Friday, August 27



The descriptions in Wine Enthusiast never fail to amuse me. I was reading the May 2004 issue when I came across this:
Initially smells of black peppercorn and oak resin; more time shows baked banana, bacon fat, dried sage, dried thyme, brown rice and broccoli. Entry has a bean-like quality; midpalate flavors include sweet, wood-influenced tastes of honey, milk chocolate, cream sherry and vanilla cake frosting. Ends wrapped in smoky vanilla and cocoa.
No, gentle reader, it's not a wine. It's a tequila. It is, in fact Cabo Wabo Anejo. To repeat: the paragraph above describes a tequila.

Bacon fat? Broccoli? Vanilla cake frosting? Really, now.

I don't know about you, but, for me tequila only gets so good. And, even at its best, it's still tequila. I once had a pricey snifter of El Tesoro Paradiso that, according to my tipsy and amusingly boastful host, had been crafted from cacti raised by a hidden sect of Incan mystics and water melted from an undisturbed-for-millennia Antarctic ice chunk, prepared according to dictates of the Mayan calendar, aged in the Amontillado cask, and brought north by a Patagonian penguin-herder to San Francisco for my very personal sipping enjoyment.

Did I enjoy it? Well, sort of, but I was glad I didn't pay for it. And, regardless, for me, tequila should be salt, lick, slam, chomp lime if I do it at all.