<table border="0" align="right" width="145"><tr><td><img src="http://www.wineloverspage.com/graphics1/gavi0627.jpg" border="1" align="right"></td></tr></table>Gavilan 1988 Chalone Pinot Noir
Here's a true cellar orphan, lost and dusty on a wine rack hidden under my desk that I didn't think had anything interesting on it. In the process of a mid-summer cleanup, I pulled out all these forgotten bottles, thinking I'd toss them, and ... hey! What's this? Nineteen years old, I got it by mail from the winery (it's Chalone's second label) in 1991, when I lived in NYC. It's been with me ever since, sleeping quietly on its side in passive storage, frankly not under the best of conditions. Room temperature, maybe, albeit in a cool, dry and dark spot on the northeastern corner of the house, a corner never hit by direct sunlight. Still, this isn't really competent storage. Worse, during our move from NYC back to Louisville, it spent a week around Christmas of 1994 on the back of a moving van parked at the mover's home in West Virginia. During a cold snap and snowstorm.
Would it be any good? No harm in trying to find out! I washed off a heavy accumulation of dust and grime and found that it's still normally full, at least, and there's no obvious sediment in the bottle. Pulled the capsule and found a fairly ugly blue-gray dry mold hardened around the business end, looking very much like the battery terminal under the hood of a very poorly maintained car. Washed and scraped it off, inserted corkscrew. Another cautionary sign: The cork feels soft and spongy. It doesn't crumble or crack, though, and with a little care, it comes out intact. Looks are worrisome, slightly: Wine-stained from end to end. I take a cautious sniff ... whoa! It smells <i>great</i>! The cork smells very much like a good, well-aged Burgundy, and to my amazement, so does the wine.
I poured a glass, and the color looked very good: Reddish-orange with just the hint of a bronze edge. That aroma is still amazing. Just a hint of earth, not funky enough to rate as "barnyard," over good red fruit and just a subtle roasted hazelnut quality, not at all maderized. On the palate it's just as appealing, again "Burgundian" with a light but velvety texture, clean red fruit and subtle earth. I find it just amazing that this wine has not only survived more than 16 years of passive storage and a hard road trip but actually evolved into something far more interesting, frankly, than this decent but simple Pinot Noir showed as a youth.
It wasn't particularly fragile, either, staying consistent in the glass for at least two hours, showing only slight fading of fruit and increasing acidity toward the last glass ... and between the two of us going back for more, by that time the wine was gone.
To my recollection it cost around $10 in early-'90s dollars, and, in a clear sign of how much things have changed in two quick decades, this Central Coast Pinot Noir is labeled at a very gentle 12.0 percent alcohol.
I really don't recommend trying this kind of aging trick as a matter of course. I would never suggest that anyone sock away a modest Pinot Noir (or any other wine) at room temperature for almost 20 years. But it just goes to show you: Wine isn't always as fragile as we think, and if you have no choice, an undisturbed wine rack in a cool, dark place isn't the worst environment in the world. I've pulled a few other ancient bottles from this source and will taste them in coming days; it'll be interested to see whether the Gavilan was a happy exception or if the wines in general held up better than the conventional wisdom would suggest. Stay tuned!
