I tasted the 2011 white wines tonight in tank. The Viognier/Roussanne, white Revelation and Traminette are amazing! The Riesling is still coming around.
Ron tasted the reds as well two days ago. Not one to gush, he is VERY happy with all the wines. The 2010 Petit Verdot and Cabernet Sauvignon in particular are going to be stellar.
A description of the wines is available at http://www.kinkeadridge.com/pdf/2012winereleases.pdf
Some people may think I have too much time on my hands this time of year, but today I made another "free gift with case purchase." Our multi-year followers know I always do something for the holidays with a hand-made cork ornament, here's this year's, what do you think! I think it's a girl-y thing, the guys don't seem to care much!
Our local librarian, Alison, peruses old newspapers and found this poem from an unidentified author in a Clermont newspaper in 1859. Higginsport, Ohio.
Fill the blushing goblet high,
Red as summer's sunset sky,
Rosy as the early dawn,
White and crimson blend in one.
Fill with royal bold of vine,
Rosy, radiant Native Wine.
Let the haughty sons of Spain
sing thy praises, rich Champaign,
Let the merry maidens dance
Round thy wine-press, lovely France,
But give to me as boon of mine,
Rich and rosy Native Wine.
Pure as nectar from above,
Or dew from lip of lady love,
Lovely as the crimson flash
Of a maiden's modest blush
Offspring of the river Rhine,
Give me blushing Native Wine.
See the shadows as they creep
Up the hillside, long and steep,
Watch them as they swiftly take
Many a wild, fantastic shape,
Towers with spire and turret high
Blending with the bended sky
See the halls that that arches old
rich with crimson, flush with gold
List the maiden's merry laugh
While her red lips part to quaff
Luscious drafts of precious wine,
Pressed through fingers white and fine.
Let the drunkard drink his swill
Seething from the venomed still
Let him breathe its poisoned breath
Drugged with strychnine and with death
Let him wallow in the mire,
Heart and blood and brain on fire.
But for me, when thought is dull
And the heart is sorrowful
When my poet's lyre grows old
And my lady-love grows cold
I'd wish no sweeter bliss were mine
Than one rich cup of Native Wine.
Your friendly wine blogger,
Nancy Bentley, Owner/Managing Partner