Penfolds Release Ultra-Premium Single Grape Cuvee

Treasury Wine Estates subsidiary Penfolds announced today that they will be releasing what they describe as the most extraordinary wine ever made. After 1000s of man-hours at the sorting table, a single Shiraz grape was chosen among millions to be vinified separately from all the others, with its precious nectar allowed to shine as a pure singularity of the finest wine Australia can produce. 

Fermentation took place in a new oak thimble, with a toothpick used for punchdowns. Once complete, the resulting wine was squeezed off its skin into a specially constructed nano-barrel carved from 100% French Oak. After 24 months, somehow avoiding complete evaporation, the remaining liquid was hermetically sealed in a perfect glass sphere, resembling a child’s marble (do children still play with marbles?). That single Marble is priced at £1,000,000.

When asked if this was a little steep, a Penfolds representative scoffed, “Really, it ought to be priceless, but if it was we couldn’t sell it, so we just came up with something ridiculously expensive. Maybe we should’ve encased it in a diamond or something.”  

Obviously with such a tiny quantity, samples proved something of an issue. “We vinified a couple of other single grapes from the same parcel to get an idea of what this one might taste like – but the mystery of it all is part of the allure.”

Of course, for the lucky buyer of the marble, comes some added extras. A case of Grange 1998 for your guests to sip while they watch you drink the Marble, as there obviously isn’t enough to share. Penfolds don’t think this will be an issue, as they’re quite certain the buyer wouldn’t think of actually drinking it. “Nah, are you kidding? We hope not, at least, as we promised to fly to population of Sydney to the opening ceremony, and that would work out pricier than the pebble itself… marble… whatever the fucking thing is."

When asked for a comment, a bearded, jet-lagged, dishevelled Robert Parker woke from a nap and muttered, “a thousand points” and immediately fell back asleep.

Some members of the wine trade were somewhat sceptical of the ‘Marble’. “First an ampoule and now a marble? The whole thing is bloody ridiculous – how do you drink a single grape’s worth of wine? Who’s going to buy that?”

Penfolds responded that, apparently, Alistair Viner of Hedonism Wines had already bought it.

Cuvée du Clos Notre Dame 2004 Vve Fourny et Fils

This was really good, though production is miniscule. So small, in fact, that I don't think the UK agent (Thorman Hunt) actually stocks this particular cuvée. It comes from a tiny monopole that is only 0.29 hectares. I think that's about the size of my garden. It's 100% Chardonnay from the 1er Cru village of Vertus.

Slow, purposeful mousse.

Chantilly cream and lemon shortbread on the nose. Very good biscuit/fruit balance. Closed but intense. As it gets air, there's a fresh cep earthiness that comes through.

Beautiful balance to the mousse on the palate. Tight, ungiving and youthful. Needs at least 5 years. Gloriously lemon-sherbet dips. Sees a bunch of oak, but it serves only for texture. Harmony but promise as well. Nerve-y and exciting.


Tasted 24 November 2013 somewhere in Fulham

La Bota de Manzanilla Pasada "Bota Punta" 40

This is probably one of the top three sherries I’ve ever drunk in my life. It blew me away. I tried quite hard with this note, to give an indication of just how much I was tasting and feeling while drinking it. I think where I fall short is the sense of energy in every sip, on the nose. The idea that this wine is almost alive in the glass. That it’s positively charged.

Salted oats, hay, straw drying in the sun. The sea takes some coaxing and it isn't wet when it comes. Crispy seaweed, a touch of malt. A clean beach at low tide. Just a bit of lemon zest. Focused. Powerful. Makes you blink the water from your eyes after you sniff it.

It starts at the sides of the tongue, like contact points on either side of a battery, with a zap, or a jolt. From there it consumes the mouth as you consume it, delivering a charge that wakes everything. Salt crusted hay and lemons, the beginnings of richness, the barest hint of creaminess. Grist. Green leaf and ash. Freshly sawed wood. Beeswax and salt crystals. There's a sharpness, freshness and bracing acidity that is balanced by a textured, oaty mouthfeel. It tugs and gives. This is like the Grand Cru Chablis of sherry. But better. That rigid, underlying structure that draws everything inward then releases more and more back. It's not just layers, it's a wave. It keeps going. As it starts at the sides of the tongue, it's like a droplet in a pool of still water. It bounces back and forth, echoing. Every sip brings something you didn’t notice before, but never at the expense of what you’re loving, what you’re tugging your tongue along the roof of your mouth for, already. 


