nwinther
Posts: 347
Joined: 7/28/2006 From: Denmark Status: offline
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I think so too, Lawrence. If you care to read the story behind, then here it is... My dad has always been into wine, but never on an elite scale - though he knows his way around. My dad is a photographer and my parents have friends in the neighbouring city, which runs a photo-shop (the shop - not the software), and it's in their shop that it all begins. One day a guy, a janitor on the local school actually, comes in the store and asks about a Hasselblad camera that's in the window. He offers to pay for it with wine. (I don't know if you know much about photography or cameras, but Hasselblad is a pretty expensive brand and this particular camera is a bit of a rarity). Now, the owner of the shop knows nothing about wine, but the janitor has brought a few bottles and the owner calls the local wine-dealer and asks him about if this is worth anything. "It is", he's answered. Well, this guy trades in a case of each of the above wines (Lafite 85, Latour 83 and Gruaud 82) for this camera. A few days later, my parent's friends are coming for dinner, and "they'll bring the wine". At this time, I have no interest in wine whatsoever. Actually I despise wine and would much rather have a dark beer or soda. As the evening progress, they ask me if I don't want a glass - and I agree to have just a small sip, as I know this is expensive stuff (my dad told me) and I think it'd be wasted on me. So I get somethink like two centiliters (I don't know the american equivalent - something like four thimbles) of each. And for the first time, I actually like the wine. And I immediately pick up on this particular smell of "greatness" which I've come across many times later when drinking the elite wines such as Mouton, Leoville, Gruaud, Conselliante etc. I find it something like buttermilk or white bread - it's hard for me to define. But I've never picked it up in everyday wines or even the fruity shiraz' of Australia or South Africa. Almost exclusevely in great Bordeaux' or Northern Rhone's. Anyway, since that evening, I was hooked on the stuff (not the Betty Ford-way, mind you).
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What I lack in size I make up for in obnoxiousness.
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