When in Naples we fell in love with Lachryma Christi Rose. I ordered it the first night we were there on the grounds that it was the only rose that was identifiably from the region, and I really wanted some cold, cold rose to cool me off.
Drinking wine in the region in which it is made is just better. It doesn’t matter how rough the wine is, if you’ve had a lovely day and you’re enjoying a good meal with good company, talking through the day’s events it is going to taste good. That makes it difficult to assess rationally. I’ll admit that assessing rationally under such circumstances doesn’t interest me in the slightest, it would prick the bubble of magic, so I didn’t.
My impression was of a well balanced wine with a slightly smoky, mineral character. Was that because I’d spent the day wandering through the ruins of Pompeii, and I was imagining the vines growing in that volcanic soil, or was it because that’s how it really tasted. Who cares? I loved it. If I see a bottle here I’ll pick it up and try it on a wet Wednesday in November and write some real tasting notes, or maybe I’ll just turn up the central heating and float back to the busy square in Naples, or over to Pliny’s terrace. That’s why I love wine.