Music To Drink Wine By
The Kinks and BAROLO
To appreciate this article you will need two things:
1) A copy of the Kinks Lola
2) A bottle of E. Pira’s Cannubi 2001
3) Or failing that Borgogno’s 1978 Riserva (DW)
When I taste a good Barolo there is a big change in the weather. Good Barolo turns everything upside down. I feel like a strawberry-scented torpedo has entered my head via my nose, rattled my brain and ravaged my mouth before tunnelling down my throat and skirting the sides of my heart. I am suddenly Dorothy in that awful scene in the Wizard of Oz where all the houses go flying, and I’m trying to hold on to Toto and get into a bunker. Despite this being a black and white scene, everything has an eerie red glow, and there is no witch but Dionysus on a broomstick, smiling enigmatically at the proceedings.
These destructive winds are confusing – destruction caused by very fast air that you can’t see and that hovers happily around us for most of the time, but on occasion goes absolutely bonkers and uproots trees. So Barolo has this lightness and delicacy of scent and flavour – like a cooling summer breeze prompting waves to lap onto the sand, but beneath lies a frightening and unexpected undercurrent, powered by acidity and tannin. It is one minute embodying the feminine – lightly perfumed and fragrant and the next, muscle flexing and masculine. This confusion ultimately contributes to my pleasure in drinking the wine.
Press play and pour.
Now, imagine, it’s late, you are a young man sitting at the bar. A woman takes the seat next to you. You glance over at her. She is immaculately made up with long dark hair. She is wearing a tight red dress and as she sits down the hemline of her red dress rises up to reveal light brown thighs.
You quickly focus back on your glass but seem to see those same colours in the wine – a bright red centre moving out to a tawny bronze rim.
She orders a short and fumbles through her jacket, and then passes her card to the barman. Her movements release a head spinning perfume of roses and strawberries, floral and sweet.
You swirl the wine in your glass, beginning to feel overwhelmed by this sight and those scents. You move towards the wine, inhaling deeply. You pull back, confused. Her scent is there too, in the glass, fragrant aromas of roses and ripe red fruits.
You look up, she is looking at you, fixing you with her deep brown eyes. Her red lips glisten. You lift a hand up to her face, tracing your fingers along her strong jaw and wide mouth, and feel her hand gripping your back.
You kiss, her grip tightens, you can taste the flavours you smelt, even more intense and powerful. Your head spins, your body temperature soars.
She releases you, and knocks back her drink. She slings her jacket over her arm and walks towards the exit. You watch her leave, dazed, suddenly noticing her height. You can still taste her, can still feel her grip on your body.
You turn back to your glass. You know what you will find. You take a sip, unsurprised by the tannins that curl around your tongue and grip your gums, fruit and floral flavours that fill your mouth and linger even once you have swallowed.
You gaze around the bar, the men there sit staring back at you, curious and somewhat expectant.
You look at the spot where she sat and notice her card receipt stuck to the base of her empty glass. You peel it off and read. Mr A. Marshall. The men at the bar go back to their drinks.