06 Firesteed, Oregon Pinot Noir

Imagine a wine so good it becomes a part of you. One almost Edenic in its pleasure--soft, luxurious, comforting at times--as pretty as the girl next door. Imagine Mary Ann on the sofa drinking orange juice, Ginger raking leaves in the yard. A little perfume, a little sweat, a little innocence, a little lust. God save the battered beauty. Everything so right in that moment--you making duxelles in the tiny city kitchen, white mushrooms turned to morels, the sweetness of shallots in the air, marjoram in your nose. The hallway clears out in front of you, the duck decanter genuflects, turns into duck. You are great. You import--so Old, some say, so New, some say. You're not like the rest. I like that you... listen to me. The raw earth without the mud--the dark, minerally, wild spring morning. Fruit without seed. Smoke without fire. Wine without the taste of roasted steed. Yeah, that would've been nice.