Oaked Chardonnay is the basic white girl of the wine world. (Unoaked is a different monster altogether, but I’m saving her for another post.) But this wine is from Santa Barbara County. If you take a dumb grape and grow it in Santa Barbara County, suddenly it’s a woke grape, passing out BLM signs and protesting the DAPL.
I’m going to give you readers the same advice that I would give if you were opening a box of Girl Scout cookies—as soon as you open it, smell it. You’ll get some pleasant floral and fruity notes that vanish like a Trump tweet with a typo as soon as it gets oxidized. This wine doesn’t belong within ten feet of a decanter.
This wine tastes like someone sucked all the pee flavor out of a medium-bodied Sauvignon Blanc. And if you’ve read that one review I did about the pee flavors in Sauvignon Blanc, you’ll understand how sad I am to see them leave.
Maybe it’s because it’s a Friday night after a really stressful, sweaty week or maybe it’s the patchouli foot scrub I used in the nightly biblical foot-washing I did earlier this evening, but this wine was giving me these pleasant, fruity, musky vibes that really made my engines purr (if you know what I’m sayin).
Howdy, folks. I’m coming to you this evening from my bathtub. Why you ask? Think of it as immersive journalism–method acting but for wine. Allow me to explain:
Visiting a winery’s website can tell you a lot about a wine, both literally and in more unexpected ways. The page for this wine describes it as “unusual,” which tells me that the winemakers are “delusional.”
I would like to formally apologize to the people of Germany for my previous post. This wine makes up for the Riesling Spätlese. Also the Holocaust was definitely worse than your wine labeling regulations.
Drinking this wine made me feel like Meryl Streep in that scene from Doubt where she’s upset about ball point pens.
Look, this wine is good, okay. But it’s kind of been a dick to me, so I have to be a dick back. It’s Soave, but it’s 100% garganega. And 100% of that garganega is tasty and stuff, but, like, come on. The Denominazione di Origine Controllata let’s you throw in some verdicchio and chardonnay without shitting its Italian cut trousers. But Rocco Sveva just chose garganega.
Hokay. There’s this term that people who “know a lot about wine” use with some white wines that usually really gets me going before I even taste a wine. Cat pee. And yes, when I smelled this wine and caught that subtle note of urine, I got a big old wine boner. But what I neglected to take into consideration was the nationality of the cat peeing into my wine.
Everything about this wine is duplicitous. It’s sweet and apple-y on the nose. But then you taste it, and suddenly it’s like BOOM: bananas and subtle stone fruit or some shit. And then just when you thought it couldn’t get weirder, it has a dry finish.