Suburban Wino 2: The Wordpress Experiment

Recanting (not Decanting)

September 13, 2012
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In the spirit of a Presidential Election Year*, I’m completely changing my position on something.
A while back, during the Olympics, I wrote a post positing which singular wine each country would nominate as representation in a worldwide competition.  Like a Greco-Roman wrestling tournament of the wine world, with less slathering of bodies with olive oil, and even more awkward groping (I mean, have you ever been to a massive, wine-trade tasting?).
I’d reference a link to said post, but it’s not that freaking hard to ferret out one of my 2012 posts.  My writing’s been more sporadic than Honey Boo Boo’s blood sugar level (who, yes, is from Georgia.  Son of a biscuit).
Anyway, I said that Italy would put up Brunello di Montalcino, a Tuscan wine made from a very specific clone of the Sangiovese grape.  My decision gave all-due-respect to the prodigious, Nebbiolo-based wines of Barolo and Barbaresco.  However, I argued that Sangiovese is the most ancient, rustic, “true” Italian red grape, and Brunello is said grape’s most ethereal expression.
I’ve tasted a sea of Italian wine over the past month.  While what I’ve tasted is only a small sampling, and not necessarily an adequate sample-set of all the great Brunellos out there, I can only work with the evidence I have.
Barolo– at least at this very moment in my mind- is the king of Italy.  While I don’t stray from my sentiment that Sangiovese feels more “ancient and rustic”, the Nebbiolo grape offers so much complexity.  On the nose, in the wine’s formidable structure (belying it’s lighter color); these wines just scream, “I am going to constantly evolve.  I will keep you guessing.  I will always be exciting.”  
Well, they don’t actually scream that.  They’re actually very quiet, as long as we’re speaking literally.
Anyway, to all you folks who jumped down my throat about selecting Brunello over Barolo:  I was wrong.  At least at this very moment.  But I’m very fickle.  As I should be.  Election year, bitches.
*for the record, Election Years are my least-favorite years.  If I knew which year an asteroid is going to smash into Earth and destroy all plant and animal life, I might pick that one as my least-favorite.  But it would be a tough call.