My adventure began on Saturday August 12 when I and my eleven case companions were taken from our distinguished labeled carton and stuffed into smelly suitcases full of human laundry. What was happening? Were we being bottle-napped?
After some bouncing and jostling and many hours of silence I felt a strange sensation of lightness, very cold and noisy. I couldn’t breathe and if I’d had a cork I would have popped it. After many interminable hours in this condition we finally were released from the cases. We were lovingly examined for damage; nothing except for a definite gurgling inside.
The next thing I knew, we were in a wine cellar alongside many other bottles. But much to our surprise all of them were speaking a weird foreign language. Fortunately as a result of the American roots of most of the vines the grapes came from we finally managed to communicate: we were in Paris, France. Voila!! It all became clear. We were here to show what Americans could do with Pinot Noir!
Our reception was not very Friendly. The other wines tried to tell us how superior they were. They came from ancient Vineyards and famous regions. They were skeptical of our family crest, taunting that it was not in the Book of Heraldry and probably contrived. Who ever heard of the State of Oregon? But when I mentioned that we are neighbors of California then there was a hush and some of them were visibly shaken.
We finally made it clear that, despite their heritage, we were still their cousins. Deep down our roots are all the same Pinot Noir!