I had never poured two Pinot Noirs side by side before.

I had never poured two Pinot Noirs side by side before.

I had never done wine tastings. Curiosity simply got me. I love Pinot Noir — but why were some so different?

So I took two bottles from the same California coast, made from the same grape, and somehow found myself in two entirely different conversations.

Here is how it went.

It was a shallow pour.

I smelled it. Cherries. Berries. Grape. So smooth. Barely any grip at all.

By itself, it was pleasure. Easy pleasure. Done well.

Then I dared the Clos du Bois.

I poured a shallow serving into my wide goblet — maximum air. I swirled. I smelled.

Forest floor. Moss. Woods after rain.

There was an intimidating darkness in its depths.

I swept it gingerly over my tongue. Grip. Stems. Earth.

Had I chosen wrong? I had loved this wine before. What was happening?

Then I returned to the Dark Horse.

Suddenly, there were the woods. Not as mossy or dark, but sage was there now. Pepper. Dry herbs warming in the glass.

How had I missed it before?

I breathed it in again. It had all been there all along.

Had the Clos du Bois simply opened me up?

I cleansed my palate like an ascetic: berry-infused sparkling water with cucumber.

Then I returned to the two.

Alright, boys. Let’s see what we do now.

I enjoyed them alternately. One smooth. The other more rigid.

But then the rigid one began to soften, while the smoother one revealed its hidden form.

Dark Horse was deceptive. It carried complexity beneath its surface, but you had to prick your palate awake to taste it.

Clos du Bois was a slower experience. You should not rush it. It invites you to move through its levels. Slowly.

Here I am gripping and raw: the forest floor, the woods, the moss.

Then here I am softening. Lighter.

I am not losing my grip. I am loosening it. For you.

I will show you the meadows that made me.

And that is how I fell in love with a complex Pinot Noir.

One wasn’t better than the other.

They were deepening one another.

They deepened my experience of one another, which reminded me of Love in the Time of Cholera — a novel that frustrated me and a film adaptation that confused me, yet both I returned to again and again. 

And like the lover with too many lovers, I never fell out of love.

My appreciation deepened with every return.

I learned that I love complexity.

I am drawn to complex wines, difficult novels, layered films, enduring love, people themselves.

I will read the book, watch the movie, then read the book again.

I will read essays about the book and reviews of the movie.

Then I will hear a song and suddenly think: that is it.

That is the feeling they were all reaching toward.

So for you, dear reader, I offer these pairings from my little odyssey:

Moody Middle of the Night

WINE: Dark Horse Pinot Noir

MOVIE: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

ALBUM: So Tonight That I Might See 

This will serve you up a moody evening of immediacy, longing, blue light, memory, and dreamlike drift. From beginning to end, it will be holding you. 

My Number One, It’s Complicated

But for even more complexity — for something like slipping slowly into a steaming hot bath, easing yourself in by degrees — I offer this:

WINE: Clos du Bois Pinot Noir

MOVIE AND BOOK: Love in the Time of Cholera

ALBUM: The Sensual World by Kate Bush.  

Let the humid earth, rooted sensuality, bodies softening through time, moss, warmth, persistence, and the slow unfolding of love itself carry you through levels you hadn’t imagined.

May their complexities deepen your appreciation for the things and people you love.