Earlier this year, on an international work trip, I found myself torturously homesick. Not for a sunset dip at Prevelly Beach. Not even for a cinnamon scroll. I was craving Chardonnay – fresh, powerful Margaret River Chardonnay.
I was tasting 50 to 100 wines a day, so a lack of good plonk wasn’t the issue. Still, I couldn’t shake this sense of longing. Maybe it was simply a bad case of cellar palate (when you’re emotionally attached to a wine you drink often). Or, maybe, Margaret River Chardonnay is simply that good.