Lose your V-Card in Italy

Breezes off the Mediterranean lightly caress your skin. You lean back, sated under a cerulean sky. Italian summer sun warms you as you feel a single drop of sweat glide down the gentle curve of your neck. Heavy-eyed with relaxed languor, you turn your head and reach your hand to softly caress…your wine glass.

OK. I’ll stop. I’m your wine guy, not your Scrittore di romanticismo. People with more adjectives than I have for scenery, food, and sex have set countless pages of romantic fiction under the warmth of the Italian sun. Still, if you’re into daydreaming about seduction and romance in Italy, we’ve got you covered here in Vine land for whatever your scenic backdrop.

Italy is home to more than 600 autochthonal (WineSpeak for “native”) grape varieties, both red and white. Until the last couple of decades, many of these grapes were completely unknown in American markets. With an increased interest in indigenous varieties driven by expanding palates and books like Bianca Bosker’s “Cork Dork,” more and more of these grapes are making their way onto wine lists of all stripes.

Interestingly, many of these Italian white varieties start with the letter “V” – and they share a winesexy aspect. Most summertime wines are either a bit watery and flabby (like cheap Pinot Grigio) or have such high acid that they can be hard to drink (like many Sauvignon Blanc). These V-wines nestle themselves into a sweet spot – less acid and more fruit richness – that make them particularly welcome partners, especially when you’ve got a bit of an appetite on a warm day.

With glasses outstretched, let’s meander to a few of these romantic Italian spots and see what they’re pouring…

Our first stop is under the Tuscan sun in the town of San Gimignano, known as the “Town of Fine Towers” and also for production of the Vernacchia grape, considered to be a simple, everyday white wine to enjoy on the palazzos of this hillside town. An example I could offer you would be the Fontaleoni 2016 Vernacchia di San Gimignano – full of apples and pears on the nose, with more citrus on the palate. However, that citrus doesn’t mean thin. The wine gently coats the midpalate. The acid comes in a bit on the finish, which is fairly gentle, with only a little lemony twinge at the end. It tastes like summertime, like a tart lemonade with intentions. 

We set sail from here to the lovely island of Sardinia, with its crystal blue waters and gorgeous natural scenery. Love lasts on Sardinia, which boasts some of the longest life expectancies on the globe. Perhaps this is driven in point by consumption of Vermentino, the best known grape on the island. I like to think of Vermentino as the Viognier of Italian white wines. The example I came across, the Castanzu 2015 Vermentino di Sardegna is lovely and lush, rich with lemon, peach, and cedar on the nose. Rich without much sweetness, I found lemon rind and peaches as the main fruity characteristic, backed up by distinct creaminess. Plenty of minerals and a little smoke on the finish, which is quite dry and lemony.

From here, let’s pay a visit to the rolling hills of central Italy, specifically the Marche region, where they are best known for your other romantic obsession – Italian shoes. In addition to cobbling, they’re known for growing Verdicchio, which was largely a blending grape until improvements in winemaking techniques over the last half of the 20^th century smoothed out many of the acidic rough edges of this particular grape. Our version here, the Indigenous 2015 Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi is a good illustration of the balance. It’s tart without being overly acidic. The nose is full of orange blossom with a flavor of pineapples and apricot. I found a nicely balanced weight in the body with a little lemon zip at the end. There’s plenty of minerality throughout, yielding a very refreshing sip that you might enjoy while you try on that pair of Fabianis.

Moving southeast down the coast from Marche brings us to Puglia, the “heel” of the Italian boot – and to the Itria Valley, where you and yours can lose yourselves for hours amidst the olive groves and charming towns lined with pointed stone houses called trulli. In this valley (which is technically not a valley, as there are few distinct mountains), they produce whites from the Verdeca grape.

Once a primary grape in vermouth, Verdeca is largely used as a blending grape to give body to leaner whites. Some producers are now producing single varietal Verdeca wines, like the Masseria Li Veli 2014 Verdeca di Valle d’Itria. A bit darker in color than the other whites here, the Verdeca has a bit of a funky, somewhat herbal nose, followed by a very minerally, lemon and tangerine body. The finish is flinty with a flavor which reminds me a bit of orange bitters. Stronger as a food wine than on its own, it’s great with a seared tuna steak with a niçoise-ish side of roasted potatoes and green beans with sliced olives and a vinaigrette.

