The last of a landmark wine

Today in the scorching 93F/34C noon heat, I opened the last bottle of one of the greatest bottles of wine I've had the pleasure to drink. What, you might be asking, would this be? A treasured Burgundy or a secret Napa cab you stumbled upon? Sorry, wrong. This is winofile not winespectator.

As all of my regular 0.43 readers might have guessed, it's a fruit-forward, mass-produced wine that I fell in love with, then married (to the extent you can marry a wine), had the best of times with for several years, then things got a bit old (let's use the word "corky"), and the relationship lasted longer than it should have.

The big surprise, was that it was an mixed color marriage. Yep, I'm talking about a white wine here.

At her best, she was a huge, fruity, buttery, oak-blasted, butterscotchy, buttered-popcorn hug. I kept buying another 2 or 3 bottles, and it became obvious that I was having an affair with this wine. (The strict definition of a serious "affair" starts at the 18th bottle.) Fortunately, my wife was even more infatuated with her than I. We called her "Old Faithful" after a bit, and that she was. Who is this mysterious love?


The Columbia Crest 2002 Chardonnay Grand Estates. 50,000 cases. $7 to $9 everywhere, especially Trader Joe's where we "met" most of the time, and in public, even. (I threw the banana in the picture to add yet more yellow to the image. Yes, I'm an artist deep down.)

In 2004 to 2005, we had so many lovely interactions with nary an occasional off night. She sometimes left me in a stupor, she was so appealing. But by 2006, the magic was starting to wear thin with the off-bottles starting to surpass the good ones, and by late 2006, I was down to my last 3 or 4. Or so I thought. In 2007, the few bottles I tried were tired and corky or woody with an bitterness that only comes about with old age. I thought that was that. It was an ignominious end.

But lo and behold, I had another bottle stashed away in my remote wine cellar. And so after 3 months in the cooler (what you might call a refrigerator), I finally uncorked her on this unseasonably hot June 21. Expecting little, lo and behold, this was a wonderful sendoff. Valedictory with a serene grace, like Mozart's last symphony. Sure, she's lost some of her youthful impetuousness, but she's turned into a fine lass of, um, 6 years.

This last bottle was a perfect end. The oak, the butter and the fruit are all still there, though a bit more mellow, wonderfully reminding of the butter days gone by.