Red Wine Aesthetic Novels & Stories

Or that you'll have to learn. The server returns, removes the bowls, places two plates on which are set medallions of venison, glazed root vegetables, a deep purple purée. The presentation is morbidly beautiful. A still life. He tastes the wine—a dark red, almost black—and nods to the server, who pours for us. The ritual is fluid, discreet. — Drink, he says. It's a Romanée-Conti. It would be criminal to let it breathe for nothing. I take a sip. The wine is complex, powerful, an explosion of terroir and silky tannins in my mouth. It's the first strong, real sensation since my arrival. It draws an involuntary little sigh from me.

The soft amber light overhead gave the room a warm, inviting glow. I ran my fingers over the labels, reading names that exuded class and refinement. There were bottles of Chateau Margaux, Screaming Eagle, Dom Pérignon Rosé, and a vintage Montrachet. Rose always had a knack for surrounding herself with the finer things in life. Grabbing a bottle of Merlot, I poured myself a glass and sank into one of the plush chairs in the corner. The rich, velvety wine was a welcome distraction, but my mind wouldn’t stay quiet. Instead, it drifted—back to Kaelon.

I could practically picture him leaning against that exact corner, nursing a half-empty glass until the small hours of the morning. It was his element, the comfort he had always turned to while trying to escape his misery, but truly he was wittering away. The memory left a bitter taste in my mouth, the exact flavor of the regret I had buried when I finally closed the estate doors on his impudence. I shuffled towards the floor-to-ceiling racks, running my fingers along the labels. It was an overwhelming sea of dust and centuries of bottles of wine. I knew Kael would know the difference between a ’45 Bordeaux and a souring vintage; he had an eye for the good stuff, a connoisseur of his own des

he asked me, rummaging though the kitchen cabinets. "Sure. Do you have any red wine?" I settled into the plush cream sofa. My stomach was fluttering, but I needed something to calm my nerves. "I've got a very good Austrian wine. I know it's not Italian, but give it s chance before you judge it." He poured the wine into two cups, handed me one, and then took a seat beside me. "Thanks." I took a sip and my taste buds were invaded by rich notes of oak and berries. "You're right, this is delicious!"

Red wine residue appeared in rings on the surface of the glass. "For 50-year-old red wines, when the wine adheres to the glass, the color is more red and clear. For 40-year-old wines, the color is slightly lighter. 30-year-old wines are even lighter, and so on." To help Summer and Susanne better understand the colors of wines of different vintages, Yola took out several wines for demonstration, providing a quick ten-minute training session. After the training, Summer, who had a vague understanding, finally grasped the trick.

"The actual quality may not be thirty times better, but it's usually better and the other factors affecting price include age and rarity. A 2003 is actually seventeen years old already, which increases rarity as the vintage is sold and used, but you will probably notice more smoothness than in a $100 Bordeaux's. This particular wine has aromas of blackberry, licorice, currant, and minerals. It is well refined, which gives it a long finish. Rich in color and low acidity, but it is also very sweet and utterly seamless. It feels like liquid velvet to your palate, and leans more toward a sexy type of feel, rather than an intellectual feel. Sliced black truffles, sweet leather, chocolate, and min

“Sed’s the one all the girls scream for. He’s a beast.” “Like you?” Aggie grinned, taking a sip of wine—perfectly chilled, full-bodied, and sweet. She’d never tasted anything more delicious. “Mmmm.” She looked down into her glass. Thick, the wine clung to the inner surface of her glass. It reminded her of blood. She took another sip, holding the cool liquid in her mouth. Its flavor soured as it warmed on the surface of her tongue. She swallowed.

He stays looking towards the waitress, ignoring her request. "I've already got that figured out," he replied "What drink is it, Mr Dasher?" she asked. He squints, his eyes mockingly pretending to think very hard before taking a deep breath. "Normally you would go for gin with something fruity raspberry or cranberry maybe but you aren't in that kind of mood, it is too refreshing, too made for summer. I think the red wine, specifically the Chateau Des Bardes will do that for you. Close?" he asked.

As soon as the designer departed, Isabel turned to Estelle, "Weren't you told not to leave your room today? You seem uncomfortable here, and I've had enough of your disruptions. It's time for you to leave." "Right?" Estelle replied, as she swiftly moved towards Isabel, a glass of rich, dark red wine clutched in her hand. The wine, a bold and full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon, was notorious for its ability to leave stubborn, hard-to-remove stains on clothing. With a swift motion, her knee jerked and she lost her balance. Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed hard on the floor, her waist hitting the ground with a loud thud.

The wedding wine of Draconis was nothing like anything Mia had ever tasted in either of her lives… dark red, almost black, poured from bottles so old the glass had gone cloudy, tasting of crushed berries and woodsmoke, with something underneath both that loosened every carefully held knot in her shoulders before she had even finished the first glass. Warmth spread through her chest like a slow tide with nowhere to rush. She had three glasses before she thought to count, four before she stopped counting entirely.