Writer's Block, or, There's a Wine to Cure Every Malady

It’s been too long since I’ve written about wine. I can chalk it up to being busy, and that’s true to some extent. I’m attempting to launch my own business, we have an old, fussy house that needs lots of attention, and we recently acquired a new, feisty puppy that requires even more attention. But these are basically the same, tired excuses we all use to assuage our guilt about whatever it is we’re not doing enough of—gardening, reading, working out, you-name-it.

In all honesty, though, there’s been part of me that just couldn’t figure out what to write about. I’m in danger of becoming a one-note siren on Italian wines, and there’s only so many of my own personal experiences that other folks want to read about. I could write up a few mini-reviews of some of the wines I’ve had lately—some people have mentioned that they’d enjoy reading those, and perhaps I’ll do some in the near future—but I’ve been in the mood to write something more, well, substantial.

Inspiration came to me from the best possible source—a restaurant wine list. While out to dinner to celebrate my sister-in-law’s birthday, I was perusing the extensive wine list, trying to decide what I was in the mood for. I was feeling indecisive; I couldn’t even choose “red or white?” much less “light, or full bodied?” “fruit forward or restrained?”

And then, the wine list chose for me. It told me that I had to have the 2005 Lake County “Writer’s Block” Syrah. This was a wine that I wouldn’t ordinarily have chosen. If I drink Syrah, it will likely be either a Rhone or a Washington. California Syrah, like Australian Shiraz, is generally not my preferred style for the varietal. But sometimes we judge a book by its cover and it works out.

The Writer’s Block was one of several wines we shared at the table that evening, and it was generally agreed to be the crowd’s favorite red. It had the deep, crimson velvet color I expect in a New World Syrah, and the strong, integrated notes of berry and spice that warm your palate without overpowering your food. Aged in oak, the wine also hinted of cocoa and coffee, especially on the nose and on the finish.

We didn’t discuss this wine much, other than to conclude that it was the best of the table’s reds. I’s consider ordering it again. It was a good wine, though not excellent, and it did its job well. It engaged my palate and enhanced my dinner. It reminded me that assumptions (“I don’t like California Syrah,”) are made to be tested and, hopefully, revised.

And it cured my own bout with Writer’s Block…for now.