Rummaging around my wine closet recently, I realized it was turning into a vinous elder hostel. 25% of the wines were 25 years or older, with the oldest one approaching 89 in the fall. With that, I took a stool and sat down and had a little chat with some of the golden agers. I know, it’s a discarded practice these days to sit at the feet of the ancients and glean for any wit and wisdom. But it was a long, hot summer day outside, and the cool dark room of the wine closet was a refreshing change from the tumult of the external world, these days filled with so much hair-trigger melodrama. I figured I had nothing to lose. Boy, was I in for a jolt.
What one doesn’t realize until one puts in time “chopping in the woodshed,” is that the ageing process looks very different when one is young versus when one has arrived at the threshold of those golden years. Wine is no different, having shared earth, life and sunshine with humankind as long as recorded history has it. Let’s dive right in.
I started with the 1999 Castello di Rampolla Sammarco. Predominantly Cabernet Sauvignon with an accompaniment of Sangiovese, the 1999 is the youngest sibling of the four wines ensconced in my spirituous storage. As well, the 1996, 1993 and 1991 vintages resid there in the dark, awaiting their moment. As the elder interlocutor of the group, the ’99 had a lot to say. Mainly they were concerned their best days had passed. “Here I am, this hybrid, dreamt up by that so-called genius Tachis. But what help is he now. He’s gone! And those hippies that ran the place are so freakin’ old they don’t know a Gamay from a Merlot anymore.” I reckoned the accent had to do with all these years spent in the cold and dark trapped in Texas. It can do things to your mind as well as your body.
I asked the ’99 if there was anything I could do for the quartet. “Yeah, you can get us the hell out of here and on to our rapturous reward! Find a restaurant and a few buddies and pull us out of here, go eat some food, open us up and celebrate life before we no longer have any of it left in us!” The ’99 was pretty emphatic. But old age does that to you. You cut to the chase pretty fast. I promised the ’99 I’d get right on it. I felt a collective sigh of relief coming from the Rampolla section of the wine closet.
With that I headed to the ‘80’s section of the collection and picked out a 1989 La Chapelle Hermitage from P. Jaboulet. I still have four bottles remaining from a bevy of ’89 and ’85 I gathered more than 30 years ago. This was, for years, the featured and treasured wine served at the holiday table, with the ’89’s showing a better lifespan than the ’85’s, which are long gone, having been drunk up before they went senile. The ‘89’s still have some life left in them, as Hermitage has long been regarded as a wine that could last 50 years or more. When I first got them, I was barely out of my ‘30’s and could not imagine a 50-year span before me. Well, that was part of the folly of youth, not knowing what I didn’t know. You just don’t have the runway in which to gauge the length of the take-off. But the ’89 had a few things to say.
“Look, I’ve been waiting patiently all these years. I’ve seen my cohorts go away and not come back. I’ve made my peace with it. But something tells me there is a destiny for me that sitting in this cold, dark, lonely place just isn’t. I want out too. We all do. Tempus Fugit, amigo. Find a time, find a place and free us from the bonds of glass and cork and leaded capsule. I say this for all four of us. Find a standing rib roast, and a dozen friends and let’s get it on. I don’t want to live to be 50. 36 is fine”
Spoken like a true millennial, I thought. But knowing millennials like I do, I did not force the words from my lips. I kept them to myself. As I’ve been told, “When we want your antiquated opinion of life, we’ll ask you for it. But don’t hold your breath!” Understood. And duly noted. On to the ‘70’s.
I have a load of wines from the 70’s and I picked the 1977 Illuminati Montepulciano d’ Abruzzo Riserva. I sold many cases of this wine back in the day, and it was always a wonderful drink. It also happened to age pretty well. But now we’re getting close to the 50-year mark, in a wine category that isn’t Barolo, Brunello or even Aglianico, all of which have a rich mythological legacy of making it well into the half century mark fully intact and to some, glorious.
I spoke with the ’77. And this was their response. "Look, we go way back, and you know I’m grateful for all you did for us. The winery owners, rest their souls, loved you! The importer, rest his soul, loved you, the children running the place now love you. So, it is with the deepest respect from the heart and soul of Controguerra that I say this now. You have 12 of us in here going back to 1974. Why not arrange a grand tasting, kind of like a wedding and a wake at the same time, and open us all up and send us out into the mystic? We won’t embarrass you. We might embarrass some of our neighbors in Abruzzo, for other get more acclaim for longevity and full-strength complexity. But we are who we are, and you know us. So, arrange something – this year – before all of us are gone. I know the ’85 is dying to complete their cycle, as is the ’93. And the sweet little ’90 muffa nobile wants to party with us too. What do you say, come on, please?”
The ’77 made a compelling plea and one which I promised to the group that I would address, hopefully this year, before anything happens to any of us further. I got it.
I moved deeper into the heart of darkness and approached the ’68. A Petit Sirah from San Martin winery. A legendary wine, and my last bottle. I seriously doubt this wine still has much oomph left. But such great memories. I asked the ’68 how it was going.
“I’m really grateful that you rescued me from that wine shop in North Texas so many years ago (44 to be exact). But I’m gonna be 57 in October, and you know, I’m ready to go. Just open me up, pop me, let’s do this. I’m resting here until you decide, but you need to make a decision soon. Got it?”
I love how my California Gen-X wines get straight to the point. I understand, and we will get right on it, hopefully.
Finally, I reached back to the ‘50’s where I had a birth year red, a Banyuls. Being a fortified wine, I wasn’t so worried, but the Banyuls had a thing or two to say to me. And here it is:
“I’m not so worried about me as I am about you, my benevolent custodian. I am fortified. You are not. I’ve been here in the dark, in the cool, in the vibration-less, drama-less world all this time. You are out there amidst the chaos and the disruption. You ought to think about yourself and how you’re going to extricate yourself out of the mess the world has become. And while you’re at it, peek in on my comrade, the ’74 Lafite. Methinks he had a stroke recently.”
Again, the wisdom of the ancients. I am indebted to all of them for making my journey on this planet a more enjoyable one. And hopefully I have done a little justice to their lives as well, treating them as well as I could. But there comes a time when the cycle ends. And word has it from many “inside” that their time is here.
And how about you? Where are you in your life cycle?