I'd like to get away from Great Wine for awhile.
It's when I am weary of classifications that I feel this way. When life seems too much like a used puzzle book with the answers marked out in a dark ink under the considerations.
Let no spirit willfully misunderstand me and snatch the Great Wine away, never to return. Burgundy's earth is rightfully loved. I don't know where so many Great Wines are likely to be grown better.
But I'd like to get away from Great Wine awhile.
I'd start by tasting the Merely Good and the Highly Decent, and finding them quite fine, worthy of the time spent pouring them to the brim, and even above the brim. If not I might throw the bottle away, causing such heaps of broken glass you would think my very will was broken.
I'd go on by spending time with a Vignernon that I admire. Sharing a piece of rough bread and homemade cheese, and drinking a wine he usually drank alone. A wine that I didn't know to be Great, but only found out to be through the trying. I'd raise a glass of that wine to my lips and maybe find a personal heaven.
I'd learn all there was to know about not declaring a wine Great too soon. And not saying so because it had already been said by another. But if my mind burned and tickled with the anticipation of another swish, then I would know it had been worth the coming.
So I thought once before I read the Guide Books, and so I long again to be.
One could do worse than be a searcher after good wine.