Finally, all is quiet. It's past midnight and I’ve poured the last glass of 2005 J.J. Prum Graacher Himmelreich Spatlese. Way off the Italian wine trail, and loving every sip.
It’s been a long week. I’m ready to pack it up and take the long weekend. Been getting ready for a seminar I’m co-opting with the resident Master Sommelier, Sir Guy. A few days in New Orleans, for training and education at the Society of Wine Educators annual get together. Our seminar, as Sir Guy named it, Don’t pass over Ripasso, will be lots of fun. After all, we will be in the Crescent City. A little red wine, some jazz, many, many seminars, but all I can think about right now is this glass of Riesling.
Graacher Himmelreich, Heaven will reign. A white goddess this Riesling is and all these years, though I love Italian wine with all of my being, there has to be room for Riesling. When I first started out in this business, I was so damn lucky to be exposed to wines from the Mittelmosel, they are my Burgundy. There, I’ve said it.
I’ve had more site traffic in the past two days than all of April, and traffic has been growing steadily, like the price of a barrel of oil. I was Uber-Googled this week.
Speaking of oil, this Graacher sure makes something conceptually repugnant, the smell of fusel oil, pretty wonderful. And how can something so sweet be so wonderfully wine? We are all taught to shun sweet wine, but I am over it many moons ago. I could drink this wine every night. A big thanks and shout out to Marco for the gift of Graacher.
So doors seem to be opening, traffic is up, good wine is flowing, a long weekend is upon us and another trip in the wings, this time to New Orleans.
New Orleans, the American canary in the coal mine. At least since Katrina. Our poor little town, such a sadness that even Riesling cannot remove.
So, we will wait and sip and rest. Sweet surrender.
Images from Plan 59