I rarely post on my other blog when I've had wine. For some reason I feel I have to be (relatively) sober when discussing politics, religion and, well, the other stuff I dwell upon there. Here, though, I find a glass by my side helps the flow of ideas.

Tonight we opened one of the first of our fabled '98 Aussie Shirazes. Shiraz's? Whatever. 1998 Charles Cimicky Shiraz Signature, RP some large score, as I recall, highly recommended or "awesome" by the proprietor of the establishment from which it was purchased. Right. Okay, well, it has an "awesome" amount of oak, that's for sure, but the only other awesome thing about it was how awesomely (is that a word?) it tasted and smelled like an overripe Zinfandel blend (e.g., healthy doses of Petite Sirah, Carignane, Alicante Bouschet, Mourvedre, a touch of Grenache, whatever). This kind of wine can be lots of fun, occasionally, but when I open a Shiraz or a Syrah, I expect at least a modicum of bacon fat, some big, ripe cherries and absolutely, positively some substantial element of spice. Not here.

On the other hand, before I start sounding too high and mighty, I believe I may have been a bit too hasty in my judgment of 1990 Burgundies (yes, from the mundane to the sublime we go.) That judgment was largely fueled by the fact that the LOML purchased a number of 1990 Amiot-Servelle Chambolle-Musigny Les Charmes several years ago, with which we've been steadily disappointed over the past year or two. Sunday night, the one we opened was so sour, so acidic, so fruit-less, so, well, bad that we decided to apply the pump and move on to a '95 Girardin Volnay Clos des Chênes (quite delicious and robust, though not particularly complex). But upon re-examinining it (the Amiot-Servelle) tonight, we discovered quite a soft, round, layered bottle of Pinot, a bit tired but whispering of greater things. The flavors in this wine at uncorking suggested that it's well over the hill, but if that were the case, there's no way it could have been as enjoyable as it was tonight after two days in vacuum. I believe we'll hold the last few bottles for a year or three more. They can't get any worse than the initial impression the other night and I'm beginning to suspect that they're just now beginning to wake up.

Happy New Year, one and all. It's not as if I haven't been drinking over the past few weeks, but nothing memorable enough to mention. Well, that's not entirely true. We opened a '95 Ridge Geyserville last night. They just keep getting better and better. Last year, we opened the '93 and the '95 together. My neighbor, who isn't a big wine drinker but knows what she likes, preferred the '93. She found it much more, well, user friendly. So we did a reprise last night. She still loves the '93 but she's now beginning to "get" the '95. It's always nice to hear a fresh perspective on good wine (and bad wine, too) from someone who has no pretensions or agendas and just speaks from the 'buds. My guess is that by next year, the '95 will be better still.

Our last '90 René Engel Clos Vougeot was consumed a few weeks ago with immense enjoyment, long sighs and smacking of lips. It was, indeed, a treasure. Some say the '90s are still in their infancy, but that's not what I'm finding. My cellar conditions were, admittedly, not so good for several years, but I like fruit in my Burgundy and I'm not so sure I want to trade it all in for those secondary flavors that sometimes come around later and sometimes don't. Anyway, we had no regrets about this bottle, except perhaps for the overbearing waiter who decided that our presenting it to him to open was an invitation to engage us in wine conversation. One reason I prefer to enjoy such bottles in the privacy of my own home rather than take them to BYOB restaurants.

I did discover an inexpensive but very nice little non-vintage champagne recently. Since traffic on this blog is so light, I'll happily share it without fear of cutting off my own supply. Hah! Raymond Henriot Brut. There ya go. I'm afraid I can't remember enough specifics to describe it, but it really grabbed attention in the midst of a group of both similarly and somewhat higher priced bottles (it goes for around $20, I believe). Good stuff.

After this week, though, I'm going to cut back on the bubbly for a bit. It happens every year. Bubble burn-out. Time for some concentration on those big, heavy reds that always seem to taste their best in the dead of winter with rich, comforting food and a roaring fire. Looking forward to it.