I remember drinking this bottle of wine.
It was 1998, and I was living in Philadelphia, with 7 other people in an old house. A couple lived in the basement, I shared a room on the first floor with a guy who was only there for another month, a guy and another girl had their own rooms on the second floor, and two more guys had their own rooms on the top floor.
One of the guys had this bottle of wine that he’d been waiting for an occasion to drink.
It was my first time to have red wine, and my first weekend living in Philadelphia, and that was occasion enough.
I took a sip and liked it immediately. As it turns out, only I and my roommate liked it. So, he and I split the bottle. That was an interesting night, for sure…
I have a lot of stories I could share about that house, that arrangement, and those days in general, but I’m hanging onto those for my memoir.
(You know, the memoir I’ll write some day.)
I’d completely forgotten that I’d kept this bottle until I was unpacking my apartment back in March.
I of course drink red wine on a regular basis, these days. Oddly enough, the type I always gravitate to is… pinot noir from Sonoma. I thought nothing of it when I took up drinking wine a couple of years ago, and I certainly did not recall this bottle from my first taste of red, back in 1998.
Imagine my surprise when I cracked open the box containing this bottle, as I sipped some La Crema pinot noir (which is of course, from Sonoma), and I came across this Quatro bottle.
It’s interesting how we so often forget the origins of the fibers of our being...