My quest for a big, dumb red
backfired this week. I still needed one, but I actually got a wooly for a wine
from my past. (An aside: an Italian uncle would say “I got a wooly” to mean “I
have a craving.” Has anyone ever heard of this before? It sounds so… so…
sordid. Which is probably why I use it.) When I was still slinging wine, I had
one called “La Huella de Adaras” in my portfolio. It took a while before I
actually tasted it, but my god! When I finally did, there was no going back. I’d
look forward to the days when I’d pour it as a sample. I’d make sure to taste
it as well, just to make sure it was still showing well. I was professional
like that.
Anyway, I knew of one store
in the greater Buffalo
area that had it and I just happened to be over that way during the week. I swear
I did NOT make a special trip, but now I’m thinking I will have to.
“La Huella de Adaras” means
“the thumbprint of Adaras” because the deep minerality is brought to us
directly from the soils of Adaras. Actually, Adaras isn’t even the name of it
anymore – the Ancient Romans called it that. It’s Alamansa in Spain now. But
enough geography. Made from 60% Tintorera, 30% Monastrell, and 10% Cabernet
Sauvignon, this wine definitely fed my big, dumb monkey without being dumb at
all. It’s deep, rich, and delicious. Dark cassis and plum fruit and smoothed by
smoky coffee notes and dusty earth.
Sadly, La Huella doesn’t
fall into my $10 and under category that I usually like to stick to for big,
dumb reds. But at $15, it’s well worth the extra five spot.
So as I've explained, I invariably seek out a Big Dumb Red every Wednesday. Actually, 'seek out' isn't quite the verb needed to fully express what happens; more like 'fantasize about since 9am.'
Like yesterday? After stressing about a paper that was due all weekend, I finally - FINALLY! - finished it Tuesday evening, thereby saving myself the inconvenience of calling in to work to hastily write it. We celebrated by taking a leisurely walk in the unseasonably warm Buffalonian air. Normally, my celebrations include lots of imbibing, but I wanted to save it up for the - you guessed it - Big Dumb Red.
Apparently, I'm not alone. One of my classmates confided that, when faced with giving up something for Lent, she chose sweets. "You can't give up booze?" her husband asked in disbelief. "No," she replied firmly. "No."
While that MAY seem like we have, ahem, a problem or something, I like to think of my BDRs as Mommy's Little Helpers. Except? They're not quaaludes and I'm not a mommy. Semantics, y'all.
Anyhow, last night's lucky candidate was Pepperwood Grove's Syrah. I used to scoff at Pepperwood. Cheap? California? Do you think I'm that base? I have since fallen off my viniferal high-horse and have come to realize that yes, by God, YES, I am indeed that base. Especially for under a $10 spot.
So, how I can detail the delights? Well, it's B I G. And fruity. But in a really dark, thick, viscous kind of way. It could be used as paint, no doubt. It's not [yellow tail] because it's not nearly as sweet. Dusky black fruits prevail. Is there spice? Kinda. Any sort of secondary characteristics? Not really. But since I'm searching for a BDR, who cares?
Since I decided I simply had
to go back to school yet again, my Wednesdays have become exceedingly long. I
teach chitlin all day and then fly to UB for intellectual acrobatics until
10pm. I question my wisdom and/or sanity every Wednesday morning. Yes, I truly
do love school, but I know how very many hours I have stretched out before me
and I know how very ‘on’ I have to be for all of it. It’s impossible to tease
apart the nuanced differences of heteroglossia and polyphony when one isn’t
feeling up to par.
I suppose that this weekly day-long stress-fest is what
began my quest for Big, Dumb Reds. One bitterly cold Wednesday, all I could
fantasize about during my last hour of getting learned was a deep rich red and
a long hot bath. Simple needs, you see.
From then on, my BDRs became A Thing. On occasion, I’ll meet
up with my husband at Sterling Tavern and get my fill there. But no matter how
I feed the BDR monkey, I can rest assured that it will screech its demands
until it is placated.
This past Wednesday was no different. I raced from work to a
store to grab something inedible that I could edib in the car en route to UB.
For the next six hours, I worked my way through the complicated processes of
qualitative and quantitative research, language acquisition through writing,
and the convoluted ramblings of a Russian philosopher about double-voiced
dialogic discourse. Needless to say, I was tapped out by the end of the
evening, fit for little more than staring at the wall and mumbling not-so-witty
retorts. Enter the Big Dumb Red. I don’t have to think about it; all I need to
do is sip the dark, heavy Cab or Merlot or Whatever and let the day run over in
my mind.
I met up with my husband at Just Vino on Main Street in Buffalo. I geekily joined their 100 Varietal
Club thingy but hardly ever go there. I didn’t really want to go out, but
ElMarko lured me with the promise of red dumbness. ElMarko was already working
on a glass of Freedom Run’s ’08 Pinot Noir; he’s very much enamored with the
savory splendor, and we are equally lucky to know the winemakers (hi
guys!).After much debating, I settled
on JR Zinfandel, and it was perfectly stupid. It was HUGE. It’s got big, bold
mulberry and black cherry fruit with a hearty dose of smoky wood. And yes, it
finishes hot. I tried a Grenache as well, but it wasn’t doing it for me.
ElMarko ordered Heba, a Morellino di Scansano. 100% Sangiovese, it’s not a big
dumb red, but a delicious and more complex one.
The added benefit of Big Dumb Wednesdays, for me, is that
they always fall on Wednesday. I can’t overindulge because the morning after
comes too quickly. Hey, I need that safety net, ok?
Recent Comments