I was feeling really down tonight, and in the time-honored tradition of men the world over, I turned to drink. I went down to the cellar for a bottle of champagne, of course—what else would it be? Yet after rummaging around in the damp, cobwebby depths, I surprised even myself by emerging not with champagne, but with a bottle of Foillard Morgon, Corcelette 2006.
It was delicious, showing you its velvety, black cherry fruit while simultaneously throwing an elbow of flinty, granitic f**k-you-ness. Old vines, little sulfur, no fining, no filtration, all true.
Yes, I drank the whole bottle. No, everything is still not right with the world. But as far as anesthesia goes, I appreciate the Foillards being here on this planet and giving us the things that they do.