My exhortation in the title is both a reference to how I remember this wine caressing me on my last taste of it and also a plea regarding the hyper-critical faculties I know Elitistreview readers render patent when assaying this organ. I arrogate your good favour when you read this post purely because I am currently more bonkers than an automatic hammer. For a start, I am far more disturbed than when I wrote No holidays. None. Ever.
Then the experiences of today have been unfortunate. I spent a large part of the day not really sure if The Editor was not someone who used to beat me up with merciless fury as a child; as you must know by now he only beats me these days when my jokes are so unrepeatably vile I risk tarnishing my organ with them. Worse that that I was, for most of the morning, not too well-versed in my own Identity. I knew Toast was my teddy bear and that the person who probably wasn’t the editor might beat me up soon, but beyond that, all personal perceptions were ideate for frightening periods. You get the idea that I am insane as a seething sack of stoats and, as such, I ask your forgiveness if this tasting not is not up to the usual questionably repeatable standard.
“So why write this at all?”, you may ask. Even though I write Elitistreview largely to entertain myself with the recollection of mirthful experiences, I do feel a duty to you, my well-wassailed readers. This is particularly the case when I have received a most surprising number of messages asking me to post more stuff. It is hard but I like to keep my audience serviced so, despite being much more lunatic than an Austrian prestige cuvee sweet wine, I am here to satisfy your urges with a review of a red Burgundy my memory assures me is a winsome little number. I’ll try to keep things transpicuous.
By Jove, these 2011s just beg you to drink them – it’s hard not plunging in after the briefest of seducing sniffs. It has very pure, enjoyable fruit that pleads with you to drink it – it promises it is going to be simply scrummy with all of those nice, sweet characters of fruit and none of the pithy, mouldy ones. it also has a slightly creamy earthiness which, by arse, adds to the attraction value of this nose.
If there is any new oak on this nose it is such a trivial amount it does not matter. The alcohol level is harmonious and pulchritrudinous rather than overt and distracting. The best summary of the nose of this wine I could give is that it is an involved, longed-for cuddle, including quick feel of unmentionables, with the person you love most in your life. OK, perhaps a little less complex than that but it is unmentionably lovely (his or hers).
Dive in and there’s bright, fresh fruit throbbing with life. It throbs with a playful edge of tannin as well, but that’s silky and in harmony so you should not be worried by its mention. But what there is most of is gloriously pretty, vibrantly attractive fruit. It grasps you by things such as gums, uvulas and tonsils and demands you must stay fiercely focussed for each vivacious mouthful of pure drinking pleasure.
That edge of tannin and the acid/earth balance give it pretty good complexity, and there’s no denying the little goer keeps on going. As I said there’s interest as well as charm, it is a really classy bottle of Gevrey. I think everyone I’ve had this vineyard from recently (a massive list comprising Fourrier and Jouan) have made beautiful. poised wines that would shame most premier crus from most producers. The ethereal, exquisite elegance that this embraces your palate with is an utter joy. Rapturous ravishment from such a humble wine. I’m fucking gobsmacked.
It will probably age quite well, but I’m not going to give you any clues about how long because I want you to to drink yours within 18 months at most. It is so utterly beautiful, such a unrestricted delight to drink now that I think you should with yours. And if you don’t I will tweak your earlobe and stamp on your little toe (left) because you will be missing out on one of the true joys of the wine world: young, gorgeous Pinot Noir. Few pleasures, that rise up into my realm of interest, are so good!
I am now going to take the remains of my allotted amount to bed with me and cry until it’s time to sleep.
Oh yes, Clark Foyster Wines are the agents for Henri Jouan wines, I’m in no state to find a link but will do so… maybe tomorrow…