Pick your favorite Italian spot. Pour yourself a glass. Take a sip. Let your eyes unfocus and close. Have yourself a vision…and let yourself be awakened with a kiss. 

Greek Wine: From Across the Ionian Sea

There are wines in the Vine’s archives from all over the world – but one place we haven’t stopped often in our oenological travels is Greece. The Greeks have been making wine longer than anyone else in the Western world. They’ve got nearly 6,000 years of experience cranking the stuff out. Why don’t we Statesiders know more about them?

The Vine's proprietor gets all animatronic
at the Santorini Wine Museum

First off, production – Greece produces in the neighborhood of 300 million liters (about 80 million gallons) of wine each year. Compare that to their neighbors across the Ionian Sea, Italy, which churns out between four and five billion liters annually. Second, winemaking processes in Greece only really began to modernize in the 1980’s. Before then, Greece produced a lot of interchangeable table wines and Retsina – a native wine-based beverage flavored with pine resin. Yes, you read that correctly – and it’s as much of an acquired taste as you might imagine.

Third, not to disparage Greek language, but the nearly 300 autochthonal (Winespeak for “indigenous”) varieties of grapes carry names that translated, to the uninitiated, can look like a Scrabble draw pile. While many American consumers would undoubtedly enjoy a glass of Athiri or Malagousia – they tend to shy away from unfamiliar grapes.

Well, stop overlooking them. Greek wines are excellent food complements, especially seafoods, cheeses, and other Mediterranean-styled dishes. If you’d like to give them a go, there are four primary Greek grapes with which you should start your explorations. Here are examples of each of the Greek Big 4:

Moschofilero grapes -- red grapes for white wine!

Tselepos 2015 Mantinia Moschofilero White Wine – OK, first -- to unpack this wine’s name: “Tselepos” is the winery. “Mantinia” is the region, which is just north of the city of Tripoli in Pelleponese. “Moschofilero” is the grape. This particular grape, pronounced MOS-ko-feel-er-o, although used to make white wines, is reddish in color. I found the wine’s flavor to be quite similar to a Muscadet – fairly high in acid, floral notes on the nose, and lemony flavors over a flinty, minerally backbone. The finish is crisp and cool. Noting that it was Muscadet-ish, shellfish immediately sprang to mind as a pairing, and we tried it with a bay scallop ceviche. Our thoughts were correct, as the acids complemented each other to make a lovely meal on a warm summer evening. $16.

Bairaktaris 2015 “Monolithos” Nemea Agiorgitiko Red Wine – This red wine’s moniker comes from, what else, a giant rock that sat in the midst of the vineyards of Nemea. This rock was demolished and the dust spread across the vineyards, which apparently improved the quality of the soil. For mythology geeks like myself, Nemea is the site of one of the 12 Labors of Hercules, where he slew the Nemean Lion and then probably settled in for a flagon of red wine made from Agiorgitiko (AY-ee-or-YEE-tee-ko), the most widely cultivated red in Greece.

I found the wine that the Big Man might have been drinking to be quite an interesting quaff. It’s a lighter-styled red in body, but there’s still a considerable amount of tannin and flavor punch here. Plenty of cherry and blackberry flavors and scents alongside nice, even tannins and an interesting mineral character. I think it’s along the lines of a Languedoc red or a less “chalky” Chianti. We had it alongside a couple of grilled lamb steaks, and I thought it a very solid summertime red. $18.

Chatzivariti 2016 “Eurynome” Goumenissa Assyritiko White Wine – Eurynome is one of the Titans who ruled Mt. Olympus before the Greek Gods took the place over. When cast from Olympus into the earth-encompassing Ocean, according to myth, she had nowhere to rest, so she
“split sea from sky” and danced on the waves, creating the land. (Hey, don’t ask me for the physics of it…) Assyritiko (Ah-seer-tee-ko) is Greece’s signature white – the most exported and well known grape on the international market.

