04 Bodegas Numanthia, Toro Termes

You know I’m drinking Termes because it's running down my chin. I want to take huge gulps of this over-stated, saturated, red-light-district tempranillo the way I eat ice cream with a spatula in July. It’s like Washington cabernet on steroids and nitrous--elegant the way sumo can be elegant--a tummy-to-tummy joust of power and discipline. Raspberry jam fills the lingering palate before transforming to chocolate syrup, ink, and a dry tannic finish. Fruit-wise, it’s better than the the higher-end (and more complex) Numanthia Numanthia, forfeiting Bordelais notes of tar and scorched earth to arrive at something astoundingly “international,” but still full of its own sense of Spain. I could live my whole life in a place that makes wine like this, provided that I could bring a helmet with me. Thank you, Drew.