in the mouth, but then the Irish fun begins. Irish Pot still whiskey literally buzzes around your tongue, and does so with the intensity of no other whisky I know. It’s a great sensation, and lightens up what threatens to be a ponderously rich whiskey. The interaction between the two elements is captivating. Plus, it doesn’t taste like Diesel, so that’s an extra bonus (tonight at least).
