The tint of red is nearer to aged pomegranate than fresh cherry. The distance from magenta tones was noted even more than the stark bouquet of succulent smells. Just the mouth feel is filling beyond any words and most wines. Just enough acid for cheese, not too much for the fruit. Taken with garden fresh tomatoes and muenster cheese by the slice.
Easily lost in cranberry sauce, vin de bordeaux of Bacchaus left lightly dry and heavily quenched. In a word: filling. Yes oaky, but not too much. Full, but not almost too little. Yet, the greatest delight was the reminder of cranberries—and ever bit as much filling. Taken with havarti and dried cranberries as a needed afterthought—mustn’t forget the cranberries!
Old and priceless. The taste is frail and vibrant as a flower. Clearly quality with a 5% suggestion of earthiness, but without any filth. It is as real as it is red. Oaky, also dry, and also quite tannic. Perfectly taken with eggs, cheddar, and medium beef.
Dry finish as an aftershave, wet start as a carbon filtered water, sweet at a zinfandel, and tart as half-sweet lemonade. You’ll forget this is wine until the spirits chase the strongest sensation: It tastes like “red pop” at the start of every sip. Wash down the jalapeño steak and havarti this red and it zips like bubbly.
The Musicians Merlot indeed, but only after the show. Sweet as sugar, this bottle of band sings and entertains. Though merlot, the talent inside plays with but a drop of real oak. Yet, it bears the thought of ten thousand forests of oak, zings of ethereal tannin, and effervescence. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a Zinfandel or a red late Riesling—if there were such a thing.
Musicians don’t just dine, they entertain while you dine, but they love to wine. Leave an unused bottle of this after the party while the musicians break down the stage and they’ll beg to entertain you again.
Taken with Australian steak and cheddar under salsa.