04 Lillian, California Syrah

There should be a two-drink minimum to get into this syrah. A red rope and curtain beneath the cork. A flashing sign of neon raspberry, lavender, and violet jam. Scorpions stay away. That's how expressive this Maggie Harrison, nee Sine Qua Non, syrah is. It's a Parker wine in every sense of the word--migraine concentration and a silken slip of body that slides off onto your tongue given the right Central Coast breeze. Still, it manages to stay natural and floral, with great purity of fruit, acidity, and maybe even a little elegance that constantly balances the tiding scale. Rich beside the rich. The elephant and the baobab tree. I have seen that without which there is nothing. I, too, have promised to keep us moving.

04 Tamellini, Soave

I spent last week in Portland and Vail, sucking in sweet air and soaking up some really religious sun. Whether up in the vineyards of Gaston or ducking beneath waterfalls of melting Colorado snow, every morning tasted like lemondrops. Maybe that's still stuck on my tongue, or maybe I've just learned anew what purity means. It has a flavor, one that spindles a golden thread of honeydew melon, lemon zest, and mandarin oranges backed with savory pepper and nutmeg spice. The wine itself's not creamy, but it brings the butter out of any food, making me crave things like sherbert or butter-roasted chanterelles, shrimp, ricotta, and squash blossoms. Maybe it's the Adige, seasoned with rich Alpine water near Verona (if you think I'm crazy, try a bottle of Evian with this), that makes that happen. The 50-year-old gravel-battered garganega vines. The sun, the same sun, that warms us all.