Birthdays for me are a bit arbitrary. One year I feel younger, the next older. No matter the date, tomorrow means I’m one day older than I was the day before, another notch on the bedpost. So I wonder why wine geeks get so wound up about birth year wines. The idea is simple, I was born in 1975 and therefore, all vintage wines of that year are deemed to be extra special due to the fact that it was that year I decided to join everyone else on this small blue rock rotating around a ball of fiery plasma within an infinite universe. For me, 1975 was not the best year to be born a wine geek. Many regions had so-so vintages, and correct me if I’m wrong, but there doesn’t seem to be a wine region who had a phenomenal vintage in ‘75.

Last week, I had my 2nd birth year wine of my life time. The first was a uninspiring Mosel-Saar-Ruwer Spatelese, that a good friend, and at the time, co-worker of mine, offered to uncork before I moved to Spain. I remember the ceremony of pulling the wine-soaked cork, and the anticipation as we prayed for a clean wine, free of cork taint and oxidation. Carefully pouring the Spatelese into the appropriate glasses, we dipped our noses deep into the bowl to find, not cork odors, but rather, enough oxidation to have left the wine with little to no character. Simple flavors of apples and light honey notes gave us a wine that, while not stellar, was drinkable enough for us to finish the bottle while reflecting on my coming journey. The fact that it was a wine from 1975 …