Pinot With A Velvet Crowbar: Why Evenstad 2018 Breaks In And Stays

This is not a polite Pinot. This is the bottle that slips through the party in silk shoes and leaves the door hanging off the hinges. Domaine Serene’s Evenstad Reserve 2018 has that dangerous, god-tier charm: all roses and candlelight up front, then—bam—precision, torque, and the kind of finish that makes you look around the room to see if anyone else felt that. I did. I’m Dionysus; I brought more.

Candlelight In A Redwood Grove

In the glass it’s deep ruby with a garnet wink at the rim—like stained glass after vespers. The nose is a night market of scent: black cherry and wild strawberry steaming alongside rose petals, sandalwood shavings, and that Oregon thing I love—rain on red earth, moss after thunder, a lick of cedar as the incense curls. Let it breathe and it slides into darker territory: dried orange peel, black tea, a memory of cacao nibs, and the faintest smoke thread, as if someone charred a rosemary sprig and dared you to notice.

Silk With Teeth

First sip: silk. Second sip: the teeth show. The 2018 Evenstad glides in on ripe red and black fruit—maraschino-kissed cherry, forest raspberry, a plummy undertow—then tightens with a mineral snap that feels like wet stone under a running stream. The tannins are cashmere-fine and impeccably tailored, not a seam out of place. Acidity? Bright enough to lift, never shrill—think a violin string tuned perfectly, humming under the melody. Oak is couture, not costume: whispers of vanilla pod, clove dust, and toasted hazelnut that frame the fruit rather than drown it. The finish is long enough to file taxes—rose, cherry skin, tea leaf, a savory echo like charred shiitake at the very end.

The Hills, The Humans, The Year

Here’s why this matters. Evenstad Reserve isn’t a single patch of dirt; it’s a composer’s cut—Dundee Hills spine with estate voices layered in until the chord rings. Those hills are volcanic Jory—rust-red, iron-rich, draining fast—the kind of ground that makes vines struggle just enough to say something interesting. The team at Domaine Serene doesn’t wing it; they sculpt. Night picks when it’s cool, ruthless sorting, French oak chosen with the attention some people reserve for diamonds. 2018 in the Willamette was the Goldilocks year: generous sun, a long, even season, cool nights, and time—glorious time—for flavors to knit without baking out freshness. Translation: ripe fruit, real structure, and the promise of years ahead. The bottle tastes like a conversation between craft and place where nobody raises their voice but everyone is heard.

Eat Like You Mean It

This wine doesn’t want a polite salad; it wants a scene. Pan-seared duck breast with cherry jus and crispy duck fat potatoes? Divine. Cedar-plank salmon with a brush of maple and miso? You’ll hear the angels clear their throats. Wild mushroom risotto with a snowfall of Parm and shaved black truffle? Yes, obviously. Also: herb-crusted lamb chops, charred leeks, and a side of rebellion. Serve at 58–60°F. Give it 45–60 minutes in a decanter to unfurl the incense, or pour slow and let the glass do the work. If you insist on cheese, go for Époisses or truffled pecorino, then don’t make plans.

Cellar Math Without The Yawn

You want the blunt version. This is the flagship blend with a track record. 2018 was a ring-the-bell vintage in the Valley, and this cuvée routinely earns serious respect from the usual suspects—call it solid mid-90s territory and you won’t embarrass yourself. Scarcity isn’t cult-level, but allocations vanish because people actually drink these. Sweet spot starts now with a decant and stretches a decade easy; peak likely 2027–2032 when the tea-leaf and sous-bois notes get louder and the tannins finish their yoga. If you’re building a cellar that means business, this is one of those “I bought a case and somehow it’s gone” wines. Buy more than you think. Future-you is lazy and thirsty.

Final Summons

I bless few things with this much enthusiasm. But if you skip the Evenstad Reserve 2018, you’ll be that mortal who turned down an invitation to Olympus because “it’s a school night.” Don’t be that story. This bottle is the key, the lock, and the door swinging open.