Simplicity

by Clare Tooley MW
I worry that we have forgotten to feel wine. We live a colorful wine life – in white, red, orange, and pink. Wine has possibly never been so restless, so...

Love Wine

by Clare Tooley MW
Have you met your vinous soulmate? No, not your drinking partner, though we all need one of those, but the wine or wines with which you have connected to such...

The Light At Daybreak

by Clare Tooley MW
I had begun to think I would never write anything again. No harm done other than to my inner peace. My word inertia has felt a little like chronic jetlag,...

The Passing

by Clare Tooley MW
Hard not to crave and seek, magpie-like, the shiny brightness and vigorous fruit burst of a brand-new wine. We open our bottles within hours of purchase and revel in instant...

The Warrior Mentality

by Clare Tooley MW
I have worked my entire life for restless warriors.  First in a bohemian penthouse studio in Notting Hill, then in the stubborn landscape of Bordeaux, and now in the velvet-textured...

Before, During, After

by Clare Tooley MW
Is it the thought of a wine yet to be tasted that gets you going? A world of cellars exists in tribute to the unopened bottle’s allure. Billions of dollars...

When?

by Clare Tooley MW
The ‘what’ can take a thought or two, the how, where, with whom, barely a moment. But the ‘when’, ah the ‘when’, there’s the rub. I don’t have a favorite...

Changing Places

by Clare Tooley MW
Last night I dreamt I went to Moulon again. Recent times have created asynchronous existence, intermittent periods of grace along a continuum of uncertainty. In wine terms, the experience has...

Vintionary

by Clare Tooley MW
What’s the word for the stretch of wet sand on a beach, revealed as the wave ebbs, just before the sun dries it? That piece of unmarked land, that drenched...

Wine Hands

by Clare Tooley MW
“Take my hand, tenez, trust me, leap, I won’t let go.” A favourite memory in rain-soaked Chablis, flood waters rising, taking a supplier’s outstretched hand as his courtyard began to...