I suddenly understand what the labels on the back of the bottles mean when they refer to the “dusty” flavour of the wine contained within them. Or have I confused that with the after effects of over indulgence?
If you look closely at the wine glass in this pic, more closely than I looked when I plucked it from the shelf, you might notice it appears opaque. There’s a very good reason for that, or a very bad one, depending on your level of acceptance of my house work standards.
Yes – it’s dust. A nice solid coating of dust, not the sort you could just blow away with a quick breath, no no no, layers of accumulated dust that has attached itself to the surface. To be fair, the glass was at the very back of the (open-with-no-doors) shelf in my kitchen AND I do live in the middle of a paddock which has recently had tractors and their assorted attachments boring up and down for the last couple of weeks. But it’s not an excuse. (Is it??)
Anyway, I couldn’t waste the wine, because it’s rather nice, but equally I couldn’t drink from that wretched glass either so it has now been decanted and repoured into a spanky, sparkly, clean and clear glass.
Now that’s out of the way, let me share my gorgeous little Spanish number with you. I found this tipple a couple of years ago, before it become popular. I’m constantly choosing wine based on its name, the look of the label, if it strikes a chord – no matter how vague – that appeals to my inner child / my retired party animal / my memory banks / my desire to amuse my friends. My sister introduced me to Lovers Not Toreadors – a tempranillo – a while back and I’ve been seeking it out ever since.
And honestly, this wine strikes half a dozen chords in me, from the name to the label itself to the origin – all good in my book. Oh and having just scanned the back of the label, understand another appeal to my taste – “dark chocolatey and raspberry” on the palate – I’m definitely a lover.