Several years ago I bought a Magnum of this. The label was badly damaged but fill level good. I was cleaning the cellar last weekend and I noticed this had leaked quite badly, with about a quarter of its contents now missing and the cork sticking out a bit. I stood it up for a week and opened it last night, giving it a 6 hour ‘Audouze’.
It had a rather unappealing, pale chestnut colour with a light cloudiness. The nose was nutty and had volatile balsamic lift. There were leather, teak, truffle and tobacco notes too. The palate had vinous sweetness and it had seriously good intensity of flavour. There’s a kind of slippery texture. Like an oyster, that I see in Burgundy and Bordeaux wines of this kind of age. It was full, layered and seriously long, enthralling all of those at the dinner table.
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Light, light, light, but the fruit had a beautiful, sweetness, purity and elegance, coupled with the complex patina of age in the nose, it was a special treat I am not likely to experience again.
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So much going on here, it would reduce me to babble trying to grasp at "descriptors" that might trigger in some imperfect way an association with all the details and seasonings swirled into this masterpiece of a claret. It opens up in familiar territory, fragrant with cedar and pipe-tobacco smoke and a whole bunch of other stuff I couldn't even begin to put my finger on. Then the taste of it just turns the whole inside of your mouth into a canvas for all the stuff that was happening in the aroma; the effect when it first hits the tongue is amazing, like being led blindfolded into a dark room then the light switches on and you're in a stadium surrounded by 50,000 people. It contains multitudes. I can't bring myself to swallow it, just taking in all that sweet tobacco smoke and nuttiness and antique oiled wood and creaky old cabinetry in a crimson pitch. Fortunately it lingers long enough for a proper farewell which helps put off the temptation to instantly reach for another sip, but it's hard to resist succumbing for very long. Only once you're accustomed to the swirling paisley-print complexity of this does it dawn that it's also fantastically elegant, somehow managing to feel lacy and slick at the same time.
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10/23/2020 - Jeremy Holmes wrote:
Several years ago I bought a Magnum of this. The label was badly damaged but fill level good. I was cleaning the cellar last weekend and I noticed this had leaked quite badly, with about a quarter of its contents now missing and the cork sticking out a bit. I stood it up for a week and opened it last night, giving it a 6 hour ‘Audouze’.
It had a rather unappealing, pale chestnut colour with a light cloudiness. The nose was nutty and had volatile balsamic lift. There were leather, teak, truffle and tobacco notes too. The palate had vinous sweetness and it had seriously good intensity of flavour. There’s a kind of slippery texture. Like an oyster, that I see in Burgundy and Bordeaux wines of this kind of age. It was full, layered and seriously long, enthralling all of those at the dinner table.
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5/8/2014 - Jeff Leve wrote: 90 Points
Light, light, light, but the fruit had a beautiful, sweetness, purity and elegance, coupled with the complex patina of age in the nose, it was a special treat I am not likely to experience again.
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5/5/2014 - aaslanian wrote:
Muddy, tasted like raisins... Almost port like. Drinkable but not good. The bottle was not in the best condition.
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8/8/2012 - Keith Levenberg wrote: 100 Points
So much going on here, it would reduce me to babble trying to grasp at "descriptors" that might trigger in some imperfect way an association with all the details and seasonings swirled into this masterpiece of a claret. It opens up in familiar territory, fragrant with cedar and pipe-tobacco smoke and a whole bunch of other stuff I couldn't even begin to put my finger on. Then the taste of it just turns the whole inside of your mouth into a canvas for all the stuff that was happening in the aroma; the effect when it first hits the tongue is amazing, like being led blindfolded into a dark room then the light switches on and you're in a stadium surrounded by 50,000 people. It contains multitudes. I can't bring myself to swallow it, just taking in all that sweet tobacco smoke and nuttiness and antique oiled wood and creaky old cabinetry in a crimson pitch. Fortunately it lingers long enough for a proper farewell which helps put off the temptation to instantly reach for another sip, but it's hard to resist succumbing for very long. Only once you're accustomed to the swirling paisley-print complexity of this does it dawn that it's also fantastically elegant, somehow managing to feel lacy and slick at the same time.
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