The 2005 DRC Montrachet was a knockout. I expected this to be a bit clumsy, as ’05 whites are not usually in the same category as reds, but this one sure was. We were discussing how everyone always assumes a great red vintage is a great white vintage, but how it isn’t always the case, and how whites beat to their own drum. This 2005 white, however, shut down the ’07, which is theoretically the better white vintage. This was big, buttery, smoky and toasty. Rich, thick and lush, this was about as strong as a white wine gets. DuJeremy found it ‘easy to like,’ and that it ‘feels readier than it should,’ also finding this ‘Hawaiian vanilla’ in it. This was a powerful powerhouse, it had the power (97+).

The last Montrachet of the evening was quite reductive and smoked. There was great volume to its palate, and it felt like we should have saved it for dessert. The 1986 DRC Montrachet kept getting better and better and better, but it ultimately was a bit of an outlier (93A).

The 1978 DRC La Tache was tall, dark and handsome, all that and then some. This was a minty, beefy, bloody wine. There was lots of menthol, rose and garden in this nearly perfect ’78. Its palate was rich and saucy with great, handpicked, heirloom tomato flavors. The Mogul was gushing how he just ‘melted into it;’ this was quintessential LT. Lots of complicated spice added forte to its finish. A masterpiece (97+).

The last of this triumphant trio was the 1971 DRC La Tache. It had a mushroomy, truffly nose. It was also saucy, but overshadowed by the 1978. Four out of five times, the 1971 wins this battle, but on this night, the 1978 stood tall. This particular bottle of ’71 also lacked the usual acidity and was a bit softer on its finish. Its flavors were more brothy, and while still outstanding, it scored lower than usual (95).

1991 DRC Romanee Conti. Well, hello, old friend. It’s getting rarer to see RC’s opened like the good ol’ days, so it was much appreciated to have this dynamic duo thanks to The Mogul and The Rocketman. The 1991 had deep ocean fruit that was rich, saucy, big and beefy. The stuffing was greater than the turkey lol. DuJeremy cooed, ‘this is what I envision.’ Sir Robert found it ‘above its class.’ It was so sweet, so perfumed, so great…what a wine. Its finished smacked asses and faces, letting everyone know who the superstar in the room was (98).

Fall is upon us, and on September 6th we are kicking it off at Marea with our best NY auction in years, with close to $4 million available and some fantastic cellars. Bang bang.

This month has seen a lot of pit stops. Here today, gone tomorrow. Like all month, so I guess I am not wiser after all. I have had to channel a lot of my inner Bad Boy to deal with such a road show, but thankfully every day time stops for dinner, and I remember what it is to be civilized again.

I spent a few days in Provence, and I suppose my second night there set a bad precedent for the week: a wedding party that started at 4pm and ended at 330am. Well, at least that was the last time I remember seeing the time. It was a marriage between French and Russian families, and the Russians brought the vodka, and lots of dance floor moves from lots of lovely ladies. I lost two buttons on my shirt and my shoes, but thankfully I made it home in one piece and didn’t fall in any thorny bushes like a couple of others.

The Educator is a passionate man whose experience has traveled well beyond the greatest names and greatest vintages, since he has been there and done that as much as anyone. It is discovery that drives him, and he shared some of that passion and wisdom over a wonderful lunch in his summer home. There was a delicious 2002 Delamotte as an aperitif, and it was classy, smooth and delicious, quite drinkable for such a young buck (93).

The Champagne that followed was a beast; we knew it was Salon but we had to guess the vintage. It seemed so young, yet had wisdom about it, much like The Educator himself. Citrus and ‘pink grapefruit’ came from the crowd. This Salon left a Paul Bunyan impression with its bigness and wood. It was yeasty and brawny, yet still fresh and like an infant. The closest I got to guessing was 1979, but this classical 1982 Salon was also some serious heavy metal (97).

A 1995 Guigal Cote Rotie La Turque paired well with a Camenbert, something I thought impossible, but it actually worked per The Educator’s insistence. The Guigal was rich, full and ‘milky’ per The Paradox. White pepper, violet and a slice of ham rounded out its nose. ‘Delicate, velvet and fraiche’ came from the crowd. This was balanced yet big (94).

