03 Chateau Davril, Bordeaux

I would rather drink this red blend of non-cru merlot, cabernet sauvignon, and cabernet franc out of two stryofoam cups. She will put her feet beside me, her face checked with mayonnaise, her spring sweater covered in baguette crumbs. I, eating the last bits of our jambon-buerre, think even the garbage boats drifting through the Seine are gorgeous. The wine's muddled blueberry/blackberry flavor is consistent. While it never evolves, nor does it ever degrade. It carries into a thin mapley finish long enough for us to consider each moment and then sip again. To enjoy its juicy, slightly damp taste and coarse texture. To even appreciate its green, stemmy nose as something human and therefore fallible, instead of idoled and therefore flawed. Long enough to say we enjoy wine because it humbles us. It humbles us, as complex, as wonton, as longing as we are, that joy--pure joy--is in the latent pulse of satisfaction. Thanks, Kyle.