CORKSCREW
in the vineyard’s modest ecosystem. They mow the grass, and they also bashfully assist with compostable vineyard sprays (see: manure). I gravitate towards these kinds of wines and these people, and it’s not just because of the rectitude of maintaining decent farming practices. It is because you can taste the difference in the glass. While many people are on vacation, biodynamic farmers are sweat-struck by 9AM. There is a preconceived notion among some so-called wine experts that biodynamic farming resembles witchcraft. In the biodynamic calendar, a fruit day is only performed when the moon is in Aries, Leo, or Sagittarius. I may be under a spell, and I have no idea what any of this stuff means save for some well-placed Instagram meme jabs about being a hectic Aquarius. The wines taste great, that’s all I can say about that. There is a style of wine that always gives my somm spirit a little jubilee. A late harvest wine elicits heat fusing into warm fruit with the sameness of pie caramelizing in the oven. These late harvest wines are chinched (Newfoundland word for stuffed) with gum twisting acidity and tongue curling sweetness. There was a special bottle I tried a couple of years ago with a fleet of Somms touring B.C. When the vintner talked about the bottle, his eyes were misty. A bear once staggered into their vineyard in the last beat of the season, when they had avoided every imaginable deterrent, around December.
It seemed as though the grizzly devoured every last grape and trampled many vines. These vines later took years to establish themselves if they weren’t ripped out. The winery had given up. Then a few weeks later, out of the blue, they discovered a patch of grapes unbothered by the brown bear’s havoc. It’s the forbidden honey that the bear could never reach and it tasted amazing. What is hygge about this? When you are opening something restored, or protected, and sharing it, even with yourself, the act is that. It’s more than cozy. It can become an exalted state of being. For that reason, I recommend opening any of your treasures. Even if it is the blueberry wine that has been resting unlawfully in your parent’s (Bud and Win’s) junk room for 7 years. Or if you are fortunate enough to have a bottle of Clos du Soleil Saturn Late Harvest Sauvignon Blanc sharing residence with you, now may be the time. If you’re after that raging fireside thing, I would have Syrah. It must be Big Head Raw Syrah from Niagara, Ontario. They call it raw wine because it is untampered with, unadulterated juice from grapes grown in a hard-to-handle vineyard. In the glass it exudes camp-fire smoke, cinnamon cindering in a hot toddy, and plum flesh still abound in an artisan jam. The last time I had it, a friend had waited months to uncork it, and we stopped in conversation for literal minutes just to sawder the wine and sit silently in the moment.
Big Head Raw Syrah
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