Tasted at the Latour-à-Pomerol vertical in London. This was the first and who knows, maybe the only time that I will taste the rare-as-hens'-teeth 1962 Latour-à-Pomerol. Extrapolating from this singular experience, all I can say is: What a wine. The bouquet takes your breath away—so refined and poised, extraordinarily pure with sandalwood and dried herbs, just a hint of truffle, very Pomerol in style, faded by time yet still compelling. The palate displays exquisite balance and elegance, and yet underneath the bonnet is a purring motor. Imagine a Swiss clock, all the cogs whirring away in perfect harmony, and you might be able to imagine this elixir. It is the effortlessness and natural sense of composure that not only defies its age, but provides a drinking experience that is as satisfying as younger and fruitier vintages. Are other bottles as otherworldly as this? I hope to find out one day, but all I can say is that it is up there with the great postwar Pomerols that I have been fortunate to taste. Tasted December 2015.
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