The fruit for this wine came from a 45 year old, dry–farmed, single vineyard in the Eden Valley. The grapes were molded by winemaker Steve Grimley for the Loomwine label which seems to be a collective of family owned wine companies based in McLaren Vale. Strangely, that is all I know about the brand, and their website is worthless. When combing the Wine-Searcher database for further clues, I could only find the 2007 vintage available, and only at Sherry-Lehman. However, if you are intrigued by my review, you can still buy a bottle from them online. In an effort to suss out the extent of S-L’s inventory—I mean, am I reviewing a wine nobody can get or do they have plenty available for all you readers—I put 50 cases in my cart and I was sent to checkout! So, either their online system is not up to speed with inventory OR their buyer put all his chips on black with this wine, and now they are offering hundreds of bottles at the incredible value of $12.95 at Sherry-Lehman.
As for the juice, the nose explodes with a burst of lemon so fresh you would think Mr. Clean himself just wiped down your kitchen counters. The palate is full of schist and tongue tingling citrus fruit with a hint of roasted pineapple that just barely penetrates the minerality of newly quarried rock (think rock quarry swimming hole from your high school days). The wine is vibrant and mouth-watering, yet has more edges than a Herve Leger dress—the acid may be a bit too rough on this one, but at $12.95, I would drink it again. Perfect for a barefoot beach soiree with steamers and clams dipped in broth and butter, shared with friends on a tight booze budget.
LET’S DRINK THIS IN MAINE!
Writing about fresh shellfish served beachside reminds me of the pine scented, rocky shores of Maine and the abundant crustaceans that troll the local sea floor. I imagine a summer weekend spent inhaling unspoiled air and scouring the coast for the world’s cheapest and tastiest lobsters—seriously, how do they charge $28 for this sh!t in New York City when they are giving the stuff away in Maine. Sidebar—I shall never eat another lobster roll in NYC again (probably). Back to our weekend—let’s crack open a few steamed, whole lobsters and twist open a bottle or two of Loomwine; seated on beach-side picnic tables, we grind our toes into the sand and dig for sweet flesh to dip into hot, runny butter. The citrus and acidity from the Riesling will complement the butter-soaked shellfish we pop into our mouths. I would suggest repeating this formula at least 4 times before returning home.