Red wine? I love it. I crave it lately, in fact. So expect many the longwinded blog in the near future, harping on about my current penchant. Up until recently, I had a “France only” rule when it came to reds. Then I was introduced to the Port House (confuse it with the nearby Porter House at your own peril) on South William Street, where Spanish and Portuguese wines are the name of the game. I was mildly converted. Largely due to the waiting staff as they were so….helpful.
However, I shall begin with my current favourite Frenchie. Narcissist that I am not, today’s hankering is a Castel Syrah. Generally, the blacker the wine, the happier the Sarah. And this one is b.l.a.c.k. I got particularly tired and emotional on a bottle not so long ago, and my teeth, and counterparts, have been angry with me since.
I’m not going to pretend to enlighten you with the ins and outs of bouquets and top notes, but this is a mean wine with it’s perfect accompaniment being….even more of the same. Ooh la la.
I like the word “generalment”
I dislike screw-top bottles of wine.
_sarah_
you wine whore - when in frace, and going red its got to be the merlot. i’ll prove it to you in versailles.