Pleasure

Sometimes it's good to come back to what draws us to wine. This week, I couldn't bring myself to post here, because I felt defeated by the ever-unfurling tidal waves of high-end wine grandstanding on a bulletin board I participate on. I had conflicting feelings of wanting only to post about cheapies (yum, that Gamay de Touraine!) or else just let it drop entirely.

I've been drinking some good wines lately, though, so it would be a shame to slip away into some bubbly netherland and never make a peep about what can be, and so often is, an alchemical experience: the sharing of fine wine, the joy and headiness of pleasure.

So, fittingly, I had a dinner at my place with a bunch of friends. The talk and laughter got so loud I had to close the window. We poured some stuff, a 1999 Pierre Moncuit Vieilles Vignes, a 2000 Ruinart, a 2004 Laroche Chablis 1er Cru "Fourneaux," a 2001 Henri Germain Meursault 1er Cru "Charmes," a 1999 Denis Thomas Vosne-Romanée.

I can still taste the roundness of the Ruinart against a caramelized shallot tart I'd prepared. And the sharp tangle of citrus and light grassy straw in the Laroche Chablis sounded off perfectly against shrimp in coconut milk.

We finished the evening with a massive lashing of cheeses, trying to coax the Vosne-Romanée out of its tight-fisted, tightly coiled slumber, and appreciating the absolute balance of the Meursault.

Then we had two warring strawberry tarts (a planning mixup, but amusing that C. brought one too), and were all drunk and merry. As it should be.