Here is my wine short story inspired by the lyrics of “All Along The Watchtower”, the popular song written by Bob Dylan. Paired with a wonderful Chianti Classico!
“There must be some way out of here!” yells Dean, smashing clenched fists on the wooden table. His jaw tight, his skin a mottled red. But in the loud environment of a British Pub on a Saturday night, nobody cares about an agitated man raising his voice.
Carl glances at Dean, the latter still holding his fists tightly closed on the table. Dean’s head is bent, the muscles so taut, veins pulsate through his taurine neck like streams on a moor.
Carl sighs quietly. He puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Hey… You and I… We’ve been through this, we will sort everything out – together. I promise”. Dean doesn’t answer but slowly he feels the tension in his shoulders melt under Carl’s hand.
After a deep breath, Dean’s face also relaxes and he finally raises his chin. A smile breaks the lines of his face. “You son of a goat… what would I do without you, my brother?”
For a moment, Dean and Carl laugh together – more like brothers than simply friends. Carl whispers, his tone neutral, almost tranquil: “We will find a solution for all this – we just need to calm down and think”. He looks around, slightly disgusted by what he sees. “There is too much confusion here. I really don’t get why you like these chaotic messy places”.
Dean answers: “Sometimes you are a real pain in the arse”, his tone rough – a bit of anger still detectable. “These places are… ALIVE… Don’t be an old grumpy sod! Go! Leave me… Hit on some nice girl” Dean adds, vaguely waiving a hand in the air.
Carl smiles and looks at his friend with a mix of amusement and surprise. Another of Dean’s proverbial mood swings, he thinks. Carl sighs again, this time with a shred of worry. His fingers slowly rotate the small Port glass in front of him, while he glances carelessly around the huge pub room. He straightens up in his seat, then slightly bends towards his friend.
“I am serious Dean, I know what we have to deal with is not… well, easy; but we will cope with that – as we’ve always done”. Dean nods convinced. “Sometimes I feel life is nothing but a joke!” Carl concurs: “True my friend… what a joke!” Again they laugh. A quiet, serene chuckle between two souls that have spent countless years together, fighting the same battles of existence. Winning some, losing others. But that’s life, right?
For a few seconds they don’t say anything more. Neither hurries to fill the silence, since they both know true friends don’t always need words to fuel their bond. “Don’t you have the feeling that you have been deprived from what you deserve by right?” Dean asks. The question coming from nowhere. Carl swiftly stares into his friend’s eyes, that seem to burn now with a determined otherworldly fire. Unfortunately, it is a familiar look.
“What… What do you mean Dean?” Carl stutters, hesitant. Carl isn’t sure whether he wants to hear Dean’s answer. “You know what I mean… you work, you sweat, you spit blood…” Dean’s voice gets louder and louder with each uttered word. “And then somebody else takes the food from your plate! Drinks the wine from your glass!” Dean now smiles. Not the reassuring and gentle smile of a few minutes before. This grin is now imbued with a malevolent essence. A devil-like connotation.
Dean stands up from his seat. “Businessmen, they drink my wine!” he proclaims, pointing to a table a few metres away on his right. Carl glances at the group indicated by his now enraged friend.
At the table, sits a small group of guys. From their look, they do seem like businessmen. They all wear white shirts, perfectly tailored suits in an array of dark colours. Likely white collars off-work from some bank in the City. One of them proudly holds a bottle of wine he has just opened. The man was about to serve the wine, when he notices Dean and realises he is going to have a hard time very soon.
“Businessmen, they drink my wine!” Dean shouts again, his whole arm shaking with anger as he wags an accusatory fist at the well dressed group. He jumps forward, his movement fast and mighty like a hunting panther.
Having a 6 foot 2’ muscular crazy guy in front of you – yelling nonsense about the wine you are holding – must be terrifying for anybody. Even for British pub regulars. A moment before Dean’s jump, the space was loud and boisterous. Now a surreal silence dominates the wood and iron pub hall. People glance at each other nervously, unsure of what to do. Most of them are used to drunk lads being a bit loud on the weekend… but this… Oh no, for sure they are not prepared for Dean’s show.
Standing directly in front of the group of bankers, Dean yells for the third time: “Businessmen, they drink my wine!”. It is truly a frightening sight. Dean is huge. Angry. His fists waving. His face an almost putrid red. He points again at the man holding the wine. The athletic and massive figure of Dean contrasts with the slight silhouette of the formerly relaxed young businessman. The first wearing a plain v-neck t-shirt, leather motorcycle trousers and heavy cowboy boots. The second in a white shirt and navy suit, his tie loose in afterwork relief.
The poor sod does not move a muscle, his gaze lost somewhere in Dean’s feral facial features. Dean’s eyes fixed on the businessman, takes one step forward. Dean’s arm blurs. He grabs the bottle of wine from the hands of the motionless guy in front of him.
Dean moves so quickly that Carl is momentarily stunned. However, once Dean grabs the wine bottle, Carl knows he has to do something before matters escalate even further. While the people around him are shocked into stillness, Carl downs the port glass and snags their leather jackets. He runs towards Dean, seizing his arm. “We have to go, now!” This time Dean responds immediately to his friend’s call but he can’t help but give one last taunting mad glance to the young professional.
The two quickly leave the pub. Nobody dares to stop them.
The cold and pungent air outside awakes Dean and Carl from their dream-like experience. They jump onto their big motorcycles. Dean still grasping the wine bottle. Their engines roar and sputter like lions in the savanna.
By the time the bravest pub patrons peer outside, the two riders are just two shiny lights at the end of the street. The wind begins to howl, drowning out the fading sounds of the motorcycles’ growl.
Maybe you are curious about the wine the young businessman was holding before being pounced upon by Dean? In my wine short story, the fateful bottle is this Chianti Classico Gran Selezione by Molino di Grace.
Il Molino di Grace - Chianti Classico Gran Selezione "Il Margone", 2011
Country: Italy
Region/appellation: Tuscany - Chianti Classico DOCG
Wine style: Dry red - Savoury and classic
Grape(s): Sangiovese
Average price: £38
Il Molino di Grace sits next to the small village of Panzano, in the heart of the Chianti Classico region. The winery is named after a historical windmill (“mulino”) located inside the estate.
Molino di Grace’s owner is Frank Grace, an American from Ohio. While on holiday, Frank visited the place with his wife. They fell in love with this idyllic corner of Tuscany and in 1995 decided to buy the property and make wine there. Since then, Frank and his team have been consistently releasing award-winning wines.
Tasting notes
(tasted on: 17-May-2018)
The beautiful garnet colour of this wine shines in the glass with medium intensity. To the nose, it opens up with a pronounced concentration, showing a wonderful early bouquet. Notes of ripe sour cherry, raspberry and red plums come through alongside a pleasant balsamic aroma. Earth, forest floor and a hint of game combine with secondary flavours of clove, toast and a touch of vanilla. The oak is magnificently integrated. There are even some hints of tertiary flavours (dried red berries, mushroom) showing the start of this wine’s beautiful evolution.
On the palate, the body is full and the mouthfeel dense and rich. A pleasant warmth expands gracefully throughout the palate, introducing aromas of ripe red fruit with toasty and earthy accents. The acidity is high and perfect in balancing the wine’s intensity. The tannins are high in level, silky and round – pure velvet in the mouth. The finish is long, dry and delicately smoky. An outstanding Chianti.
Wine and other Stories rating: 9.2/10