Oh yes, I had the extreme fortune of tasting one of the greatest wines in the world, a 1937 Chateau d'Yquem. (Sorry, no photo - I had to use a generic one.)
1937 is considered one of the greatest vintages of Yquem, and it immediately struck me that although 71 years old, it wasn't tired at all. It had a clear, oily appearance, and an immensely deep caramel color, like a black tea that had steeped for a little too long, that just made my hands shake with the anticipation of tasting it. The wine was an explosion of hazelnuts, kerosene (but a good kind of kerosene,) caramel, a perfectly ripe pear, old flowers, and maple syrup. The acid and balance were still there, which was amazing. I can't adequately explain the experience from a personal standpoint, only that it was one of the "wine events" that will stand out in my mind.
I had one problem with tasting the 1937, and that was that my previous experience of tasting Yquem was the 2004, the 2006, and 2007. (Okaaaay all you people, I know that sounds really snotty.) So from an educational point of view, there's so much time and development between a 2004 and a 1937 that I couldn't make the connection of how "this turns into that." Normally when one tastes different vintages of the same wine, one can see the natural progression of a wine and how it ages. If I tasted a 2002 or a 1998, I'd probably say "that's an Yquem." But if I tasted the 1937 without knowing what it was, I'd recognize it as a vin liquoreux, but not necessarily an Yquem. But that's just the student in me talking. I've since then tasted a few more vintages in between (1945, 1948, 1980) so I now have a better idea, but at the grand moment of the 1937, I could only say "Wow." Which I suppose is the only thing that's really needed.
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