The first question I'm usually asked about Segue is not how it tastes, but how it's spelled. It's not spelled the way it looks, or the way it's pronounced— which is Seg-way. A Segway, spelled like this, is the motorized thing that resembles a hand lawn mower with oversized wheels. It intuits where you want to go and gets you there based on some sort of advanced artificial intelligence that takes its cues from the soles of your feet.
On the ground or on the label of a bottle of Pinot Noir, segue is all about change, some sort of transition or journey, often musical. I used the word because it fit what I was up to, but on the other hand I didn’t hear any trumpet fanfares announcing my segue from wine writer who makes wine at home to commercial Pinot Noir winemaker who writes at home.
What I heard were a few loud grunts from some of the many folks I know who make wine for a living as they recalled their own hazardous adventures with the Pinot Noir grape, that demonic diva who lures you into her boudoir to slit your throat as she nibbles on your earlobe.
Alder Yarrow has pretty much the same reaction to my undertaking in his feature on Segue this week on his Vinography blog. He likes the wine and he writes about it with his usual blend of wit and insight. He also knows me. “That he decided to get his start with one of the most notoriously finicky grapes on the planet probably tells you more about Stephen Yafa than anything else,” Yarrow remarks along the way.
This guy’s never met me, it doesn’t matter, he’s nailed me cold. If something’s easy to do, why bother? When my wife, Bonnie, read Yarrow’s observation, she laughed out loud. She’s been saying the same thing for twenty-seven years about my reckless nature, and for just about that long I haven’t listened. Somehow she’s mustered the grace and forbearance to make our journey together a voyage of constant discovery, and there’s nothing I've come across in any bottle, including mine, that comes close for pure, vintage soul satisfaction.
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