A trio of St. Joes

At the bar at Fish, things were getting loud. We'd gone through some Gatinois champagne and some ethereal form of Alsatian riesling; now it was time to buckle down and go tannic.

2006 Gonon Saint-Joseph - I have had this wine a number of times in the past year, but this time, it was utterly brooding. A knockout nose of depth and berries and smoulder, yet on the palate, the tannins bruised. It softened a little with air, but this was some form of minor medieval warlord of a St. Joe.

A couple of nights later, it was on up to Montmartre, back to the rundown hole-in-the-wall I adore, the Cave des Abbesses, forthwith to order a bottle of:

2007 Graillot Saint-Joseph - Ah, here we were in a different idiom. No longer draped in crusty leather and holding a mace, this was light and harmonious. So slick, smooth. Something that plays around with your tongue and leaves you smiling. A witty, eighteenth-century St. Joe with nice calves.

Then, of a solitary evening, in recent days, I opened a bottle of 2007 Dard & Ribo Crozes-Hermitage. But, hey, to write about it would destroy the trinitary unity of this blog post. And as god knows, blog posts are all about classicism and coherency.

So, let's use the well-traveled literary device of the flashback.


2007 Dard & Ribo Saint-Joseph - It was spring in New York, and very hot. I was at the Dressner tasting and had just discovered the astounding white and red Châteaneufs of Eric Texier. I then made my way to an unmanned table, but was not, uh, unwomaned by it and was able to pour my own tastes. This was a wiry, coiled, energetic thing. It didn't have the same tangle as the Crozes-Hermitage (regular bottling), but had a kind of undertow that instantly gave the feel that it would age. How would I describe this St. Joe?

I dunno. My prose has run out of steam.