Brett happens

I pull an old bottle from my cellar. Thinking it’s probably over the hill and not something I’d want to chance sharing with friends, I open it one evening when I’m alone. The wine is glorious. And I’m the only person around to appreciate it.

In this case, the bottle is a Sonoma Mountains 1993, Cabernet Sauvignon, Laurel Glen, for which I paid a stiff $49.50 back in the day. The reason why was that it was said to be a sleeper, an underappreciated wine that could hold its own against better-known Cal Cabs costing two or three times as much. And you know what? It does.

Earlier in the day, I’d found a a beautiful veal rib steak sitting in my butcher’s display case. Looking for something I could, weather permitting, grill or, weather not, cook on the stovetop, I grabbed it.

Look in food-and-wine pairing books and you’ll often find that mature Bordeaux, in particular Médoc, is a recommended accompaniment for côtes de veau. And I was sure I had a cru bourgeois or two from the 1990s or early 2000s at home. Except when I looked, I didn’t. After hesitating over a 2002 Chinon, I went with this. And now, since there’s no one to share the experience with,  I regret it. Except the wine is so delicious, I don’t really.

Gorgeous Bordeauxish nose of cassis, cedar and cigar box along with notes of turned earth and slate. A joy in the mouth: the fruit sweet and vibrant, the texture satiny, the tannins resolved into velvet, the acidity bright and streaming. The long finish is remarkable for its  complex of savoury, minerally, tobacco/herby nuances. What’s more, the wine is dry and perfectly digeste, spritely, invigorating, with an alcohol level of 12.5%. Probably as good as it ever will be, though probably not declining for a few years more.

It’s the kind of wine that restores my faith in California. Except does anyone in California make wines like this any more?