The Educator continued to teach after dinner. ‘If you want to know a wine, you have to know all the vintages.’ He referenced the 77 vintages of DRC he has sampled. I did some quick math in my head and put myself at about 60. There is still so much to learn.

There were a lot more wines at dinner that night with The Aginator, and more dinners in general, but we’ll save those for another time. Whether it be wines, places or restaurants, new discoveries are always exciting, even if there is only time for a pit stop.

July and Europe always go well together in my world. This past week I spent seven days in seven cities racing across the continent, including one day in four countries. I remember back a few years when I did 18 cities in 26 days. Seven cities sure felt like enough this time; I guess I am getting wiser .

One of my stops had me visiting The Judge, who handed out his usual punishment, 6-8…bottles of wine. He had actually been overcoming the theft of one of his cars earlier in the day, with his girlfriend’s dog still inside. Thankfully, he got the car back. I mean the dog.

A 1928 Lamouroux was a Margaux, I believe. There was cinnamon and spice there to this relatively fresh wine. It was lighter and leaner in the mouth, possessing less intensity and more water. It was still alive is about the best thing I can say (85).

We couldn’t get throughout the evening without at least one Burgundy, which was a young, vigorous 1990 Leroy Clos Vougeot. Perhaps the age and maturity of the previous wines made it seem even younger than it was, but it felt almost like a barrel sample! This was Modern Art in the face of a Monet exhibition, still pure and deep with menthol, spice girls and that Leroy rubber tire. Asian spice and licorice also joined the party. The palate was Monaco rich, almost buttery and crazy long. Its finish crackled with big-time fireplace action, but was still smooth (95).

Despite ending on a Burgundy note, this evening showed wherein the greatness of Bordeaux lies, in its age. This age comes in the cellar, whether it be from the Chateau or a private collector. Those that cellar these wines will always be rewarded. The verdict was in.

All eyes are on Brazil right now. I’m not sure if it is just because of ESPN, but I feel like America is collectively and sincerely paying attention to soccer for the first time. While many from all over the world have descended upon Brazil for this incredible celebration of human spirit, most guys that I know in Brazil are currently in America. Of course, they are watching and rooting passionately for their country, but it’s just too much of a disruption to their normal lives. It’s also a good excuse to come to America, which most of the gentlemen I know there regularly do, and I am glad a few of my Brazilian friends were in New York this past week, led by The Ringmaster, a man after my own heart.

The 1995 Coche-Dury Corton Charlemagne seemed overwhelmed by the Leroy at first; in fact, almost everyone preferred the Leroy initially. The Coche was certainly more feminine and elegant, and its sensuality got lost amidst the brute force of the Leroy. However, with time, it kept gaining and unfurling into a longer and more intense experience, and in the end I considered the two wines neck and neck despite the clear difference in style. The Coche had more white fruit, some game and was quite exotic with its almost Brazilian fruit (Brazil has some of its own unqiue fruits that are absolutely wild btw). Its palate was creamy, long and sensual. There were nice broth and earth flavors. The Jeweler came back to the Coche and was the first to voice his new found preference. It held with its balance, had great flesh and was in a perfect spot for maturity, albeit it more mature than the Leroy, perhaps. The acidity kept creeping out more and more, and The Ringmaster admired its ‘cotton candy.’ Don’t call it a comeback, it’s been there for years (96).

The 1990 Leroy Richebourg that followed seemed almost infantile by comparison. This showed much younger, deeper and blacker. I supposed it was starting to show some skin by Leroy’s usual standards, but the ’82 RC was so deliciously mature, it skewed our perspective. The Richebourg’s palate was big and oaky without being obtrusive; it squared up a bit but its thickness could not be denied. There was a bit of that Leroy gas and ass, both in kiss quantities. It got better in the glass, both fruit and finish-wise (95).

The 1982 Mouton Rothschild was another level. It, too, was tight, but darker and deeper as well. This was a spectacular wine that wasn’t all about the pleasure; in fact, it may more have been about the pain and rain, but it was much longer than anything we had this night. This was a lifetime wine, and while arguably all of the Burgundies gave more pleasure now, there was no question which wine would still be standing long after all of us. The debate of now versus later in the context of greatness will always be debatable, and while I got more pleasure out of the Burgundies, I still recognized that this was the wine of the night (97+).

By the end of the evening, I left cheering for Brazil in the World Cup, against the USA in the final, of course.