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.
It’s labeled as a red table wine, but this classy red blend ain’t no frumpy “pass the wine, Aunt Jo, you’ve had four glasses, and the main course hasn’t even come yet” table wine. This wine knows how to properly shave its asshole with just one mirror instead of two.
One time when I was a kid, I fell out of my grandma’s crabapple tree, and I landed in a layer of crabapple mush. This wine is what my hands smelled like after that for about a week.
First appearances are important but inherently deceiving. This is true for both people and wine. This wine has secrets—dark ones, let me tell you. You might approach this wine calmly at first, but that would be a mistake. If this wine were talking to you on a dating app, the red flags should start going up after about five minutes of conversation.
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.
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.