Dilated black cherries, raspberries, and plums,

with hints of spicy vanilla,

he finishes long and soft,

with gentle tannins,

but a Cabernet-Sauvignon-colonizer still the same.

Paired with duck or filet,

he leads into a short finish.

One of the world’s most planted grapes

and popular varietals in the market,

but he’s still poison to sommeliers.

He reduces his cab/franc

to White Zins and Moscattos,

never open to oak influences,

or a well-balanced acidity;

something versatile

and ripened,

cellared like a humbled Bordeaux.

Instead he chokes crystal stems

filled with apple skins and wildflowers

hiving after unfermented grapes

now call themselves whiskey,

when they were actually just born vodka.

His breath lingers of lively green grass

that varies in colors of light shades of pink,

to still bleeding,

like his béchamel-tongue

his sous chef left scalding for him to Roux.

Burnt,

he eighty-sixes his signature dish.

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