One time as a student I was delivering a load of futon frames and futons to Pearson airport for transport to the Arctic. I know, I didn't get it at the time either. En route, or as Christian Mingle-dot-com Clean Coal F*ck head americans like to say, "On Rowt", I saw the trailer of a truck hauling gravel come off its hitch and skid at full speed across 2 lanes of the 401. It stayed upright, supported by two metal skids on the front end from which a shower of sparks arced a trailer length behind the careening mass, gravel spraying everywhere. It was really unexpected but I drove on somehow unphased- obviously consumed by the Futons to the Arctic campaign.
Same for this wine! What body! What flavour! BAM! Shiraz, Grenache; the grenache does something to the shiraz that makes it not so much jammy as chutney-y. Ketchup. Yet I drink on unphased.
"Not a house wine", says my rock, my soul, but definitely a hallowe'en wine I say. Or a late night pizza wine, where it might give you just enough pause to avoid burning the roof of your mouth. Try it, for sure.
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