I am visiting my brother Conor in Salt Lake City, Utah. My Mormon brother. Although I do have a few professional engagements, I certainly didn't anticipate imbibing socially on this trip. In fact, I planned on using the hiatus as a chance to re-introduce Crest white-strips to my Hermitage-stained ivories. So imagine my deep chagrin when, while preparing for a small dinner party and reading through a recipe I've been dying to try, I realized that it called for a half a cup of dry white. This prompted my brother to mention that two of our expected guests were actually wine drinkers, and, (hallelujah!), off we went, I with a spring in my step and a sparkle in my eye, to the state-owned wine store.

That's right, I said state-owned, as are all of the wine shops in Utah. Conor informed me of this as we were driving, and on-cue we pulled up to a large, non-descript, gray building with large, black block letters on one side reading 'WINE STORE.' The building looked more like a state-prison than a wine vendor. My hopes were not high, and I must admit, visions of Kendall-Jackson swam in my head. I stepped inside, and... breathed a sigh of relief. There in front of me were all of the usual suspects. I silently berated myself for being such a snob, and set about to prove a now-developing theory: perhaps a state-run wine shop in a state known for its teetotalers would be exactly the place to find premium bottles at low cost.

Curiosity led me to the back corner, where the haute bottles lived. I noticed a large-format Chateau Margaux 2005 marked down to $5000. Bingo. Not in my budget for the evening, but not dis-proving my theory. So I set out, and immediately stumbled across a treasure, and a personal favorite, Clos de la Coulee de Serrant. It's trademark white label, marred by dirt, stared up at me from behind a $39.99 price tag. I couldn't believe it. It was 04; not as breathtaking as the 02, or as promising as the 05, but a great vintage nonetheless. This same bottle back home, in Connecticut, retails for twice as much. Brilliant.

For those of you familiar with Coulee de Serrant, you'll read the next sentence and respond with horror. I opened and consumed the bottle that night, allowing it to breathe for a total of three hours. I couldn't help but imagine the scolding voice of Nicolas Joly, as just months ago I had the fortune of seeing an interview with him on French television in which he said his young vintages are best expressed after they have been open for five days! For those of you unfamiliar with Nicolas Joly, or Coulee de Serrant, let me back up.

Coulee de Serrant of the Loire Valley is one of the most highly regarded producers of white wine in France, indeed, in the world. Coulee de Serrant is not only the name of the domaine, but is also the name of its own 7 hectare, (2.471 acres), appellation just outside of Savennieres, planted entirely to Chenin Blanc. Nicolas Joly, the winemaker, has been a pioneer of bio-dynamic farming since 1980, and the estate became completely bio-dynamic in 1984. Chenin blanc is often referred to as the 'pinot noir of white grapes' for its finicky and delicate nature, and Savennieres, along with Vouvray, is considered it's spiritual home. Chenin blanc also reserves its place as one of the few white varietals conducive to and best expressed with bottle age. The average bottle of Coulee de Serrant is approachable at ten years, with many vintages best expressing themselves at twice that, and many examples still singing at more than triple that age.

Hence the sacrilege of a very non-religious nature: I opened a bottle of 2004 about six years too early, and drank it while it was still gasping for air, merely two hours after un-corking. And it was fabulous.

Another theory of mine is that wine-drinking is a very un-fine science. Some of the best, and most iconic bottles I've tasted have been without ceremony, and drunk in a manner that would appall its maker.. In France, I've attended many a wine-maker thrown party. Inevitably, at the end of the night, when it is most inappropriate: palettes are overextended and memories hazy, said winemaker ventures into his thousand year old cellar and reemerges triumphantly with bottles covered in dust, even mold, and labels eaten away by time. The wine is uncorked and sloshed into glasses with abandon. The wine is swirled, sniffed, and quaffed. For a moment, if the wine is showing, glassy eyes clear, and slurred words are enunciated, for just as long as it takes to properly appreciate the ode to a great domaine in the glass. Just for a moment. But, it is that moment that brands itself on the wine-lover's brain, never to be erased. It is that moment, surrounded by friends, family, music and fellow wine-lovers, that will forever define the wine for whomever had the privilege of staying awake long enough to taste it. No decanter in sight, no waxing poetic, just pure indulgence.

I know I've exaggerated my point. What I mean to illustrate is that experiencing a wine typically doesn't occur under the perfect conditions. On another tangent, wine should also sometimes be consumed before or after the elusive and perfect drinking-date. How else do we become acquainted with the nuances of a fine wine and how it ages, if not occasionally exposing ourselves to a young beauty displaying only primary flavor profiles, or a tired geriatric with only a hint of it's former fruit? I recently had the privilege of being at an intimate wine-maker's dinner in Washington D.C., at which an affluent collector felt moved to share some of his personal collection. By some twist of fate he had just received his annual allocation of Domaine Romanee Conti, and brought out a bottle of the just-released 2006 vintage. Common sense, it seems, had been washed away hours ago with Barossa Valley's finest Shiraz, and the '06 was opened. Younger and tighter than a virgin, the DRC showed high-toned fruit purity that I will probably never experience again. A shadow of what it would have been in 30 or 40 years, it sang and inspired nonetheless, and I will never forget it. Besides having the privilege of working that specific vintage at the famed winery, what other chance will I ever have to experience such a wine in its infancy, thereby increasing my appreciation of every other vintage ten-fold?

I digress again, but I realize now that my point in this diatribe isn't Coulee de Serrant specific. It is wine-specific. It is to say, that wine, as an organic substance, is always imperfect, and in its imperfections, if well made, lie its beauty. Why shouldn't we regard the drinking of such wine in the same light? Conditions are rarely perfect, but in those imperfections lie memorable experiences.

Which brings me back to Utah. Our guests arrived, and the three wine drinkers among us oohed and ahhed at the rich, golden-brown hue of the Chenin. I started to explain that this color came from the perfect maturity of the botrytis-affected grapes at the time of harvest, but quickly shut my mouth. Who cares? It's beautiful. We swirled, sniffed and lost track of time for a moment in the heady aromas of caramel and quince tempered by wet stone. Surprisingly open, the palette boasted a hint of floral, pineapple, and slightly baked fruit, with clear and pure acidity. All profiles give way to a mid-palette minerality that finishes long and pure. 

It was a total accident, but the tangerine and honey glazed roast chicken recipe perfectly paired, even after I neglected the chicken due to wine-adoration.

All in all, wine, food, and company made for an unforgettable night. On paper, the wine was too young, the skin of the chicken too-crispy, and the company too Mormon . In the end, imperfection proved perfect.

Roast Chicken with Tangerines

http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/roast-chicken-with-tangerines