Mistral

I lifted the bottle carefully from its cradle in the cardboard insert. Its soft coolness caressed my hands evoking visions of Jean-Marc's cave and the time the wine spent aging in the concrete containers there. The cork pulled with a soft pop! and I could almost see tiny motes of Provencal essence drift out and up. The wine rested for a few moments before I poured a bit in the glass. Swirling it to release its fragrance, I marvelled at its plummy color, deep almost to the meniscus of the liquid. I buried my nose in the glass and inhaled. Hidden in the aroma of the wine I discerned the sweat and exhaustion of tending the vines, of harvesting the grapes. I heard the joyful laughter of Jackie and Max as they played with Braise. From the kitchen of the old farmhouse, I could hear the murmur of mother/daughter gossip as Kristin and Jules cooked and set the table for the group hard at work with the vendange. I sipped and held the precious liquid in my mouth savoring its flavor and verve. I felt the frustration, the worry, the sense of being overwhelmed that punctuated the lives of Jean-Marc and Kristin as they worked the vineyard, restored their 400 year old mas, made trips to the Emergency Room, entertained friends, family, and potential wine buyers, wrote, loved, and lived. But I also savored the joys in their lives as well...finding Braise, welcoming family, publishing a book, winning awards and producing some of the finest new wine to come out of the Rhone Valley. The wine warmed my tongue and my heart. While others may taste plum and fig, roasted meat with layers of mineral, granache, and chocolate, my sips of Jean-Marc and Kristin's lush and lovely Mistral gave me a taste of their love of family and of Provence. A votre sante, mes amis.