Pourriture Noble

A moral tale, for Sauternes, the fungus cenaria , and the wild old Never prophesy. You can’t. So don’t try. Lust, pride, and lethargy may cause us misery or bliss. The meanest mistake has a point to make. Hear this — what his vintner d’Eyquem said once the lord d’Eyquem was dead: “The wine that year promised bad or none. He’d let it go too late. Rot had crawled through all the vines, greasy scum on every cluster dangling at the crotches of the leaves. Should have been long picked but he’d said, ‘No. Wait for me,’ off to wait on a new woman, grapes on the verge of ripe when he left. Coupling kept him till rot wrapped the grapes like lace & by the time she’d kicked him out the sun had got them, they hung shriveled in the blast. Well, he rode home cocky & bullied the grapes into the vats rot & all, spoiled grapes, too old, too soon squeezed dry. The wine makes. The wine makes thick, gold-colored, & pours like honey. We try it. Fantastic! not like honey, punchy, you’ve never drunk anything like it — refreshing, in a rush over a heat that slows your throat — wanting to keep that flavor stuck to the edge of your tongue where your taste is, keep it like the best bouquet you can remember of sundown summer & someone coming to you smiling. The taste has odor like a new country, so fine at first you can’t take it in it’s so strange. It’s beautiful & believe me you love to go slow.” moral: Age is not all dry rot. It’s never too late. Sweet is your real estate.