Miles: That's 100% pinot noir. Single vineyard. They don't even make it anymore.
Jack: Pinot noir?
Miles: Mm-hmm.
Jack: Then how come it's white?
Miles: Oh, Jesus. Don't ask questions like that up in wine country. They'll think you're some kind of dumbshit, OK?
Jack: Just tell me.
Miles: Color in red wines comes from the skins. This juice, on the other hand, is free run, so that there's no skin contact during fermentation—
Miles: These guys make top notch pinot and chardonnay. One of the best producers in Santa Barbara county.
Jack: I thought you hated chardonnay.
Miles: No, no, no. I like all varietals. I just don't generally like the way they manipulate chardonnay in California. Too much oak and secondary malolactic fermentation.
Miles: You see, the reason that this region is so good for pinot... is that the cold air off the Pacific flows in at night... and it just cools down the berries. Pinot's a very thin-skinned grape. It doesn't like constant heat or humidity. Very delicate.
Miles: Let me show you how this is done. First thing, hold the glass up and examine the wine against the light. You're looking for color and clarity. Just, get a sense of it. Okay? Thick? Thin? Watery? Syrupy? Okay?... Now, tip it. What you're doing here is checking for color density as it thins out towards the rim. That's gonna tell you how old it is, among other things. It's usually more important with reds. Okay? Now, stick your nose in it... Don't be shy, really get your nose in there. Mmm... A little citrus... Maybe some strawberry... Mmm... Passion fruit... And... Ah, there's just, like, the faintest... soupçon of like asparagus and... There's a... just a flutter of a, like a nutty Edam cheese...
Jack: Wow. Strawberries, yeah! Strawberries. Not the cheese...
Miles: All right. Put your glass down. Get some air into it. Oxygenating it opens it up. It unlocks the aromas, the flavors. Very important. Smell again.
Jack: One for you, three for me.
Miles: Mmm.
Maya: Why are you so into pinot? I mean, it's like a thing with you.
Miles: Uh— I don't know. I don't know. Um— it's a hard grape to grow. As you know. Right? It's uh— it's thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's— you know, it's not a survivor... like Cabernet, which can just grow anywhere... and thrive even when it's neglected. No, Pinot needs constant care and attention. You know? And in fact it can only grow... in these really specific, little, tucked-away corners of the world. And— and only... the most patient and nurturing of growers... can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time... to understand Pinot's potential... can then coax it into its fullest expression. And then, I mean— Oh, its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant... and thrilling and subtle and... ancient on the planet. No, I mean, you know,
Cabernets can be powerful and exalting too, but they seem prosaic to me, for some reason, by comparison.
Maya: I like to think about the life of wine. How it's a living thing. I like to think about... what was going on the year the grapes were growing, how the sun was shining, if it rained. I like to think about... all the people who tended and picked the grapes... and, if it's an old wine, how many of them must be dead by now. I like how wine continues to evolve. Like, if I opened a bottle of wine today, it would taste different than if I'd opened it on any other day. Because a bottle of wine is actually alive... and it's constantly evolving and gaining complexity. That is, until it peaks, like your '61 . And then it begins its steady, inevitable decline... And it tastes so fucking good.
Miles: If you don't have money at my age, you're not even in the game anymore. You're just a pasture animal waiting for the abattoir.
Jack: Abattoir. What is that?
Miles: Slaughterhouse.
Jack: Abattoir. Huh.
Miles: It tastes like the back of a fucking L.A. school bus... Now, they probably didn't de-stem, hoping for some semblance of concentration. Crushed it up with leaves and mice... and then wound up with this rancid tar and turpentine mouthwash bullshit. Fuckin' Raid.
Miles: No, I'm finished, I'm not a writer. I'm a middle school English teacher. Ah, the world doesn't give a shit what I have to say. I'm unnecessary. I'm so insignificant, I can't even kill myself.
Jack: Miles, what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Miles: Come on, man. You know. Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf... You can't kill yourself before you're even published.
Jack: What about the guy who wrote Confederacy of Dunces? He committed suicide before he was published. Look how famous he is.
Miles: Thanks.
Miles: Half my life is over, and I have nothing to show for it, nothing. I'm a thumbprint on the window of a skyscraper. I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue... surging out to sea with a million tons of raw sewage.
Jack: See? Right there. Just what you just said? That is beautiful. “A smudge of excrement surging out to sea...” Yeah. I could never write that.
Miles: Neither could I, actually. I think it's Bukowski.
Jack: Listen, man, you're my friend, and I know you care about me. I know you disapprove, and I respect that. But there are some things that I have to do that you don't understand. You understand literature, movies, wine, but you don't understand my plight.
Miles: Hey, wait a second. Wait a second. How come I wasn't hurt?
Jack: 'Cause you were wearing your seat belt.
Miles: Nicely done.
