By: Daniel Maas
K&L Staff Member
A dark and stormy night, it was, as I found myself driving through the windy country roads of Aubais. An aggressive rain pounded the tinny roof of my rented Dodge Dart. More than once I was sure that a drop or two succeeded in making its way inside and atop my head. It was then, just as things could not look more bleak, that a small animal ran from the side of the road, forcing my foot down on the breaks and the car right into a tree. The rain increased its ferocity as I now stood there, stranded in the south of France. Thankfully, through the dense tree line, a faint light broke the gloom. Making my way closer, I soon found myself confronted by the relieving site of a large structure. Smoke rose from the chimney as I made my way to the door, soon finding myself welcomed inside. Soaking wet, my night had turned from tragedy to triumph, as my generous hosts poured me a glass of their "L'Insoumise", a hauntingly beautiful expression of old-vine Carignan that soon proved magical. I no longer was cold. No longer wet. Instead, I found myself warmed and dried by the sheer opulence of the wine's voluminous body and the rich tannin, pronounced layers of black pepper, earth, and subtle lavender. One glass led to the next. And then a third. Before long, a rainy night had blossomed into a contemplative morning, with fog retreating from the vineyards. Making my way from the guest room to the foyer, I was offered a fresh change of clothes, as mine were dry yet badly wrinkled. "No. Thank you." I stepped out of the house, and stopped, turning back. "Another bottle of that incredible wine will more than suffice". Now, years later, I too-often find myself thinking of that night. Not of the rain, and not of the crash. Instead, I find myself dreaming of the “L’Insoumise”, and the question that it brings forth. How can one simple bottle of wine contain such pleasure? Answer this, my friends, and everything will be just fine.