Wines I remember from February


February was an unusually snowy one for this little Hong Kong family: one of us (not me) managed to get out on the slopes a respectable six times, another of us (again, not me) got in his first ever snow frolic and our snowman, once a respectable 5 feet tall, morphed over the course of the month into a heap only Jabba the Hutt’s mother could love. Still, the contrarian in me balks at the idea of heavy wine for heavy sweater season, so this is what we drank instead:
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DIARY OF AN MW STUDENT: THE CRACK

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The origin story of this week’s column is especially dear to me because it is an ode to the bliss of a Master of Wine student’s post-exam life. You see, in order to preserve the sensitivity of my olfactory instrument (nose), I swore off perfume for about two and a half years (with, I confess, the occasional guilty lapse on very special occasions, like non-wine dinners).
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