Rummaging around the basement earlier looking for something to cook the pot roast in, I found this.
Hm, vintage 2004 Three-Buck-Chuck. One wonders, will 8 years of cellar aging make it, um, drinkable? Let’s see.
The plastic cork is the color of ink. Should I stop now, or call the EPA? Let’s try a tiny bit, before we take the plunge and dump it into tomorrow night’s dinner.
I wouldn’t say it’s nose was non-descript. It was descript, in a low-key way that made you glad it kept its modesty. Once in the glass, swirling it around revealed notes of a just-used kitchen sink and last week’s laundry. That taste was assertively bland, with overtones, undertones and mid-tones of grape jelly and clorox.
Of course, wine of this caliber isn’t meant be aged. Or drank, technically speaking. But we’ll see how the brisket turns out.
I put in into the slow-cooker with a bouquet of fresh herbs from the garden — rosemary, lemon thyme, oregano, parsley, plus a bay leaf, a whole clove and a small stick of cinnamon. Salt, pepper, 3-buck himself and some stock finished it out, along with a package of brown mushrooms, sliced onion, a few anchovies and three cloves of garlic. We’ll cook it all overnight, chill during the day so we can skim off the fat, and reheat.
It will not be nondescript.