So it’s Saturday night and I find myself slurping 2002 Thévenet Morgon VV with dumb looks of pleasure and glass extended to the fresh-aired moon. No better tribute to the natural purity of the wine I tell you. No better tribute. No better tribute.
This is why I love wine, this is why I love Morgon. Gorgeous juicy cloudy red fruits with fine threaded mineral points, earthy grip, ethereal finesse, seductive fragrance, this was perfect. This is what I really want to drink.
So our roses are starting to bloom and we’ve cut a few for inside the house, which offer stunningly deep and intoxicating aromas. But the Thévenet offered serious competition for most sublime smell of the evening. Seriously. I prefer not to choose.