The Last Bottle Of Red? Ya Never Know – Happy Holidays OIB Friends

My father Emilio traversed the Atlantic on the passenger ship Andrea Doria, not having a clue what life would fate him during his voyage from Sicily. A few years later in 1956 the Andrea Doria collided with the Stockholm off the coast of Nantucket in the Atlantic Ocean creating a maritime disaster.

My father used to say to me, shrug of shoulders, che sara, an acceptance of what life brings.
My father had no formal education, but the things he curated were magic: his garden, food, love for family and friends, and his wine making. Oh, my. Paradise in glass.

My father shared his wine with my lifelong friend Rudy who has a remarkable way of saving things for the right moment. My father turned grape into wine from a varietal of juices. In the last years of his life he finessed dark-skinned Syrah, a beauty to complement meat-based dishes.

I thought I had experienced the last bottle of my father’s red vintages. Weeks ago Rudy presented me a bottle of red aged in a wine cooler my father had gifted him long ago. The year 2004. A bottle of Syrah.

On Christmas Eve this day I prepared a rosemary and garlic-encrusted tenderloin for my niece Melissa and her husband Ashton in their home. Any time you crack something open after 20 years a bit of trepidation bleeds in and out. Corks can split into fragile messes.

I poised the corkscrew and it smoothed out like olive oil. All in one piece. Good start. I filtered the wine and let it rest for about an hour. The aging process had transformed the color into a shimmering brown.

So it came time to pray for glory, a lift of the glass. The Syrah entered a delicately smooth sweetness ending dry to the palate. A thing of beauty.

Thank you Rudy and Dad. Che Syrah Syrah.

To all my OIB friends, thank you and safe and healthy holidays.