Tasted at Miller’s Court, 16 November 2013

Duval Leroy Blanc de Chardonnay 1998 (served blind)

I served this blind on Champagne Sunday a few weeks ago. It showed better than I expected.

Slow bubbles - colour showing perfectly for the age - a hint of gold and bronze.

Nose is buttered mushrooms, a bit of oyster shell, and a touch of licorice. It gets more floral with air

Mature and toasty on the palate to start with, with a refreshing mousse. The texture of the wine beneath the mousse manages to be both citrus waxy and a touch sinewy. Not terribly complex, but very pleasurable. However, the finish seems part of a different wine, lifting with youthful, floral, exuberant spritz.

*** 1/2

Tasted somewhere in Fulham, 1 December 2013 

sweet bubbles

Champagne, more than any other wine region or wine, represents a great deal more than the sum of its parts. It’s a cold-climate, usually blended, white (I don’t really want to talk about rosé right now) wine that undergoes a secondary fermentation in the bottle. And yet it is the strongest generic wine brand in the world, and there isn’t really a second place. Not only that, but it’s been that way for well over a century. People love bubbles. People love bubbles that show off how discerning in taste they are and buy bubbles with the right labels. They’ve done so for a long time. And so much of the success comes down to the bubbles. Still wines from the region tend towards the relentlessly astringent.

But the success isn’t just about bubbles. Plenty of wines have bubbles. Nowadays, people pointing at Champagne’s underlying brilliance talk about the chalky soil and all the other dreaded “t” word stuff. I’m not really interested in that today. The main reason for Champagne’s continued success the world over isn’t its bubbles or its chalk: it’s the remarkable adaptability of the Champagnois.

Champagne’s stratospheric rise to acclaim came on the shoulders of a much different wine to what we drink today. Yes, there were bubbles, but there was also sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. Champagne was sweet, or at the very least, off-dry. The levels of sugar in the dosage were far higher than today, and were often tailored for specific markets, depending on the sweet teeth of the intended destination. One of the reasons they could do this was the bracing natural acidity of the wines. Champagne can take a lot of sugar. 

As tastes changed, so too did the producers. Dosages were reduced. Doux, Sec, Demi-Sec and Rich all gave way slowly to Brut and Extra Brut. There’s no right or wrong to this. Champagne simply changed to something slightly different. Perhaps it’s because, historically speaking, Champagne wasn’t all that wine-y a region. It became a wine region to meet the demand of those buying bubbles. Before that, it was famous for textiles and chalk mines. And as a wine region, it supply always seemed to be chasing demand. It’s a luxury every wine region dreams of. It also doesn’t allow for much dogma. 

Nowadays, the ability of these producers to change is being tested in different way. Climate change has accelerated in the last decade and a half, and the cool weather that brought high-acid wines is becoming a thing of the past. The big houses are building new presses closer to the vines - speed to press and reductive vinification is seen as essential to maintain freshness and combat lowered acidity brought by warmer weather. NVs these days are more green apples and lemons than orange peel and marmalade. 

Of course, these are sweeping statements. The smaller houses in Champagne are some of the most exciting independent wineries in the world right now. More attention has turned to viticulture than ever, and the result is wines that are redefining brilliance in the region. I’m not talking about gold-clad melchiors or single-Clos Krugs (though the latter are nice too), I’m talking about wines no one’s ever heard of, that I don’t even remember the name of. Tiny little Champagne houses making incredible wines… hipster Champagnes if such a thing could exist… 

I’m sorry - I got sidetracked. I was supposed to be talking about the style of sweet Champagne being lost to history, a footnote for nerds to look at in their WSET texts. I remember when I did my advanced, they were unable to name a single Doux cuvée still in production. I’m a nerd. I love footnotes. I also love residual sugar from 0g/l all the way up to PX at 400g/l and Essencia at 650g/l. So when Pete, my resident Champagne lunatic, showed me some of his latest additions to his hilariously overstocked cellar, I said “let’s buy a shitload of pâté and drink some sweet Champagne”. He thought this was a great idea. 

