Decadent Shortcut: Take It Easy

On the nose is some kind of impossible landscape left fallow in the main by the millions of proto-people who have passed through it during earlier periods of development, but also something out of a medieval text book about dragons and knights and lords and vassals. The aroma is that of hope for a forceful return of past, which was obviously even less real than any past any of us can imagine. The color is bold blood red with the dark rust swirls of a beautiful car that nobody got told to maintain.
Without looking, anyone can tell that royalty has pissed on these grapes, anyone can tell that the future is not as realistic as they plan. Anyone can tell that the girl is looking at you. Anyone can tell that the grapes were picked by people who don't make living wage. Anyone can tell that we live without ethics for the sake of convenience. Anyone can tell that's had to imagine what else life could be like. There's a delicate balance between work and play, between safety and freedom, between the eggs and the grapes, between the glass and the drinker between the jester and the king, between the king and the food tester, between the food tester and his wife, between his wife and her friend, between her friend and her home, between her home and her husband, between her husband and his dog, between his dog and the fire hydrant, between the fire hydrant and the hose, between the hose and the fire which burned down the vineyard the first time it was planted, the second time it was panted, and the third time it was planted.
That's what we've got now. The strongest castle in England. Grapes from the richest, ashiest, freshest soil in the valley. The sun doesn't reach, the winds are easily avoided. The animals wander around free. There'd be no point in stealing one. It would just wander home. Everyone in the community owns at least one chicken for eggs.
On the nose is some poverty stricken villages crumbling into the hillside around a beautiful impossible set of plains. Almost insultingly full bodied, we expect that one sip will send you into a psychotic rage of unhinged feeling bubbling up from deeply buried places in the parts of your soul you like to pretend don't exist. More than any sort of therapy, psychoanalysis, drunkenness, heroin abuse, or true love, it is the note of banana that will drop you off in the deep end of the pool without a paddle, the jungle without a map, the sky without a lawn chair, florida without a gated community, china without rice, egg salad without balsamic vinegar, bread without yeast, life without dance.

Varietals: B, C, D, E
Food Pairing: Chalky aristocracy