(Looking upslope to the tasting room and Palladio Restaurant at Barboursville Vineyards. All photos courtesy Winery).

It is sloppy out there this morning in Washington, ice in the western elevations, gray and rainy in town. What a contrast to the last best day of the Fall, and now we are into the winter. It was the deliriously beautiful Sunday that I prefer to recall, and the delightful tasting at the Barboursville Vineyards.

If you have not been, you need to. I was talking to Jake about it at the Amen Corner last night. Old Jim was holding down the apex of The Corner, and we were visited by the swan-necked and chestnut-haired attorney Liz-with-an-S on a welcome visit to the scene of previous crimes, the effervescent Heather and Barrister Jerry. The confluence of high-priced legal talent made us the best represented bar flies on that end of Fairfax Drive.

Jake’s last trip to Barboursville had been in the rain, and he and his lovely bride had missed the ruins of Governor Barbour’s house altogether.

“The ruins are best seen in brilliant sunlight,” I said. “The pillars are remarkable, as is the ruin of the Octagon Room that Thomas Jefferson designed for his pal the Governor.”

“Wish I had turned left,” sighed Jake. “But the wine was good. And lunch at the Palladio Restaurant was superb. Three courses all paired with just the right vintage.”

“I totally agree. I will go back for lunch sometime. But the tasting was awesome. For seven bucks you got to try samples of seventeen different vintages. Seven whites, six reds and four Blush and Desert wines. I had a pretty good buzz going by the time it was done.”

“Did you buy any?” growled Jim.

“Yeah- I got a bottle of the Chardonnay Reserve 2013, two bottles of Cabernet Franc Reserve, 2012, and a bottle of some extraordinary Nebbiolo Reserve from back in 2011. That was a year for the Nebbiolo. Danny-the-pourer said the Cabs were going to age really well, and will be dynamite in a couple years.”

(Barboursville’s Nebbiolo Reserve is elegant and complex, aromatically enthralling depth of violets, forest loam, dark berry and tobacco notes. It features a full body with sense structure followed by a seamless sustaining finish. Or so they tell me. I thought it was just delicious).

“You ever wait that long?” asked Liz-S.

Heather laughed musically, channeling her inner Joan Blondell. “Vic is not one of those people who knows what a wine-stopper is.”

I looked suitably affronted and took a sip of the happy hour white. “Yeah, what would you use one of those for on an empty bottle? Between the history and the wine and that amazing restaurant on the premises, Barboursville is a complete destination for a day trip. As a special treat, I got a half glass of their best- the Octagon 2010. It was absolutely lyrical.”

“You are noted for your lyrics, Vic,” said Barrister Jerry, tearing into his roasted pear-salad with prosciutto.

“I just can’t remember the tune. But it is eerie. Barboursville is just a speed-bump on Route 20, but the people who live there have roots in the soil that go back before the Revolution.”

“The Civil War changed all that in Orange. Gordonsville is just up the road and they have a wonderful museum about the period, and the Exchange Hotel was once the gateway to the West on the junction of the Alexandria and Orange Railroad and the Chesapeake and Ohio. And it was a Civil War hospital and they claim it is haunted.”

“Did you visit there?”

I shook my head. “Next trip to Orange. The family came through there working on the railroad and moved west with the rails. I will see it soon. Sunday seemed to be a day to visit James and Dolly Madison’s place on the way back. Seemed like just the right time to check in on the place where the Bill of Rights was conceived, and where the father of the Constitution lived.”

Jake said he and Celia had visited Montpelier when they were still ripping down the vast addition that the DuPont family had added to the original colonial structure.

“It is all done now. They decided to shoot for how the place looked in the 1830s.”
“And looking for all the original furniture they can find,” said Jake, draining the last of his IPA. “Time to be off.”

I looked at what remained of the Happy Hour white in front of me, and decided that a discussion of the wonders of Montpelier was going to have to wait for a day. Or two.

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303