The Second Glass

‘07 Cortijo III Rose, Garnacha/Tempranillo Blend, Rioja $22 

We’ve passed those novelty days of summer, when the first balmy breezes seem a refreshing counterpoint to, you know, winter. Now it’s just Boston in July: hot on most days, sure, but more specifically, humid. I swim through it to crack open bottle #3 on the Tour-o-Toro, the ‘07 Cortijo Rose III, on my friend Alexander’s backyard patio.

It’s like a jungle out here. An enormous, 250 year old tree dangles its branches above us (and all of the other surrounding patios in the back alley between Warren Ave and Gray Street) littering the place with fragrant little green buds. Just moments before I arrive, poor Alexander waged war on the tree droppings, which covered the stone patio floor, the table, the chairs and all the other vegetation, carpet style. He hosed the whole area down: the leaves glisten and the stone floor is wet, giving the patio a tropical feel. What better place to while away an afternoon over rose while pretending we’re not in the city?

There is just one small problem — I can’t smell a goddamn thing. Exchanging cheek kisses with Alexander has left the scent of L’eau D’issey on my skin (my Ex’s cologne, it trumps all olfactory-induced memories), and smoke from the cigarette he elegantly puffs wafts around us. Combined with the earthy, vegetal smells of nature all around us, my sense of smell is completely muddled. I’m certain understanding the smells of this wine will be tricky out here. This doesn’t stop us from trying.

This wine is a deep, bright red, unlike any wine I’ve tried so far, the color of fresh, just ripe raspberries at the farmers market. When we first uncork the bottle I can get barely any fruit flavors off the nose (for all of the reasons mentioned above.)

“It smells warm,” says Alexander, “Can I say that? Does that make sense?”

“We’re tasting wine, we can say whatever we want,” I tell him. I take a deep sniff and suddenly I smell hints of clove. Is that the warmth he’s referring to?

The wine is brightly acidic but balanced on the palate: I can feel it pricking my tastebuds and making my mouth water before I can really taste anything. It’s very dry, too, and cold when we open it, so I really can’t identify much in terms of flavor until we’re halfway thru the first glass.

Everything changes with our first few bites of creamy Tomme-de-something from Vermont that I picked up at Lionette’s. The Piave I bought isn’t the best match, but eating anything seems imperative with this wine, on this day. As it warms I begin to taste barely ripe strawberries, and again, that slight hint of clove. I don’t taste raspberries, exactly, but the tartness, the brightness, and the color of this wine remind me so much of eating them, fresh from the farmer’s market, or fresh off the vine in a patch.

With so many other sensory things going on, it’s hard to put my finger on this wine. The more I sniff the more I smell my Ex, the green buds from that tree, or the pungent floral smells of the other bushes blooming. (Perhaps this is why we usually taste wine inside?) The more I sip, the more I want to eat that creamy cheese. In the confluence of smells and flavors, this wine sort of fades to the background. Catching up with Alexander, who I haven’t seen in ages, if infinitely more interesting.

That said, before we know it, the bottle is gone. Suddenly I am rethinking this wine, especially at this low price point. I am wishing I’d brought another.