Ode to Nilay *
01, Vougeot Premier Cru, Les Cras, Vougeraie
Like a child who got out of bed an hour too early, one senses that this bottle was still half asleep; not tired, just cranky. I know this bottle intimately; violet tinged, seductively fragrant like all great Vougeot, black strawberries mixed with dampened earth and stones. But the first glass disappointed, its beautiful qualities subverted by a brooding acidity. I swirled my glass a dozen or so times, trying to cajole away the glumness. It was my birthday and all should be perfect, and my impatience was aggravating the situation. So I walked away, reminding myself that even the best of characters sometimes require their own time to show themselves. They are what they are and not what you want them to be. That is what makes ‘uniqueness’ a desired quality even with its inherent imperfections. And ever so slowly, I got the hint of a smile, and Tuesday’s version of Les Cras opened up, with all the depth and elegance I have come to appreciate from this great Burgundy.
*Craig quoted Randall about ‘the points,’ about ‘somewhereness,’ and about literary descriptions, and nobody does that better than Nilay. Let’s hope that imitation is still a sincere form of flattery.