Young wines are a bit like young people. Some brilliant ones, sure, but there's just something that only age can give. We have these big family dinners every few months or so, on every major holiday. Five families get together, everyone bringing their special dish, to catch up. I don't sit with the kids. Mostly it's for their sake, because I tend to drink too much at these things.
They're all still teenagers, but the kids are all smart, good kids. Yet they're just not there yet. Of course, you could argue that I'm not there yet either. But of all the things you can bullshit, maturity isn't one of them. I remember that one year when we was still in high school, when the guys decided we'd wear dress pants and shoes to school. Because we thought we were the shit. Just didn't look right now, did it?
Mature claret is a beautiful wine. That's the main problem with these modern, spoofy Bordeaux now . . . it's an impossibility for them to age gracefully. How can you? How many 300 pound linebackers end up well after retirement? Are we then better served by more humble wines? This bottle taught me, yes. From that scorching 2003 vintage no less.
Approaching full maturity, showing all that lovely Haut-Médoc character. All earthy dark fruit, iron and graphite minerals. Savoury, developing in richness and sweetness. Complex yet remaining fresh and focused, elegant and silky. Fine tannins, dry finish, long. A delicious example of a gracefully aging, mature wine.