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1961 Talbot


DonRocks
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So I've been hitting the gym hard of late, 12 days in a row, probably 28 out of 30, and finally my body has waved the white flag. Like a fool, I took two Advil PM last night and I remember having a dream that, "oh well, you're getting sick, so I guess you're not going to the gym today." I woke up feeling dizzy, woozy, and like a cloud had taken up residence inside my frontal lobe and dispersed itself throughout my limbs, and I'm still pretty much there. I almost never take a drink before 6 PM, but today has just been a serious "to hell with it" kind of day. Enter the 1961 Talbot.

This wine is a poster child for why passing final judgment via double-blind tasting is a game for hubristic fools. Almost anyone - including me - would dismiss this entirely as "shot to hell," "defective," or something worse. In fact is IS shot to hell, but more like Butch Cassidy than Nicolae Ceausescu. Forty-five years old, this is a prime example of why even the most suspect wines from the great 1961 vintage still merit attention.

A powdery cork disintegrated two-thirds of the way out, but they don't make corks like they used to, and as I started pouring it into the decanter I was perked by the color, a deep red, and in the glass it had brown only around the edges. On the first whiff I got a little bloody Band-Aid which is exactly what I wanted, but the first sip was short and metallic. I look for two things during my first impressions of an older wine: nose and finish - the nose was there, but the finish wasn't.

But you don't judge an old Bordeaux in the first five seconds, and after just a few minutes in the glass the wine began taking on more viscosity, the metallic finish ceding access to something with cinnamon and mushroom. The fruit was tired, but it was still there.

And now an hour in, the wine is holding up, and it's even good enough to make you nod your head in approval. A wine to respect for what it is, much like watching a senior citizen running an impressive 400 meters in a local competition, stayin' alive.

Cheers,

Rocks

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Like a fool, I took two Advil PM last night and I remember having a dream that, "oh well, you're getting sick, so I guess you're not going to the gym today." I woke up feeling dizzy, woozy, and like a cloud had taken up residence inside my frontal lobe and dispersed itself throughout my limbs, and I'm still pretty much there.

"PM" ingredient in all over-the-counter drugs is BENADRYL--which I avoid like the plague unless I am near death from an allergic reaction, for the very reason you describe. It leaves me in an unpleasant fog for 36 hours. Nasty stuff. Wine is a much more felicitous sleep-inducer, IMHO. Next time, just take the Advil with some food, and an appropriate wine pairing.

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So I've been hitting the gym hard of late, 12 days in a row, probably 28 out of 30, and finally my body has waved the white flag. Like a fool, I took two Advil PM last night and I remember having a dream that, "oh well, you're getting sick, so I guess you're not going to the gym today." I woke up feeling dizzy, woozy, and like a cloud had taken up residence inside my frontal lobe and dispersed itself throughout my limbs, and I'm still pretty much there. I almost never take a drink before 6 PM, but today has just been a serious "to hell with it" kind of day.

You funny.

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