No Chicken Skin Off My Nose
You’re probably wondering if I ever enjoy a glass of red wine. Sure, now and again. I am not, however, obsessed with the life-affirming nectar, peering through a goblet held to the light to observe the density of a newly opened bottle, bathing the inside of the glass with the purple-hued fluid such that the luscious juices finger back down into the inviting pond of carefully crafted spirits. I mean, sometimes I do that. Okay, often. Like, daily.
A former graduate student at a certain well-known institution of higher education I’m affiliated with (no, not Boston College) once told me that the wines in a particular region of Spain smell like sheep’s testicles. If that doesn’t prompt a fellow run out to his nearest “packy” to buy a few bottles, what does? You may be surprised to learn that this was the very first time anyone had ever used the phrase “sheep’s testicles” in my office. (Fact checkers, please note: I’m willing to admit that this graduate student might not have said, exactly, “Wines in my home region of Spain smell like sheep’s testicles.” It was probably more like, “Wine experts are able to identify 50 distinct aromas in Spanish wines, including the peculiar scent that is given off by the nuts of our local sheep.” Actually, he wouldn’t have said “nuts” either.) Needless to say, even if a wine vaguely suggests the scent of sheep’s testicles, most wine dealers are loathe to highlight that in their literature.
Now, I come to find out that Clos Fantine Tradition Faugères 2011 presents, according to New York City’s Le Du’s Wines, with “kirsch liqueur, violets, mustard seed, horseradish, and fried chicken skin on the nose.” When I first read this, my reaction was that fried chicken skin was not an aroma I wished to smell in my glass of wine. Upon further reflection, however, I have to admit it beats sheep’s balls.