Goodbye

I am feeling a beautiful sadness as I drink the very last drop of the Broadbent Terrantez Old Reserve I own. I have been drinking this last bottle slowly, knowing I may never find another bottle again. It is without a doubt my favourite wine of all time. It is such a comfort to drink it, the gentle warmth, the fine but vibrant acidity, the mild sweetness, the silky texture that glides on the tongue, and that wonderful nose, cinnamon, vanilla, almond, aged orange peel and the loveliness of fine oak. The story is nice too, as Bartholomew Broadbent explained it—it was lost in the warehouse for decades before he found it accidentally without anyone know its true age. A rare grape made into a fine wine, lost and then found to emerge as one of the finest there is. The passing of time did not make it dull or tired, just mature and deep. The only youthfulness forfeited is roughness and confusion. It has become complex, gentle, but vigorous and generous all the same. I have enjoyed its company for a couple of years now, and as I look at the empty glass, savouring the aftertaste, smelling the fragrant still lingering, I feel like I am saying goodbye to an old friend who is off to a long journey. I am fortunate to have had such a friend. And when I close my eyes, years from now, I will still be able to recall every fine detail of each of our encounters. Those will be happy moments, but now I am sad to see it slowly fades away.