At the gym recently, I started thinking about the idea of deathbed wines. This was tipped off in one of two ways. It was either that I thought of the Steven Wright statement: "I know when I'm going to die; my birth certificate has an expiration date on it." Or that the locker room this particular day was akin to hell (additionally, my run went poorly, and I felt like death warmed over).
What would your last meal be? What one thing would you take to a deserted island? I love these types of questions - a sort of last-ditch effort. They are often so implausible, but their short answer reveals so much about a person - their loves and fears. So, what wine would you like on your deathbed?
Many might answer right away with a legend. Palmer '61. Cheval Blanc '47. Anything Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. And those, along with many others, would be a good way to go out. Challenging, rewarding, and dare I say, life-affirming. Some might call out for a particular favorite wine. In my short career thus far, I might say Smith-Haut-Lafite '96, Rosenblum Rockpile Road '04, or Chateau Bonalgue '03. Shafer One Point Five 2004. These choices would be like chatting with a mentor, or that cool person you met on a train in Europe. A revisitation of a great memory. Yet, some might ask for an everyday wine. Any year Hugel Gentil or Guigal Crozes-Hermitage would be my call. These sorts of wines would be soothing and familial, calming, and the final discourse of a larger conversation.
How would you choose? I can't say first hand, but it would depend I suppose. Would you want a once-in-a-lifetime wine moment at the end? But what if you'd never had these wines before? What if you were disappointed or the wine, if it were older, had gone off? Or what if your favorite didn't speak to you anymore? And would the everyday wine be just that - everyday. Boring or anti-climatic?
Lots of questions - that paragraph there. My answer would have to be to bring everyone and the entire cellar. At once.
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