Robert Kacher Selections, Washington DC.
Thirty years on.
Garnet. What a white-hot mass of terroir this has turned out to be. The oak and iron reserve of its youth has been pounded out to a heart of gold with a tapered seam. Rôti flavors, you can still smell the scorched silver birch in ’89 and the fruit runs to sloe. Like peering through a glass-bottomed boat at the end. Now.