Chateau de Pizay has been producing wine for a millennium. This particular Beaujolais is a Beaujolais Crus from Morgon and is considered to be one of the ten best produced in France. Course, it isn't drinkable today because even the finest Beaujolais doesn't cellar well. One can expect a few years at best, really no more than three or four.
For some reason, this bottle of wine never made it into a glass. TWC probably bought the wine in the era that Linda C began referring to him as the bachelor upstairs, an archaic term, even then.
That apartment was in the Anaheim barrio near where they found a poor girl whose husband sliced her up right before he strangled her. Just two buildings over and it happened about a week after TWC moved in. Moving wasn't an option because I was broke.
Every so often, the crazy chick in apartment 2 would pitch a lamp out the open front door (I don't think that door was ever closed). As you walked up from the street, it'd shatter into a million shards of pottery or glass a few feet ahead or behind you. That woman was certifiable. She lived rent free because social welfare wouldn't let the landlord give her the boot on accounta she had a kid. Felt sorry for the girl. She'd come by and listen to music now and again.
It was more peaceful after El Jeronimo and I took up residence in the adults only section of a nice complex. Ain't nice no moh, but hey, times change. That worked out pretty well until he got married and I impolitely invited the landlord to evict me if she didn't like my attitude. She did. Lessons learned.
Later, I lived in sin with a blond chick whose daughter was born in 1973. By then I was pretty sure that was the only interesting thing about the wine. A few years later, Blondie was history. Surprised that woman didn't shoot me in my sleep. Figured her girl might want it someday, so I hung onto the now completely worthless bottle of wine. Many moons later the little girl was all grown up. But she said she was off booze for good and thanks, but no thanks. I shrugged and put it back on the shelf.
The wine went with Mrs TWC and I to the Little Blue House by the Lake, the house where Jake was born, and to the casa. It's been in storage, in a cardboard box stuffed under the house, in hot garages, cool cellars, and finally on the bottom shelf of a wine rack next to a bottle of vintage Thunderbird. Until I was cleaning this morning.
The wine is dull brick colored with a ton of sediment. The back label has vanished. The front label looks like an ancient wool sweater that the moths got after. While wiping the thick dust from the bottle it occurs to me that this bottle has quietly shared my life. It has borne mute witness to the laughter of friends, the anguish of betrayal, the triumphs and successes, the mundane, the sorrowful, the beautiful, and the love.
This Beaujolais is interesting because it is an unopened, thirty seven year old bottle of wine. But as I hold it in my hands it becomes something akin to Thomas Edison's kinetoscope. Offering a flurry of images that can only be seen by one. Blurry and sharp. Some long forgotten, others unimportant. All binding then to now.
This is quite an awesome bottle of wine, my friends.