I don’t think sweet Champagne is on the verge of making a tremendous comeback. The only sweet wines that seem to succeed beyond the adoration of wine nerds are the ones that lie about their sweetness. Wines for consumers that think they like dry wines but are really drinking cunningly concealed sugar-bombs. It’s a shame, but there you go. 

Doyard Le Libertine Champagne Doux

This is really expensive. It was €120 at the cellar door. They wouldn’t tell us anything about it, other than it was bottled in 2008 and dosaged to 135g/l of residual sugar. I’d never had a Doux Champagne before. My closest comparison, in my mind, was sparkling Icewine from Canada. Boy was I wrong.

Rich gold with tiny bubbles that move at their own pace.

Intense, slightly funky nose of candied peaches, baked honey. Earthy at times, and with a hint of beeswax. Very heady once it comes out, but it needs coaxing.  

Incredible richness, both ripe and candied fruits. Incredible with duck liver pâté and orange. It’s like plugging it into a socket with food - brings out so much lift and energy. The fatty pâté and delicious goose rillettes bring out spices - cloves and cinnamon. Earthy and surprisingly grippy. Oats and honeyed peaches and apricots rolled with pastry. It fills every corner of the mouth and demands you move your tongue around as much as possible, tracing every complex nuance of sweetness and savoury. I reckon this could age a century, because once that sweetness grabs the food, there’s a bracing, almost brazen, acidity underneath. It’s utterly bloody delicious. And it’s somewhat like tasting a bit of the past. This is what Champagne used to be like. Bubbles and a sugar rush. Amazing.


Pierre Legras Demi-Sec Grand Cru Blanc de Blancs 

This is not normally sold to the public, but Pete was given the opportunity to purchase it after a half-hour tasting turned into a 3 hour tour/tasting and discussion of all things Champagne. It’s not normally sold because Monsieur Legras likes to drink it himself with his wife, and no one wants to buy Demi-Secanymore. But he likes to drink it, so he keeps back some of his bottles to dosage a bit heavier. This cuvée is a blend of the 1995 and 1996 vintage and is dosaged to 35g/l of residual sugar. 

Beautiful, mature gold with speedy, medium-sized bubbles.

Heady, rich nose - honey and and a touch of earthiness. Then there are some biscuit notes and clean, fresh mushrooms.

Rich and complete on the palate. Honeyed, with a bit of hay, a touch of cep. Gorgeous with the food (selection of pâtés) always seeming to lift. There's a touch of that dirty honey sweetness on the finish. It's a pleasing, structured darkness. Very firm at its core, layered, with the flavours quite happy to play off each other’s nuances. They never quite hit the same points twice. It’s exciting to drink with the food, and see what happens next. Quite brilliant.


Tasted somewhere in Fulham, 1 December 2013

i'm back

I submitted the manuscript last Sunday night, and the book is fully funded (though you can still support it here).

Here's a fairly ordinary Champagne that you should avoid. More soon.

Barnaut Grand Cru Blanc de Noirs Bouzy

Good pale gold. Speedy, tiny bubbles. 

Bruised strawberries, green apples, a bit of hay and shortbread. Perhaps a touch of cocoa. 

Toothsome, but a bit one dimensional. There's some nice red fruit acidity. But the finish lasts longer than the mousse, giving a still wine texture at the end. That bizarre disjointed note undermines it a bit for me. It should be better, because its simplicity is hugely enjoyable.

Getting a bit thin with air. Becomes less pleasant. 


Tasted somewhere in Fulham, 2 June 2013

prolonged hiatus

The first draft of Salt & Old Vines will be submitted on May 14th. That's ten days from now, and I've an awful lot of writing to do in the meantime. The whole publishing schedule has been laid out - it's exciting and scary and soon. Which means that the stack of tasting notes and reports from both Burgundy and the Rhone will have to wait that little bit longer.

I've continued to drink wine and enjoyed some things that have really blown me away of late. I went to Danny Cameron's remarkable Big Fortified Tasting and, though I didn't have much time, was utterly impressed by not only the wines available to sample, but the extraordinary enthusiasm of both the exhibitors and the attendees. I tasted as much Sherry as I could, grabbed a sneak peak of the 2011 Vintage Ports (Graham's "The Stone Terraces" was rather nice, as it should be), and managed to get hold of a signed copy of that new Sherry book that everyone (who's a total nerd about sherry) is talking about. Old Madeira was, as usual, amazing. People should drink fortified wine more often.

