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.