Tasting is like dreaming. No matter how glorious the dream, and promises to yourself to remember all the details, you will forget...unless you write it down. And even then, nothing will ever compare to the first impression.
I love first impressions. I love remembering people by the first impression I've ever had of them. I love trying to figure out if my first experience of something or someone is truthfully the way they always are, or just a deceiving facade meant to be peeled off once and only once, never to appear again. Sometimes the skin is just as thick as a banana's, and you can put it back on the surface, but you know something about it just won't stick. Or sometimes the skin is just as thin as a grape's, and once you've peeled it, there's no more to reveal; what you get is what you get.
This particular Muscadet is my first. I have high standards for my firsts, for it sets the standard for all I am to expect afterwards, benchmarks a memory and dreamy flavors to compare against.
I drank this Muscadet a month ago, and let my description age in my mind. I wanted to see if 30 days later, I'd still feel the same way. And to be honest, I've forgotten all the details and have only remembered a taste of sea and salt and a smell of water.
I came across my first impression notes--and I wish I had another bottle to experience this nautical getaway again:
Like a sea breeze--light and just a whiffImmediate acidity that bites at the tongue but the taste fizzles out into a neutral tone, almost immediately after
Light and lingering, but like a translucent film, not overwhelming or instrusive
Briny but not sour
A sound of glasses clinking, water lapping, ice cubes stirring, forks being put down after digging into oysters on the half shell
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