1-4pm, $10 for six wines
The word “forlorn” always reminds me of the last stanza of Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale,” when the distraught lover is suddenly torn from his romantic fairy dreamscape
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Poor guy. If he were having a glass at the bar, I would definitely give it to him on the house. After all, the guy obviously likes to drink. I imagine him ordering like this:
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green.
And I might turn and look in the cooler and find Matthew Rorick’s Pinot Gris “Ramato,” bursting with Dance, and California Song, and mirth. And after that glass, he might disclaim:
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene.
And I would turn and find Rorick’s “The Faufreluches” Gewürztraminer. And he would drink it down, in embalmed darkness, half in love with easeful death. Then I would pour him some Trousseau Noir, a thing utterly apart:
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy!
Come to the shop on Saturday to taste six rare creatures, lovingly crafted by Matthew Rorick. He makes wine in the Sierra Foothills. He doesn’t add yeast or anything else apart from a bit of so2, occasionally. The grape varieties are strange. The names are mysterious. The wines
}are for people in love with dreams.
2014 Verdelho, Que Saudade
2014 Alvarelhão, Suspiro del Moro
2015 Trousseau Noir, Estate
2015 Pinot Gris Ramato
2014 “King-Andrews” White Wine
2013 “The Faufreluches” Gewurtztraminer
Fee waived with $100 purchase