It seemed somehow wrong to open a ’98 Monteillet St-Joseph Blanc without Theresa around to analogize it to something sexual. But we got over it, and served it with truffled celariac/potato pancakes. When first opened, there was more than a bit of maderization. Paradoxically, air was Monteillet’s friend, and the wine got younger and younger as time passed, much like a time lapse film of a fetus’s development run in reverse. The major impact here is the intense minerality, unusual for a wine with this much fat and low acid character. Delightful.