A Little Sad
It was a little sad. Our host pulled out a bottle of 1992 Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon and poured it around the table and we all immediately raised our glasses to the memory of Robert Mondavi, who recently passed away. The wine was lovely, everything a mature cabernet should be with a firm elegant character, a wonderful cigar box nose and that long, linear, intellectual finish that defines the variety at its best.
The sad part was not the passing of Mr. Mondavi, who lived a full and meaningful life into his nineties. It's hard to think of someone who lived a fuller life and no one left a bigger imprint on the American wine industry. The sad part was a wine blog post I read earlier in the day that grumped away about all the coverage of his death, wondered what the big deal was all about and why he should care. Writing a wine blog and not knowing about Robert Mondavi is like writing a blog about American history without knowing who George Washington was. How can a wine writer that doesn't understand the immense impact of Robert Mondavi provide meaningful commentary on the American wine industry? They can't and that's a little sad.
Understanding the sublime art that great wine can become is more than pulling the cork and giving it points. In every bottle of California wine that achieves greatness there will always be a bit of Robert Mondavi. To not understand that is to not fully know or appreciate that wine. It is the human spirit that raises wine from a beverage to an emotion.
We can be assured that there have been thousands of corks pulled from treasured old bottles of Robert Mondavi's wines in the last week and tens of thousands of glasses raised in his honor and memory. I can't think of a better tribute.
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Fewer sales reps are more paranoid these days than cork salespeople. They barrage you with emails damning all other types of closures. At trade shows they meet winemakers with frigid stares that have changed over from cork to something else.
My flight was delayed and I was facing a three hour wait at DFW so I decided I might as well eat. Picking out the most promising restaurant I could find, I sat down at the bar and ordered the simplest thing on the menu, which is always my defensive eating strategy in such places. I was in no hurry so stretched out my dining experience as long as possible. During those forty five minutes or so the guy next to me downed four Coor’s Lights. With nothing else to do, but watch my barmates, I noticed they were all drinking light beers. On top of that they they were all drinking a lot of them and not a glass was in use. Lots and lots of long neck lights were being downed while the draft lines went undisturbed.