2012 Clos Sainte Magdeleine Cassis Blanc

You can tell me the truth. I promise not to blame the messenger. You were the one, years ago, who said the truth is whatever you’re afraid to hear. If somebody takes you aside and says, “You’re my friend, so I’m not going to lie to you,” and what they say next makes you happy, then whatever they say next is a lie. Lies make you happy. The truth makes you sick.

Let the spirit that moves the clouds across the face of the earth move you. Let the bells that ring from here to eternity move you. Actually, you know what? Let’s leave heaven and earth out of this. Just tell me now, while we have time. Because the time will come when one of us runs out of time, and then I’ll never hear it—at least not from you. I’m a grown man. I’ve accepted the fact that everything dies. I can’t say I’ve made my peace with death. Has anybody? All I’m saying is, you can stop protecting me. You’re not going to ruin my day by telling me the truth.

Why now? Why not now? Because we’re too close. Because we’re not close enough. Because I’d rather spend the rest of my life recovering from the truth than being addicted to a lie.

It’s the sound of your voice, the slow growl at the back of your throat, that makes me want to hear it from you. If it helps, feel free to pretend we’re old friends, lovers from a bygone era, soul mates who never got the chance to look each other in the eye. Whatever it takes, you have my permission. Not that you need it. If you know what I think you know, you don’t need permission. If I thought you didn’t carry it with you, why would I go to all this trouble? I wouldn’t. And neither would you.

You were the one who said it’s better to pay too much for what you want than to get a great deal on what you hate. It took me years to realize that the road to hell is paved with bargains. You looked out for me then, why not look out for me now?

Yes, I know, the teacher’s not supposed to tell the student anything the student can’t discover by himself. Or herself, as the case may be. That’s another lesson you taught me. The thing is, you also said the student / teacher dynamic was an illusion, a opiate con men use to keep the masses in denial. By that rational, you’re not my teacher and I’m not your student.

Of course we’re not equals, either. This is not about who’s in charge. This is about your legacy. You’ve told me more times than I can remember that I’ll be better off without you, that it’s my affection for people that keeps me from the truth. All well and good. All the more reason for you to stop the shell game and tell me, once and for all, the truth about the truth—even if it is the opposite of what I want to hear.

Which bring us to the 2012 Clos Sainte Magdeleine Cassis Blanc.

In the glass, the 2012 Cassis Blanc has that clairvoyance, that open channel we all wish we had. The bouquet is more opaque, more of a leading question than a straight answer. On the palate, the Clos Sainte Magdeleine is a story on its way to becoming a legend. The finish is a legend on its way to becoming a myth. You can drink this wine with any kind of food and all kinds of company, including people you don’t like. Its beauty may confound you but it will not betray you.

“When people first see an Agnes, they say, ‘My kid could do that.’ Then they look closer and they know their kid couldn’t do it, so they say, ‘Okay, maybe my kid couldn’t do it but I still don’t know what it means. How can it be art if it doesn’t mean anything?’ What it means is, you asked what it meant. Instead of giving you an answer, the painting demanded something of you. It forced you to look inside while you were looking outside. It forced you to look in the mirror as opposed to looking for meaning on a piece of stretched canvas covered with paint.”

You were the one who told me that. Isn’t that what we’re doing?

Why would I offer you a bribe? And what kind of a question is that? No bribes, no bargains, no deals. If there’s a deal involved—if this is a negotiation—then I was wrong about you, and I’m out. Leave, take your almighty truth with you, and tell it to the first person who gives you the deal you wanted from me. If that’s your game, I’m not playing.

Yes, I’ll keep it to myself. Didn’t you? May God strike me dumb, I won’t repeat a word. What good would it do me? No one would believe me. You say it. I hear it. That’s as far as it goes. Of course, you can trust me. Whatever you say, I’ll take it with me to my grave. True or false, your secret is safe with me.

One Bottle is dedicated to the appreciation of good wines and good times, one bottle at a time. You can write to Joshua Baer at jb@onebottle.com.