This wine, made from 100% Assyritiko, is a difficult wine to pin down. Initially acidic, the wine develops an interesting creaminess as it gets some air. Reminiscent of a Sancerre or a light unoaked Chardonnay, there’s plenty of peach and citrus over a steely backbone. The creaminess that emerged made for an interesting balance. We actually tried this with a thin crust pizza with serrano ham, artichokes, olives, roasted garlic, and Parmesan. Darned good combo, if you ask me, although the price of this particular bottle -- $24 – seemed a tad high.

Boutari 2012 Naoussa Red Wine -- This wine is made entirely from our fourth autochthonal Greek varietal, Xinomavro (Ex-SEEN-o-Mahv-ro). Nouassa is a region in northern Greece in Macedonia. (This is not to be confused with the Republic of Macedonia, which was once part of Yugoslavia – a locale which also makes darned good wine.)

After I cracked the bottle and poured, I could have been looking at a glass of light-styled Beaujolais. The nose is a little more alcohol-scented than a Beaujolais, but the basic profile is similar, and reminded me somewhat of cranapple juice, minus the sugary scent. There are some nice understated red fruit flavors -- it's almost delicate…until you swallow. The wine then hits you with a load of tannin on the long, dry finish. The bottle suggests pairing with "roast meats and cheeses of…an intense character." I can certainly see that -- the tannins will slice through just about any kind of rich flavor. Lamb, again, would be great with it, not surprisingly. $14.

Since these wines are lesser-known at the moment, they’re fun to spring on your wine-loving friends as a change of pace. They’re certainly worth getting to know, especially in restaurants, where their relative anonymity will keep the markup to a minimum. Give them a go.

The Naked Vine Tour de...Wait, What? (Savoie)

I promised you sporadic coverage. You can't say I don't deliver on my promises.

When we left our pelotonic friends last, they were biking through the Rhone Valley before making the climb into the French and Swiss Alps. Before I started writing this little series, I was under the impression that the Tour de France was actually...well...a tour of France. Instead, if you check the map...

...you can see that, after the riders finish tooling around over in the Alps, they catch a flight to Chantilly, from where they make the last ride into Paris.

I've had a busy few days, so I thought, "Hey, I should check in on where the riders are..." Of course, I discovered that today is the final stage of Le Tour, and as I'm writing this, the riders are in Stage 21, closing in on the Champs-Elysses.

That will not, however, stop me from giving you my last bottle of the Tour -- a white from the Savoie region, which is -- as you can see -- over on the eastern side of France, bordering both Switzerland and Italy. It's best known as a cheese-producing region, cows grazing in the valleys among the steep hillsides to which the vineyards often cling.

Savoie's mountainous, cool terrain supports largely indigenous grapes used primarily to make white wines. In the cool climate, most red grapes don't do well. The most widely grown grape is Jacquere, which produces a fairly crisp, citrusy, minerally white. The best known red grape is Mondeuse, but it can be difficult to find outside france.

As a representative from here, I chose the Domaine Labbé 2014 Abymes Vin de Savoie. (Abymes is the town nearest where the grapes are sourced.) I found green apple and lemon aromas on the nose. Those flavors are mirrored on the palate with a richer body than I expected. I expected a lighter, crisper drink, but the mouthfeel is somewhat honeyish for such an acidic, light wine. It finishes slightly tart, with a bit of lemon crème. Clocking in at 11% ABV with that sort of food-friendly flavor, this would be lovely for a picnic or other brunch-ish occasion.

Finally, we bid adieu to the newest Naked Vine sports hero Tejay Van Garderen, the highest-ranking U.S. finisher this year. Our hero has had a rough couple of years at the Tour. Last year, he was in third place going into Stage 17, when he had to abandon the ride because of illness. This year, he was in a solid position going into the Alps, but ran into some unfortunately difficulties and slipped down the roster. He finished the Tour 29th out of 174 finishers.

And with that, au revoir de Paris...

Thanks, Tejay. Good luck next year!