In the non-fortified universe, I've been enjoying Guy Farge's Saint-Josephs from both 2010 and 2011. Mas Brunet continues to do wonderful things in the Terraces du Larzac. Look for both those things. A half dozen native oysters at Ivan's in Howth matched perfectly with a bottle of basic Picpoul de Pinet. I've forgotten the producer as it was an off-duty lunch. But I'm pretty sure great oysters and good Picpoul won't ever let you down.

Back to sherry: had some of Lustau's Old East India with a slice of warm ginger cake. Not quite as harmonious as the Picpoul and oysters, but pretty bloody close.

Sampled a whole bunch of stuff on the enomatics at Hedonism. Ygay Gran Reserva 2004 stands out among them all as being true class.

I tried a whole bunch of shitty Chiantis and Super-Tuscans. They're not imported into the UK. Crossing my fingers it stays that way.

I'm really loving wine at the moment, just in general. If it didn't have that terrible tendency to make me drunk and sleepy, I'd be drinking even more of it. I'll just have to settle for writing a book about making it instead.


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another month off...

Book deadlines are quite tight at the moment and so there's been a bit of a lull up here. However, I've been on two wine-y trips to France already this year, with more to come. A visit to Beaune has left me even more besotted with Burgundy and there was something about the terraces around Tain l'Hermitage that ignited my curiosity. Both trips, along with notes and assorted gibberish, will be written up as soon as I finish the first draft of the book. Which will hopefully be sometime in April. Thank you for your patience.


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Equipo Navazos La Bota de Manzanilla Pasada Bota "NO"

Manzanilla Pasada - occupying that important phase of maturity between Fino and Amontillada (not Amontillado, which comes after Amontillada. I think.). I didn't drink this with Broomie, I drank it with Andy. And then I saved a bit which I meant to bring into work, but then got greedy and finished before that could happen. Because it was very, very tasty.

Quite light, but with beginnings of brass.

Sea salt and hay with smoked nuts and toffee. There's some citrus there as well as butterscotch and dough.

The palate starts off quite invigorating. Fresh salt spray, citrus tang and the dust from the bottom of a bowl of dust. Then it softens, becomes quite velvety and textured. Melts on the mouth sort of like dried bits of seaweed with sushi. Fresh notes of mint, some other herby notes. Complex. Nuanced. Yet more amazing sherry from these folks.


Tasted 8 & 11 January 2013 at Millers Court

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Equipo Navazos La Bota de Palo Cortado 34

I opened this and the Amontillado with my mate, Broomie. He and I went to Jerez together 8 years ago (seems like yesterday) and share a love and nerdery for sherry such that we occasionally get a bit lost. His fiancé was with us and thought we were a combination of amusing, boring and ridiculous. We waxed lyrical and philosophical for over an hour about this, pouring forth praise and pondering nuances. 

I have one more bottle of this left in the cellar. I'm trying to forget it's there; to leave it as a sort of surprise to myself, but it keeps calling to me.

Darker, like Greek honey and brass.

Deep, rich and inviting nose. Roasted oranges and maple-glazed walnuts. A touch of amaretto. Occasionally there's a bit of spearmint, often there's deeply varnished mahogany, leather and a bit of cured meat. Dust. Toffee. Pecan pie. Bonfire smoke. It's all there.

I don't think I've ever had sherry so red-fruit like. It bursts right out with roasted and raisined strawberries, plums and raspberries, all with baked orange rind acidity to lift them. Proper waxy honeycomb, with those hardened clumps of honey sugar. Bone dry but rich and leading you along that path to thinking there must be sweetness there somewhere. But there isn't, and it's better for it. This is incredibly complex - again, every sip is different. It draws the tongue right up to the roof of the mouth and makes you tug as much as you can from every sip. Nutty, intricate, powerful, delicate, and seemingly endless - the finish is hard to determine as you want another sip before it goes away. There isn't anything out of place with this. If this isn't the best sherry I've ever drunk, it's pretty bloody close.


Tasted 26 & 28 December 2012 at Miller's Court

Equipo Navazos La Bota de Amontillado 37 'Navazos'

I secured a parcel of these as a sort of Christmas present to myself. It's expensive for sherry, but for what other wine can you secure some of the absolute best available for about £50 a bottle? We all have different priorities of course. I spent most of January living on muesli as a result, but there you go. 

