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  • I’ve always admired creatures who have exceptional sense of smell. Like for example bloodhounds. Or my wife Kirsi.

    Perhaps, partly because of that, I’m interested in blind tasting of wines. It all depends on olfactory recognition. Last weekend I participated in blind tasting competition in Finland. You had to tell from about dozen glasses of wine their main grape, country, region, subregion, year of making etc.

    No wonder they call it BLIND tasting. It’s like climbing blind on mountains and try not to fall.

    Especially when the real connoisseurs say that the results of a blind tasting cannot be predicted and will not even be reproduced the next day by the same panel tasting the same wines.

    Whatever. It’s fun. So long as you remember to spit out wines from you mouth. You’ll never last the day if you swallow all the wines. I’ve tried that too, when I participated in one Easter wine tasting with twenty something Syrahs.

    Next day was Good Friday, and I could for my humble part emphatize how Jesus must have felt that day 2000 years earlier. Throb throb throb throb throb…

    Fifty metres from our apartment there’s a church with bells clanging through all Easter. Clang clang clang clang clang. Throb throb throb throb throb.

    “Yes, I promise to spit my wine out henceforth! Just silence those bells, dear sexton. Please.”

    So, last weekend I remembered to spit out my wines. Yeah, I know, it’s deeply wrong and downright criminal act with all those Bordeaux’s and Chateauneuf-du-Papes and Beerenausleses in your mouth.

    I plead self-defense.
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