I'm lost in thought, drinking Cos d'Estournel'99, from a magnum. It's like being in a conservatory full of fresh cut flowers. A sunny conservatory, where the warmth has made the earth in all the pots come alive and breathe, so that the air is full of leafy foliage scents intermixed with a powerful whiff of humus, maybe with mushrooms in there somewhere, a crazy mix of freshness and mouldering earth. And the texture!
Silky, but more delicate than silk - say, perhaps, lace made from silk, or spider silk - and tougher too, the tannic strength of the wine a basso counterpoint to the delicate contralto freshness; a refreshing freshness, even as the tannins coat your tongue. A kind of paradoxical watery toughness. It is difficult to figure it out, but who needs to anyway. It's enough to enjoy the pleasure.
And then I refocus and see that there are a lot of faces being pulled, noses being wrinkled. Tonight's tasters are decidedly not Francophiles, or at least, they are not keen on youthful, dark, tannic, earthy, Bordeaux. It is quite startling to me how much dislike the Cos engenders, so that I need to taste it again, in case there is a problem, but it's lovely. Tannic, yes, earthy, decidely, but also fresh and powerful and delicious (delicious = 4-5, while I remember). Like all good Claret, it is of course priced at a point which brings general expressions of disbelief from the room.