--
+++ Quotes on the IMDb
+ Soundtracks
Jack: Pinot noir?
Miles: Mm-hmm.
Jack: Then how come it's white?
Miles: Oh, Jesus. Don't ask questions like that up in wine country. They'll think you're some kind of dumbshit, OK?
Jack: Just tell me.
Miles: Color in red wines comes from the skins. This juice, on the other hand, is free run, so that there's no skin contact during fermentation—
Miles: These guys make top notch pinot and chardonnay. One of the best producers in Santa Barbara county.
Jack: I thought you hated chardonnay.
Miles: No, no, no. I like all varietals. I just don't generally like the way they manipulate chardonnay in California. Too much oak and secondary malolactic fermentation.
Miles: You see, the reason that this region is so good for pinot... is that the cold air off the Pacific flows in at night... and it just cools down the berries. Pinot's a very thin-skinned grape. It doesn't like constant heat or humidity. Very delicate.
Miles: Let me show you how this is done. First thing, hold the glass up and examine the wine against the light. You're looking for color and clarity. Just, get a sense of it. Okay? Thick? Thin? Watery? Syrupy? Okay?... Now, tip it. What you're doing here is checking for color density as it thins out towards the rim. That's gonna tell you how old it is, among other things. It's usually more important with reds. Okay? Now, stick your nose in it... Don't be shy, really get your nose in there. Mmm... A little citrus... Maybe some strawberry... Mmm... Passion fruit... And... Ah, there's just, like, the faintest... soupçon of like asparagus and... There's a... just a flutter of a, like a nutty Edam cheese...
Jack: Wow. Strawberries, yeah! Strawberries. Not the cheese...
Miles: All right. Put your glass down. Get some air into it. Oxygenating it opens it up. It unlocks the aromas, the flavors. Very important. Smell again.
Jack: One for you, three for me.
Miles: Mmm.
Maya: Why are you so into pinot? I mean, it's like a thing with you.
Miles: Uh— I don't know. I don't know. Um— it's a hard grape to grow. As you know. Right? It's uh— it's thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's— you know, it's not a survivor... like Cabernet, which can just grow anywhere... and thrive even when it's neglected. No, Pinot needs constant care and attention. You know? And in fact it can only grow... in these really specific, little, tucked-away corners of the world. And— and only... the most patient and nurturing of growers... can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time... to understand Pinot's potential... can then coax it into its fullest expression. And then, I mean— Oh, its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant... and thrilling and subtle and... ancient on the planet. No, I mean, you know,
Cabernets can be powerful and exalting too, but they seem prosaic to me, for some reason, by comparison.
Maya: I like to think about the life of wine. How it's a living thing. I like to think about... what was going on the year the grapes were growing, how the sun was shining, if it rained. I like to think about... all the people who tended and picked the grapes... and, if it's an old wine, how many of them must be dead by now. I like how wine continues to evolve. Like, if I opened a bottle of wine today, it would taste different than if I'd opened it on any other day. Because a bottle of wine is actually alive... and it's constantly evolving and gaining complexity. That is, until it peaks, like your '61 . And then it begins its steady, inevitable decline... And it tastes so fucking good.
Miles: If you don't have money at my age, you're not even in the game anymore. You're just a pasture animal waiting for the abattoir.
Jack: Abattoir. What is that?
Miles: Slaughterhouse.
Jack: Abattoir. Huh.
Miles: It tastes like the back of a fucking L.A. school bus... Now, they probably didn't de-stem, hoping for some semblance of concentration. Crushed it up with leaves and mice... and then wound up with this rancid tar and turpentine mouthwash bullshit. Fuckin' Raid.
Miles: No, I'm finished, I'm not a writer. I'm a middle school English teacher. Ah, the world doesn't give a shit what I have to say. I'm unnecessary. I'm so insignificant, I can't even kill myself.
Jack: Miles, what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Miles: Come on, man. You know. Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf... You can't kill yourself before you're even published.
Jack: What about the guy who wrote Confederacy of Dunces? He committed suicide before he was published. Look how famous he is.
Miles: Thanks.
Miles: Half my life is over, and I have nothing to show for it, nothing. I'm a thumbprint on the window of a skyscraper. I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue... surging out to sea with a million tons of raw sewage.
Jack: See? Right there. Just what you just said? That is beautiful. “A smudge of excrement surging out to sea...” Yeah. I could never write that.
Miles: Neither could I, actually. I think it's Bukowski.
Jack: Listen, man, you're my friend, and I know you care about me. I know you disapprove, and I respect that. But there are some things that I have to do that you don't understand. You understand literature, movies, wine, but you don't understand my plight.
Miles: Hey, wait a second. Wait a second. How come I wasn't hurt?
Jack: 'Cause you were wearing your seat belt.
Miles: Nicely done.
--
+++ Quotes on the IMDb
+ Soundtracks
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