Leaving for Berkeley.
I woke up in Portland on Friday, September 16th with the intention of being in Berkeley by late that evening. The difficulty was that my room still had most of my belongings strewn around it and it was 1 in the afternoon. A panic attack, taqueria breakfast and a bottle of bud later I was somewhere south of Portland on I-5, left arm twitching nervously and a keen eye on the ridiculous price of gas at every off-ramp I passed.
At five the panic attack has not stopped but I have. I am watching a Red Sox game in Eugene, a town that, depending on whose telling the story, I either chewed up and spit out or was chewed up and spit out by. I go out for dinner with friends and remember why I hated the food and wine culture there so much. We are glared at by the fuddy duddies, condescended to by the younger-than-us waiter and told that the oxidized Savennieres I ordered will be taken back, but that is how Rhone whites taste. When I attempt some diplomatic and humble (hell if I really know) assertion that it might be a Loire wine, I am laughed at or ignored. I can’t quite remember. Looking online, the wine is listed under “Sauvignon Blanc and Loire Valley” on the list. What do I know anyway?
2001 Château de Chamboureau Savennières.
Good, pre-oxidative nose with a prickly minerality and nuttiness that is initially off-putting but resolves itself. I kept going back to the nose thinking it was corked, then realizing that it was simply fruitless and tired on the palate. Called the server over and was told it wasn’t corked, which wasn’t my question, but that he would replace it. The wine had good acid, light weight, and persistent pre-ox flavors, all things I like in wine. Though I was trying to tell the server I thought it interesting and only wanted his opinion, I kept getting the “I’ll replace it” answer. I won’t fight it, choose something and let me get back to the company. He picked an innocuous Cassis. I wanted to tell him it tasted nothing like raspberries, but thought the better of it. Thanks Beth, for picking up the tab.
At five the panic attack has not stopped but I have. I am watching a Red Sox game in Eugene, a town that, depending on whose telling the story, I either chewed up and spit out or was chewed up and spit out by. I go out for dinner with friends and remember why I hated the food and wine culture there so much. We are glared at by the fuddy duddies, condescended to by the younger-than-us waiter and told that the oxidized Savennieres I ordered will be taken back, but that is how Rhone whites taste. When I attempt some diplomatic and humble (hell if I really know) assertion that it might be a Loire wine, I am laughed at or ignored. I can’t quite remember. Looking online, the wine is listed under “Sauvignon Blanc and Loire Valley” on the list. What do I know anyway?
2001 Château de Chamboureau Savennières.
Good, pre-oxidative nose with a prickly minerality and nuttiness that is initially off-putting but resolves itself. I kept going back to the nose thinking it was corked, then realizing that it was simply fruitless and tired on the palate. Called the server over and was told it wasn’t corked, which wasn’t my question, but that he would replace it. The wine had good acid, light weight, and persistent pre-ox flavors, all things I like in wine. Though I was trying to tell the server I thought it interesting and only wanted his opinion, I kept getting the “I’ll replace it” answer. I won’t fight it, choose something and let me get back to the company. He picked an innocuous Cassis. I wanted to tell him it tasted nothing like raspberries, but thought the better of it. Thanks Beth, for picking up the tab.
posted by Jassmond at 11:30 PM
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