Two years ago we squatted a garden which sounded cool up until we got told to clear out. We grew sunflowers. And Mexican sunflowers. And poppies and astor and cosmos and sweetpeas and hollyhocks and one of those wildflower good-for, god save the bees mixes and a ‘pale cut flowers’ mix, though I think it’s cruel to actually cut flowers, and our Christmas tree from two years ago and a plum tree and two rows of corn up to my waist and a big awkward cucumber and dog zucchini and a crazy wild growing sage and trees of swiss chard and cavolo nero or just kale and a pumpkin and endive and soft lettuce heads and broad beans and string beans and having a place to put our hands in dirt and make stick fences and stone paths and play pioneer or whatever and also three marijuana plants which maaaaay have been the problem.
Kenjiro Kagmi's "Ja-Naï" 2013 reminds me of garden. Of bramble, pulling nettles, weeds, hands and knees knock-knocking clumps of dark, wet root dirt, hot (plastic!) bagged manure. Of the breeze breezing over the smell of cut grass which is to say the smell of someone with an actual garden with actual grass, not nettles. Of bunches of herbs nailed to a beam to dry, not to forget. Of bay leaves and basil and roses and Angostura Bitters which sorta technically comes from gardens.
Tasting notes:
A Ploussard made by a Japanese in the Jura in a limestone vineyard full of flowers. There's melty marzipan and a packet of red fruit gummies you left in the sun on the back seat of the car plus somehow the taste sensation of your tongue on cold mineral metal plus see above.
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"Ja-Naï" 2013
Domaine des Miroirs, Kenjiro Kagmi
Ploussard
Grusse, Jura
