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December 28, 2007

04 Domaine Tissot, Arbois Trousseau Singulier

The singular trousseau. Which is to say, the only trousseau I've ever had. And it's not without superpowers that I would ever be able to tell the difference between this and a juicy Santenay--or any Bourgogne Cote de Beaune for that matter--from a ripe year. It's so pretty, I want it to go bad. I want to beat it up a little, beat the innocence out of it. This sweet, ambrosial, chameleon of a grape is almost candied and whisping in the fertile air like pollen misted with the essence of grenadine, sweet tamarind, or watermelon Jolly Ranchers, the bitter airiness of ground mahleb. Its perfume is almost cloying and, if you're one to buy the inkiest Napa cab on the shelf, this might not even have a flavor to you. Your bottle might actually be empty. For the rest of you, the Tissot trousseau is virginal--soft, creamy, endlessly curious and shy, but willing to let go, as awkward and painful as the night may be. The bed, if this were on a bed, would be covered in rose petals, which litter the hardwood floor on your way to the bubble bath. You always loved your girlfriend's bathroom at 3 a.m..--soap, toothpaste, and Chanel in the air. It tastes like young love, like everything you were sure about that turned out to be wrong. Use this wine as a guide to chart your lust. If it excites you, you need to live a bit more. If it bores you, perhaps you've lived too much. Because ultimately, this isn't necessarily a good wine--something you recommend or score. It's something you meet, talk to, maybe leave behind in an airport, but still you dream.

1 Comments:

Blogger Nilay Gandhi said...

Help. It won't go bad. I saved a couple glasses of this for the next day, and it only got juicier, spicier, and more complex. It's turning from trousseau to pinot noir to nebbiolo to Crozes-Hermitage syrah. Roasted cherries. Tremendous.

3:18 PM  

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