Valley of the Death

Bright, deep vibrant ruby all the way out to the edges.  Semi-staining.  Really funky initial.  Funky and processed.  Decanted vigorously.  No change.  Only severe oak and crushed-bug stemmy extraction over-wrought nuances come forth stirred heavily with alcohol.  Behind that lie remnants of gummy-bear/Jelly Belly–and nothing normal:  The odd flavours 9-year-olds like.  It distinctly smells of cat-piss and vomit.  Peanut butter and powdered, concentrated cherry, oak and cigar-box flavors stirred in.  It actually tastes better than it smells.  Defyingly briar and bitterly tannic–right from the entry.  But not Alexander Valley briar–just rot-gut briar with the cheapest waft of canned fruit hovering overhead like the only carrot you could find in the bottom drawer.  The sickly sweet late-nose and mid-palate relationship is the only congruent elements in this dreadful bottle.  Tannin delicately massaged with banana peel wrap things up.  Holy shit, people.  Don’t drink this.  I could name 42 better cabs for under 21.99 with both hands tied behind my back and Rush Limbaugh sitting on my face.  14-5 This thing just gets worse and worse as it opens up.    ◊

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