It's the premier of the final half-season of Battlestar Galactica. We have a Lou Malnati's deep-dish pizza in front of the television, and it's time to hit the bottle. This time, it's a 2005 Turley Zinfandel I've been saving. It's a pretty, translucent color in the glass, like the skin of a black cherry. It smells like I just stomped through a field of red raspberries, but underneath that, there's a whiff of something like Coca-Cola. If they made Raspberry Coke, it would smell something like this. And on the first taste... if cola wasn't sweetened by anything but a squeeze of blackberry juice, that'd come close to the flavors. But this is a hefty sip with tannins that stay on your tongue with a taste that'd come from something smelling of cedar. A couple of years ago, I tried a bottle of this wine that was a fruit-bomb, a riot of raspberry and blackberry jam with lots of pepper and woody spice. Now, it's a little more calm and smooth. This is a food wine, but this pizza isn't the right match. This wine wants something savory, something roasted. Slow-cooked beef ribs, where the meat falls off the bone. No barbecue sauce, mind you. Just roasted meat and the subdued blackberry and cedar of this wine.
Glass number two. Maybe my pizza smell is overwhelming it, but blackberries and cola are tight, reluctant to waft out of the glass. A deep sniff gives me a red streak of raspberry, jazzy and then gone. Is this Turley past its prime? It has been lying around the condo for more than a year, subject to B's 80-degree thermostat and Remy's incessant tail-swatting. I'll get this pizza out of the way... There we go -- dried raspberries and blackberries, and the first sip fills the mouth with dry, woody fruit and spices. This is not a cocktail wine -- you have to keep eating, or it'll suck the moisture out of your mouth. Feh. This wine is too somber. Turley, I remember when you were fun. What happened? I don't have any barbecue for you, and you're just clobbering this tomato sauce.
Glass numbers three. And four. Okay, this isn't a wine for my pizza, so it's time to start dealing with it on its own terms. It's giving me some fruit -- dry and almost bitter -- and a lot of scented wood. This is good. This is a dry dinner wine. It's also thick and hefty in the mouth -- thick as whole milk. Salty bacon bits from our salad make the fruit a little brighter, but this is still dark, deep stuff. After some salt-and-savory, I got a mouthful of blackberry jam with a peppery bite. These are spikes. This wine wants to percolate in the lower registers; it talks like Brando in The Godfather -- nearly incomprehensible if you're paying attention, but sit back, let your mind wander, let its tastes play around on your tongue. This is actually a damn good wine. I'm sorry I doubted you Turley. You're A-OK in my book.
My wife is telling me to drink water. This is a good idea. It's time to say night-night to Turley. I'll see you again when I have barbecue. Or pot roast. Yeah, that'd rock.
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