“Now, I know what it means to stand here on the Pomerol plateau, on the right bank of the Gironde estuary. I know about its pockets of rare blue clay, and that when my boots crunch through the crumbly marl, a million little merlot babies drink from the dense earth beneath, ripening navy and opulently sweet so fast they’ll never lose their newborn zing. We follow Fabrizio down a tree-canopied road through the most fuck-off magnificent morsel of southwestern France, grounds sprawling in green and green-gold and copper, orderly rows of vines in one direction and fringes of ancient trees in another. The whole sky wants to climb in when I open my mouth. Tasting notes: clay, plums, the sea.”
–Casey McQuiston, The Pairing
That’s quite a mouthful. Maybe it’s who I hang around with but you just don’t hear the word marl used that often.
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Right!? I’m like, is spellcheck gonna try to correct that? It didn’t.
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I should try and find a way to incorporate that into my workday… “this shit is real marl!”
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I like it!
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