A sad wine story...

I've been concerned that some of my cellared wines might be getting past their prime, so I struck a deal with a friend of mine to cook an appropriate meal and I would bring the wine. I'm telling him I've got this 1973 DRC Eschezeaux, but when I set it on the counter he looks it over and points out it's a 1975. How did I get it stuck in my head it was a '73? It had been sitting out in plain view at my place for two weeks since I dragged it out of my cellar (at my ex-wife's house, but that's a story in itself...) Perception is voluntary, I guess.

After driving over bracing the bottle with one hand so it wouldn't get shook-up (sediment, after all) and bragging that this bottle had an auction history of selling in the $200-400 range (the '73 did; I need to look-up the '75), I carefully remove the foil top and clean the gunk that always collects under and gently extract the cork...

Now, you're probably thinking I'm going to say the wine had turned to vinegar and was utter crap. But no, it wasn't spoilt. It had transcended winehood. But into what we couldn't tell. I poured some into the great goblets and was awed by the color--not a trace of actual red left in that liquid! No, it came out the color of strong tea! We sniffed and decided we actually liked the nose, which tended to the dried fruit end of the spectrum. There was complexity there... No fruit or any real body though. It tasted oxidized (duh!) but not unpleasantly so, actually lighter than a sherry...

So, hey! We drank it with dinner.

Looks like this is the year to finish drinking all my '70's vintages...