La Opérette

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For many Germans French wine is still seen as a holy reference when it concerns wine. Being so, the market is absolutely flooded with all sort of wines which not always correspond to what you would expect and more than once was I deeply disappointed with the quality presented. 

Having recently ordered wine from Belvini, I came across this wine which has been produced specially for them, which is a phenomenon that I first got to know in Germany. Having been selected as Belvini wine of the year and with some more distinctions, I thought about giving it a shot.

Even though the label presents quite an interesting and rather seducing design, it lacks some vital as the year it was produced.  A reference to the grapes used was also missing, rather having an extensive text about the idea of creating such a wine.

The first impression I had once opened was of a wine extremely soft and rather easy to drink, which was a suspicion confirmed with the first sip. Fruity red berries involved in a voluminous mouth  due to its high alcohol percentage and some small hints of chocolate do have made it a pleasant wine to accompany some pasta dish, even though I recognize in it a high potential to be drunk on its own and not necessarily as a gastronomic wine. 

This matches  a bit my very personal perception of the consumption of wine in Germany being often consumed as a single experience and not necessarily connected to food. In this case, I can easily understand why this was named wine of the year from one of the main online wine sellers in Germany.

With it I would recommend a close look at one of the most rhythmic and fascinating north American poets, Mahogany Browne:

 

If you ain’t never watched your parents kiss 
             ain’t neva have them teach you 
‘bout the way lips will       to bend & curve 
against a lover’s affirmation 

If you ain’t never watched the knowing nod 
of sweethearts worn away & soft 
as a speaker box’s blown out hiss 

If you ain’t witnessed the glue 
that connected your mother & father 
—how they fused their single selves 
into the blunt fist of parents 

If you ain’t sure there was a time when 
their eyes held each other like a nexus
breaking the lock to dip dark marbles 
into certain corners of a shot glass 

If you ain’t never known a Saturday night 
slick with shiny promises & clouds 
wrapped wet in a Pendegrass croon 

If you ain’t been taught how 
a man hold you close      so close 
…it look like a crawl 

If you ain’t had the memory 
of your mother & father sliding 
hip to hip         Their feet whisper 
a slow shuffle & shift       Her hand 
on his neck grip the shoulder of 
a man that will pass his daughters 
bad tempers       & hands like bowls

If you ain’t watched a man 
lean into a woman His eyes 
a boat sliding across bronze 
             His hands 
pillared in her auburn hair       Her 
throat              holds     the urge 

to hear how her voice sounds against 
the wind of him 

If your skin can’t fathom the heat 
of something as necessary as this… 

Then you can’t know the hurricane 
of two bodies    how    the bodies
can create the prospect of a sunrise
how that sunrise got a name 
             it sound like: a blues song; 
a woman’s       heart breaking; 
From the record player skipping 
             the sky             almost 

blue 

 


15,5/20
Country: Frances
Region: Cotes Catalanes
Grapes: N/A
15%
Winemaker: N/A

Website: N/A



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