This miserable being in my glass was barely three years old yet the color was already a dull bronze. It smelled like camphor, wet dog and naphthalene (moth balls), yet each time I thought “This wine is unsound” I heard some young wine lover admonish me to stop being such a techno-dweeb, and that these were “terroir” aromas (they are not) and “soulful” aromas (only if your soul is a badly damaged place) and “natural” aromas (yes, just like the mildew smell of a shower curtain that needs to be cleaned), and when thought and language are thus corrupted it makes me feel a kind of grief. I like natural wines and the people who make them, and the “movement” deserves better than the wine I was drinking. It needs a few wise elders to police around the perimeter and remind people that flawed wine isn’t some noble-savage form of atavism – it’s just flawed wine, no more virtuous than body odor.
via Musings On A Dubious Wine.- Terry Theise
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