2012 Greenock Creek Apricot Block Shiraz
Philip White 94+++ Points
"As the years wind by, the Apricot Block seems more and more determined to offer a very feminine counterpoint to the stoic and tough indifference that underlies the initial chub of Alice's. In 2012 that contrast is even more overt than usual. But it's more complex and tricky than that. There's no pork fat in this bouquet. This is all patisserie. Lamingtons and Paris Creek blueberry yoghurt. It's creamy and smooth: more confection than primary fruit. Icing sugar. Chocolate-flavoured crème caramel. The very finest milk chocolate. But the wine's made from grapes; it's gotta have some fruit, and with all those alcohols, you might be forgiven for expecting jam when the berries eventually awaken. Nope. Here you get jelly . In fact, the damn thing smells like a well-soused trifle, but all jelly, no jam. Blackcurrant and blueberry jelly, sponge cake, real whipped cream and some chocolate sauce. I can even see the wellpowdered aunt triumphantly carrying it to the table, just to show Mum how to make a trifle and how much sherry, even kirsch, you need to rattle a teetotal household. After all that show, the oak kicks in with that alcohol to tell you it's a wine you're drinking, not a cake. Then, with a day or two of clean country air, like the other 2012s, the wine seems to tighten and stiffen. The oak intensifies, the acid loses its rapier whip and goes brittle and the Apricot takes on a sinister turn. It changes colour, jumps the fence or has a sex change or something and even starts letting off scary blacknesses, like licorice and aniseed. Holy hell. By this stage the drinker really starts to think there's a decade more than first thought in these twelves. Whatever their gender, these are all serious dungeon brutes when the make-up wears off."
Philip White 94+++ Points
"As the years wind by, the Apricot Block seems more and more determined to offer a very feminine counterpoint to the stoic and tough indifference that underlies the initial chub of Alice's. In 2012 that contrast is even more overt than usual. But it's more complex and tricky than that. There's no pork fat in this bouquet. This is all patisserie. Lamingtons and Paris Creek blueberry yoghurt. It's creamy and smooth: more confection than primary fruit. Icing sugar. Chocolate-flavoured crème caramel. The very finest milk chocolate. But the wine's made from grapes; it's gotta have some fruit, and with all those alcohols, you might be forgiven for expecting jam when the berries eventually awaken. Nope. Here you get jelly . In fact, the damn thing smells like a well-soused trifle, but all jelly, no jam. Blackcurrant and blueberry jelly, sponge cake, real whipped cream and some chocolate sauce. I can even see the wellpowdered aunt triumphantly carrying it to the table, just to show Mum how to make a trifle and how much sherry, even kirsch, you need to rattle a teetotal household. After all that show, the oak kicks in with that alcohol to tell you it's a wine you're drinking, not a cake. Then, with a day or two of clean country air, like the other 2012s, the wine seems to tighten and stiffen. The oak intensifies, the acid loses its rapier whip and goes brittle and the Apricot takes on a sinister turn. It changes colour, jumps the fence or has a sex change or something and even starts letting off scary blacknesses, like licorice and aniseed. Holy hell. By this stage the drinker really starts to think there's a decade more than first thought in these twelves. Whatever their gender, these are all serious dungeon brutes when the make-up wears off."
Philip White 94+++ Points
"As the years wind by, the Apricot Block seems more and more determined to offer a very feminine counterpoint to the stoic and tough indifference that underlies the initial chub of Alice's. In 2012 that contrast is even more overt than usual. But it's more complex and tricky than that. There's no pork fat in this bouquet. This is all patisserie. Lamingtons and Paris Creek blueberry yoghurt. It's creamy and smooth: more confection than primary fruit. Icing sugar. Chocolate-flavoured crème caramel. The very finest milk chocolate. But the wine's made from grapes; it's gotta have some fruit, and with all those alcohols, you might be forgiven for expecting jam when the berries eventually awaken. Nope. Here you get jelly . In fact, the damn thing smells like a well-soused trifle, but all jelly, no jam. Blackcurrant and blueberry jelly, sponge cake, real whipped cream and some chocolate sauce. I can even see the wellpowdered aunt triumphantly carrying it to the table, just to show Mum how to make a trifle and how much sherry, even kirsch, you need to rattle a teetotal household. After all that show, the oak kicks in with that alcohol to tell you it's a wine you're drinking, not a cake. Then, with a day or two of clean country air, like the other 2012s, the wine seems to tighten and stiffen. The oak intensifies, the acid loses its rapier whip and goes brittle and the Apricot takes on a sinister turn. It changes colour, jumps the fence or has a sex change or something and even starts letting off scary blacknesses, like licorice and aniseed. Holy hell. By this stage the drinker really starts to think there's a decade more than first thought in these twelves. Whatever their gender, these are all serious dungeon brutes when the make-up wears off."