Pale brass, with a bit of a honey hue to it.

Pecans and almonds on the the nose, with a hint of brûlée. There's smokiness there too, depending on the whiff. It changes with every sniff. Sometimes a bit of dusty, woody varnish comes out. Sometimes it's quite orange-y.

It clenches around the tongue, permeating the channels between tasted buds. It gets in there. Like drinking polished mahogany. Those nuts from the nose are roasted more on the palate. It's surprisingly elegant, delicate, with the structure somewhat like delicately spun sugar around the edges, but at it's core is beautifully rich, dry, salted caramel. There's something different with every taste. Long; incredible.

Tasted 26 & 28 December 2012 at Miller's Court

Champagne Savart 'Calliope' 2006

This was a bizarre moment. I was at a grower Champagne tasting with my mate, Pete, the Champagne lunatic. We tried the wines, some of which were lovely and some of which were not-so-much. We were in the gallery where Ronnie Wood from the Rolling Stones hangs his art. It made for surreal surroundings to say the least, as did the presence of those working in the gallery. High fashion, ridiculously glamorous art nerds meet low fashion, low glamour wine nerds. Anyway, at the end of the tasting, our host pulls this bottle out and tells us we've got to try it. It's the first bottle to leave Savart's cellars and he's only made 600 or so bottles. It's 60% Chardonnay 40% Pinot Noir and zero dosage - he doesn't really know what he's going to do with it. After tasting it, I reckon cellar half and drink the other half: it was awesome.

Pale lemon gold with fine, quick bubbles.

Hay and lemon and apple and salted shortbread with just a hint of sweet butter.

Champagne shot through a laser. Incredibly tight, lemons rind spray, touches of salinity bit of quince, remarkable stone finish that lasts a good long while. Lean but powerful stuff. This is seriously fine Champagne - I'd put it up against a gamut of prestige cuvées without hesitating. I don't know if it's going to be available for sale, but if it is, you should buy it.


Tasted in Mayfair, 14 December 2012


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Chateau Lafite 1955

This was a little too old. I was lucky to taste it anyway, but it would have been better 10 or 15 years ago. That's snobby and picky and hypercritical, yes, but I think people stand in awe of age too much with wine. I love old wine. But sometimes it's not at its best. That doesn't make it any less charming. 

Pale as burgundy, but clearly claret.

Stewed plums, some real bright ripe berry notes, lovely forest-y secondaries. Bit tarry. Quite sweet and rich. Something creamy about.

Charming and complete on the palate. Elegant with some nice life to it. Gentle and caressing. All red fruits, strawberry cream and leather.


Tasted 7 December 2012 at The Sampler


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Musigny Grand Cru VV 1999 de Vogüé

I love Musigny. I prefer Mugnier's to de Vogüé's these days, but that's totally academic as I cannot afford either. 

Dark, deep and gorgeous.

Quite mute to start. Slowly showing strawberries, cherries and some glazed ham.

Incredibly tight knit at the moment, with fruit and secondaries pulled taut like rope in the palate. Finely texture, like beautiful wood. Echoes long after it goes down. Intense. Focused. Precise, but still with elegant poise. Lifting. Glorious.


Tasted 7 December 2012 at The Sampler


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101 > 81

In my first year at university, my friend Matt and I bought a bottle of Wild Turkey, booked the tv room in the basement of our hall and had a bit of a Billy Connolly stand-up marathon. This was in 1994. Everyone else was going to the pub that night, but we wanted to drink bourbon and laugh. We didn’t want Jack Daniel’s (not a bourbon), we didn’t want Jim Beam, we wanted Wild Turkey; bourbon to burn holes in the stomach, incendiary liquid that informed you beyond a shadow of any doubt that you were drinking something serious. Something strong.

Thus was Wild Turkey etched into my memory, and throughout the course of my adult life, it held a special place. The label looks like it should be the pattern on some 70’s shag carpet, its unapologetic bottle-shape, and the proof, proud and large, at 101. 8 years old and 101 proof, it was not a pleasure whiskey; it was the drinking equivalent of self-harm. Every sip blazed a trail across the palate and down the throat like a blade across the forearm. While most of my drinking was whisky-drinking, those rare times for whiskey-drinking were ones of intense reflection, misery and doom. It was the perfect accompaniment to such things. It didn’t smack of refinement and poise, it just smacked any refinement and poise off your smug face.

