Wine Alert: Seppelt Moyston Late Harvest Muscat 1999
I never thought I would go into the wine-blog madness, but sometimes you get reflective; and after all, I have blogged about absinthe before.
The flesh is tired, and the mind withdrawn. Think then of happiness, mature and bottled up!
Tonight I am sipping the pale golden fluid which is a late-harvest wine. These wines are made by letting grapes mature in long firm heat until their sugars reach mythopoeic (aha, take that, my friend Hierophant!) levels. The resultant wine contains a veritable cornucopia (some say pharmacopoeia) of complex non-sugar organics and odd sugars.
There are 31 of them, and the world cannot label them at all...
This particular late-harvest wine comes from the village of Moyston, where the sunlight is intense but strangely blunted as if by the gentle hand of a goddess who conspires to allow the grape to mature without scorching.
Look at it! See how it catches the light! There are dragons dancing in the depths.
I taste fruit. Bruised peaches with their odd bitterness; berries from a forgotten summer; a delicate and evanescent fragrance, as if of pears; a bold note at the bottom, as if the grape had honeydew accomplices. And the lychees are blooming in my mouth...
She of Moyston, lady most austral, conspires to bless. Praise be to the Highest who allows such conspiracies!
I taste the fruit of a hard day's labour, and it is all worth it. Each drop is gold, the oil of surcease from pain. Good night.
The flesh is tired, and the mind withdrawn. Think then of happiness, mature and bottled up!
Tonight I am sipping the pale golden fluid which is a late-harvest wine. These wines are made by letting grapes mature in long firm heat until their sugars reach mythopoeic (aha, take that, my friend Hierophant!) levels. The resultant wine contains a veritable cornucopia (some say pharmacopoeia) of complex non-sugar organics and odd sugars.
There are 31 of them, and the world cannot label them at all...
This particular late-harvest wine comes from the village of Moyston, where the sunlight is intense but strangely blunted as if by the gentle hand of a goddess who conspires to allow the grape to mature without scorching.
Look at it! See how it catches the light! There are dragons dancing in the depths.
I taste fruit. Bruised peaches with their odd bitterness; berries from a forgotten summer; a delicate and evanescent fragrance, as if of pears; a bold note at the bottom, as if the grape had honeydew accomplices. And the lychees are blooming in my mouth...
She of Moyston, lady most austral, conspires to bless. Praise be to the Highest who allows such conspiracies!
I taste the fruit of a hard day's labour, and it is all worth it. Each drop is gold, the oil of surcease from pain. Good night.
Labels: Reflection, Wine
etched with acid at 11:01:00 pm
3 Comments:
you make wine sound so good! I'm still awaiting my first taste of it.
That's but just one. Sweet wines are my kind too, but I'm perfect with simple whites that actually rinse your palate rather than sting your mouth. I think Sauternes is a better sweet wine, though I've never tasted it.
To xinhui: try wine first rather than beer.It's expensive yes, but one glass sets you down a great road.
A good Sauternes (like the one I'm keeping at the bottom of my refrigerator, well insulated) is beautiful. But you can't always drink Sauternes... *grin*
I take a good Liebfraumilch or Riesling when I need to rinse the palate and increase the happiness level...
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