Wines

special release

She flows, ever so silkily across your tortured tongue, decadent as Uni, deftly topped with an unbroken quail egg yolk and freshly diced wasabi, as blistering as scallop ceviche marinating in fresh Fresno chilis, harvested forthwith from the briny calm crystal-clear waters of Santa Cruz Island southwest of Santa Barbara. Like diving bravely in from under sail, your only choice is to jump right in. Oh, and her perfume, yes, her perfume dazzles with dollops of honeydew melon, sprays of star jasmine, sashays of saltwater and fragrant Santolina flowers, cool and comforting like a chilled Crimson Sweet watermelon slice on a hot summer day. 

Try to tame her if you may, but her heart is that of a lioness having gorged on morcilla, briny grilled octopus, kalamata olive tapenade, and boquerones with fatty charred marrow on rustic bread straight from the bone. Now, as you gluttonously gulp down the vestiges in your glass, and she finishes off her titillating Tinku, don’t forget to note her generous dash of garam masala, her succulent stewed dainties, and her swarthy savory waffles lathered in lightly spiced Mexican chocolate mascarpone.

In the quiet of the Japanese garden, Mei wandered slowly, her fingers brushing the soft petals of hibiscus lining the pea-gravel paths. The air was thick with the promise of spring—hints of cherry blossoms drifting on the breeze, mingling with the scent of fresh cacao leaves and a faint trace of pink peppercorns. Her mind felt at peace here among the rustling leaves and the occasional hum of distant city life and the bay harbor just beyond the garden walls.

Even the rustic chair is overflowing with wicker baskets and jute bags bursting with the bounties of a foraging excursion. In a cast iron pot hanging above the hearth, red wine-soaked sausage simmers gently amidst lion’s mane mushrooms, Cara Cara orange peels, tarragon, wild ramps, leeks and Tulbaghia Violacea the aromatic, edible, purple, wild garlic flowers. 

The oracle of destiny foretold it, in all the intricate twistings and turnings of its tale, but no, not by mere name alone; although, one would not be remis in remembering it… Kirk-Landry… the name of our Estate. No, by its sturdy cordon, by the helix of its spurs, by the gentle bending of its canes in the afternoon wind, the dancing of its leaves to the motion of the sun, the moon, the planets and the stars. Resting at ease atop the hills of the Adelaide, west of el Paso de los Robles, these dry-farmed Cabernet Sauvignon vines have roots that dig deep, deep down, in search of lifegiving water, pulling succor and sumptuousness from the soil.