Feeling strongly that I do not get the whole 'slacker' branding bit, and that thought's coming from a man that used to live in the back of his 1968 Ford F-150. But I did learn to love Linne Calodo from a snooty friend, and so here I am. I'll say that this is my favorite of the 2012 bunch (Nemesis, Outsider, et al. included). Rich. Spice and sting. There is fruit here, but no bubblicious berry blasts; there's brightness along side a deep and dry astringent bit, and that juxtaposition may well drive you into dark fits of second-guessing and overthinking at a price-point well below your therapist's hourly rate. — 9 years ago
When everyone says something is amazing, I'm incredulous. No, it's more like I'm defiant and arrogant, a lot like most teenagers you know; "X must overwhelm with mass appeal where X otherwise lacks character and distiction." Well, this bottle is much loved by friends and strangers, and rightly so. Stinging black pepper backed by rich (but not overwhelmingly so) berries. I wish I had a case of the stuff and an equal number of occasions to share it. — 9 years ago
There are people that like this, but not me. If you are one of those sour beer lovers, then you just might like this tangy approximation of a wine. The bottle itself is beautiful as is the handwriting on it, but it breaks my heart that somebody actually had to handwrite anything to help sell this swill. — 9 years ago
Airy and dry, with a light touch of blackberry. A perfect touch of blackberry. Not wildly tannic, but smacks of a bit of chalk--a texture slightly more interesting than water, but nowhere near the mouthfeel of a bold Valley floor cabernet, either. A favorite bottle here. — 9 years ago
Darin See
How does the saying go... don't look a gift horse in the mouth? Well, bite me with horse teeth, but even though this bottle was a gift, and it's supposed to be amazing (or at least great) this jockey isn't smitten. The nose, in all seriousness, is a cross between freshly cut grass and Michelin tire rubber. If this wine were a restaurant, maybe that'd be a good thing. But it's a wine, people, and in all honesty, there's little pleasure here. Maybe I opened it too soon, you'd suggest? Well of course, you might be right. 2016 could be too soon. But if it's fabulous in 2020 and I'm dead and disseminated, what good would have waiting ten vs. five years done me? Carpe diem, people. — 9 years ago