Idilico 2009 Washington State garnacha

Dedicated to my fans in Florida…

Ever since Paull Gray Gutt, the weakly wine writer who quit (or got fired from) the local rag, made a recent visit to The Sunshine State, the citizens there remain dis-affected by his wobbly influence on not the wines, but more like his shoe-sized intelligence quotient outlook on life. A classmate of his in Port St. Lucie took Paully’s advice and sipped on some blue Oregon riesling and ended up hurling Eggland’s Best projectiles at Federal Courthouse employees before getting ‘cuffed. How do we know that lowlife (I’m talking about the wine writer… not the egg tosser) was in the area? Also reported that day was “the stench of raw sewage” permeating one of PSL’s ‘hoods, not-so-coincidentally located near the Guttless one’s temporary residence. Also in PSL, a 27 year-old man had just finished reading the Guttless one’s whiny “do’s and dont’s” about shit he doesn’t like but everyone else doesn’t mind when he got into an accident and fled the scene. He later returned to the accident scene and confessed to officers that he had a sudden urge to drop a deuce and had to find the nearest crapper. An affidavit stated he “apologized for leaving but believed he had no choice after reading another stoopid wine blogger post that led him to the verge of pooping in his pants.” Heading west, a 47 year-old Gulfport woman is facing a domestic battery charge for smashing a Chicago Cubs logo’d garden gnome on her mate’s melon after she read yet another Guttless blog about one of his “favored” Walla Walla wineries. “Favored” meaning a lot of free wines were sent to receive glowing reviews. Finally, up north in Ocala, two women who recently reunited, decided to form a “bucket list” that included being a devout follower to Paully’s wine blogging venture (until he quits, which is coming soon, then returns, then quits again, etc.). Unfortunately, after reading his post passing gas about “his wines,” the women were inexplicably caught shoplifting bathing suits, beef jerky, and fleshlights at a local big-box, ghetto national retailer HQ’d in Arkansas. The official po-po report does not indicate what other idiot exploits were on their “bucket list” but did mention sneaking into some amateurish wine writing convention as noted speakers in British Columbia.

That said, enough picking on my orange homeys. After all, these Flo-ridians proudly point the finger at other armpit cities that have been equally disenchanted with the lame thoughts of a senior wine writer. Take Cleveland, for example. Oh Cleveland… that’s just too easy. Now, we’re not talking about a UFC event here but a kindergarten graduation. That’s where eight hoodlums were arrested for causing a fracas involving a pipe and hammer as weapons and originating from a benign “spilled cup of punch,” of all things. The woman who spilled the punch was heard to say, “I want to drink what that fossilized Guttless one had for Memorial Day. He got his Betz cabernet for free, not this sappy fruit punch that tastes like Walla Walla premium.” Finally there’s good ol’ Texas where a 43 year-old Willie punched his ticket to 50 years in prison for attempting to steal a $35 rack of pork ribs from a grocery store. The perpetrator claimed he was just doing what all wine bloggers do (steal from business operators), with the Guttless one as a leading example.

As we further plan the events for the upcoming wine liars conference in Penticton, I had the pleasure to participate in a game of “Wine Jeopardy” with my fellow peers. Not to give all the details away, however, the following is an excerpt from this thrilling, head-bashing, two-fisted Pier 9 barnyard brawl amongst nerds who have no life whatsoever.

Margot: “I’ll take ‘Holes’ for $200, Alex.”
Alex: “A deep, cylindrical depression formed in road pavement. Or, the space between Shona’s ears.”
Jameson: “What is a pothole!”
Alex: “Correct!”
Jameson: “I’ll take ‘Holes’ for $400, Alex.”
Alex: “The bar in a golf clubhouse. Or, a Kennewick resident’s second home.”
Scott: “What is the nineteenth hole!”
Alex: “Correct!”
Scott: “I’ll take ‘Holes’ for $600, Alex.”
Alex: “The galactic center of the Milky Way. Or, a description of Sean Sillyvain’s thinking.”
Sean: “Ooo! Ooo! I know that one. What is a blackhole?”
Alex: “Correct!”
Sean: “I’ll take ‘Holes’ for $800, Alex, you cutie!”
Alex: “I don’t swing that way, you herpderp. The answer is… the hole at the top of a cetacean’s head. Or, another name for Wine Puss Northwest.”
Andy: “What is a blowhole?”
Alex: “Correct!”
Andy: “I’ll take ‘Holes’ for $1000, Alex.”
Alex: “The location where shit spews out. Or, another name for Paul Gwine.”
Wineman: “What is an ASSHOLE!”
Alex: “Correct!”

Idilico is the second label for upstart Pomum Cellars in Woodinville. Not surprisingly, the focus is on wines claimed as “Spanish” grapes: albarino, tempranillo, graciano, and this grenache. Idilico represents a 1200-pound bull that earned a pardon after a courageous performance in a Barcelona ring. What’s cool about winemaker Javier Alfonso’s efforts is that, despite spending his youth in the Ribera del Duero region of Spain, he chooses to craft his wines that are true to the vineyards they came from instead of contorting and forcing the grapes into submission and (falsely) proclaiming the wines taste like a true Ribera-this or Rioja-that. It takes a royal numbnut of a Washington winemaker to boast of making wines that taste of a place other than where the grapes were grown. You know who Imma talking about…

To the wine.

Tasted at 60-67 degrees on the IR temp gun. Color: light mahogany. Nose: strawberry, raspberry, bright red cherry. Mouthfeel: light-medium bodied. Tail trail: 7 seconds. Flavors: whipped cream cherries, Port Angeles lavender, red licorice, and a lick of strawberry on the tail. Paired well with herb-dusted fried chicken and A-1 sauce.

Alcohol: 14.0%. A few hundred cases. Made for the restaurants so be careful you don’t get too stiffed by the low-wage gougers with bad breath, aka wine smelliers. Power: 2/5. Balance: 2/5. Depth: 2/5. Finesse: 2/5. Rated: 88. Value: $20. Paid: $20. Music pairing: “Still Into You” by Paramore. This is WAwineman… uncorked, uneducated but not uncouth.

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