Latterly, I found it to be ideal in Old Fashioneds. Too many bartenders err towards the sweet. Wild Turkey served as the perfect foil to this. A mere sugar cube soaked in bitters was no match for it. It merely took a bit of the edge off. A whiskey cocktail; now with only half the self-harm.

I finished off the bottle at my local a few weeks ago. When next in, standing in its place on the shelf behind the bar stood a pale replacement. It still said Wild Turkey, but instead of ‘70s shag carpet, it was a pre-Miami Vice ‘80s airport lounge. Muted and staid. Designed. It didn’t say 8 years old on it, and the bold 101 was replaced by a larger 81 signifying far less. No longer a throwback, it was firmly a product of its time. I seethed. I took photos of it with my phone and lamented this ridiculous ‘diet’ bourbon. I shouted at everyone who listened. Countless wincing sips came back to me and slipped away again. 

I calmed down. 

It makes sense. Duty on spirits in the UK is based on abv, folks are drinking responsibly, or at least being told to. The rough edges all around are being smoothed out, curtailed. Rubber bumpers put on sharp corners so toddlers don’t bang their heads.

I don‘t know if it’s the whiskey itself, or if it’s just another marker of the passage of time. I do know what I’d like to wash the taste out of my mouth, but I guess I’ll have to look a bit harder to find it.


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yet another pause...

I have about 1000 tasting notes to post, as well as some opinions/rants on Bourbon, cocktails, craft beer and morons who claim to know about all those things, but the book is taking precedence at the moment. I'm sorry about that. This thing is only really useful if it's updated regularly. The coming weeks will see that happen. If you are still popping by, thank you. There should be some interesting things to read soon enough.


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Quintarelli Amarone 2000

I've mentioned before the special place Amarone takes in my heart. Any chance to try Quintarelli should be cherished. The great man himself passed away this year, and the world is poorer for it.

Not as dark and broody as I was expecting.

Liquor-soaked raisins covered in chocolate with some meat behind it.

Awesome backwards and properly bitter. Intense sweet dried fruit mixed with plums and the most bitter of dark chocolate. Proper mole style. Chillies. Long. Powerful. Amazing. For such power to be so nuanced, for all that layered complexity to be so clear and pristinely structured is remarkable. 


Tasted 4 December 2012 at SWiG

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Sassicaia Vertical

This was a treat. My boss was hosting a top flight Italian tasting and opened all the bottles at the office to make sure they were in good condition and give us a chance to try them. Sometimes it's not so bad being a wine-merchant.

Sassicaia 1988

I love 1988 as a vintage in a lot of places, particularly Champagne. Not had the chance to try many from Italy, so I was curious and not a little bit excited.

Lovely depth of colour still. Slightly paled with age.

Very cedar-y and leafy on the nose. Just underneath that is juicy cherry and cassis. Truffles.

Lovely, leathery and quite delicious. Texture is grainy and nuanced. Great length. Superb fruit purity, though I wish a touch more of the secondaries came through.


Sassicaia 1990

Bottle variation can be a blessing and a curse. This was a curse.

Darker but not by much.

Earthy, slightly animal nose. Of Brett? Should blow off. Doesn't blow off. 

Very tight. Something a touch off, sadly.

Can't rate.

Sassicaia 1999

Italy was blessed by some truly extraordinary vintages at the end of the last century and the beginning of this one. And with so much attention being paid to overhyped '97s, you could do worse than picking up some great '99s at pretty good prices. Not this, of course. This is stupidly expensive and never worth quite as much as you pay for it. 


Big, meaty, savoury nose of Parma ham and perfumed edges.

Palate is huge, juicy with cassis and cherries. Softening tannins but still with lovely grip and a touch of tactile bite. It gets leathery as it goes on, with great wood integration.


Sassicaia 2001

Another of those great Italian vintages. I would be very happy with a cellar full of '01s and '04s. 


Softer nose than 1999. Caramel notes and Ceps as well as dark forest fruits.

Beautifully integrated berry fruit that's wrapped tightly in cocoa and herbs. Forest floor. Soft right up until a bracing and gripping finish. 


All tasted 4 December 2012 at SWiG


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