As the Verm Turns – A Look at Vermouth

"Do not allow children to mix drinks.
It is unseemly -- and they use too much vermouth."
-Steve Allen

Poor vermouth. A drop too much sends cocktail hipsters into an absolute uproar. Many martini drinkers take great pride in their disdain for this mixer and aperitif.

Winston Churchill, in a piece of famous apocrypha, would mix his martinis and “give a nod towards France” rather than add vermouth to his shaker. Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel stated that "Connoisseurs suggest simply allowing a ray of sunlight to shine through the bottle” of vermouth into the gin for a proper martini.

What did vermouth do to anyone to deserve this sort of treatment? I’ve never understood the depth of dislike. I really enjoy a martini from time to time, and I like the flavor that adding a little vermouth brings to the table. And I’ll never turn down a Manhattan, which has sweet vermouth as a major building block next to the rye or bourbon.

I usually have a bottle each of sweet and dry vermouth in my fridge for mixing purposes (more on that in a bit), but I’ve never really thought about vermouth as an aperitif on its own. I’ve written before about Lillet, a favorite aperitif of mine which you can usually locate next to the Vermouth in most wine stores, but I’d not said, “Hey, I’m going to pour myself a nice, cold glass of vermouth” before.

From what I’m reading, though, vermouth on its own as an aperitif is enjoying a bit of a renaissance in this day and age of craft cocktails and niche drinking establishments. A fortuitous Wine Fairy delivery crossed the threshold at Vine HQ not long ago, carrying with it a couple of bottles of vermouth a little more high end than the Martini & Rossi which usually serves as my “house” selection. Before I dive in to how they are, let’s talk a little about what this stuff actually is.

First off, vermouth is wine. It’s a fortified wine, which means that its initially low alcohol content has been boosted via the addition of a neutral spirit, like a brandy or cognac. Vermouth runs generally between 16-22% ABV. It’s also an aromatized wine, so the wine is infused with a proprietary blend of botanicals – most importantly artimisia, better known as wormwood.

Did your ears prick up a bit at the mention of wormwood? The name “Vermouth” actually comes from the French pronounciation of the German word for wormwood, “Wermut.” Wormwood is the source of the psychoactive compounds in absinthe. (Alas, vermouth will not make your hallucinate, although too many martinis can make you believe you’re a secret agent.)

The fortifying and aromatizing of vermouth allow it to remain fresh after opening for much longer than an ordinary wine – but if you’ve got a bottle of vermouth in the back of your liquor cabinet that you bought two years ago for a cocktail party and never finished, pitch it or cook with it or something. Vermouth is still, after all, wine – and like all wines, it begins to oxidize after it’s opened. It’ll generally hold its flavor for a month or two if you keep it in the fridge, but you can only count on a week or two at room temperature.

Vermouth, like many alcohols, was initially a medicinal drink when created back in the 1600’s, but its popularity really began to pick up in the mid-1800’s when the Martini and the Manhattan were first concocted. (Cocktail aficionados should note that the original recipe for a Martini uses gin, sweet vermouth, orange bitters, and simple syrup – rather than the splash of dry vermouth in a sea of gin more popular today.)

Vermouth can be an aperitif, drunk on its own with a citrus twist and a dash of bitters, but I admit to never taking it that way until this particular opportunity. I tried a pair of vermouths side by side – the La Quintinye Vermouth Royal Blanc and the La Quintinye Vermouth Royal Extra Dry.

Both vermouths are from the southwest of France. They are produced by mixing a fortified wine known as Pineau des Charentes with scads of botanicals (18 for the Royal, 27 for the Extra-Dry). I poured a little of each to do a side by side comparison first.

I started with the Royal, which struck me as a little sweet. It’s very pale straw-colored and has a very pretty orange blossom nose with flavors of pears and honey. These fruits gradually turn a little bitter towards the end as the botanicals bite in a bit. My notes say “honeyed absinthe!” and I’ll admit – I’d be a much bigger fan of absinthe if it tasted like this. I thought it was a nice, refreshing drink, and I could see myself drinking this before a meal as an aperitif – although I still would lean towards Lillet if I had a choice. Still, I was pleasantly surprised, and I still need to make a Vesper with it, since a Vesper uses Lillet next to its vodka and gin.

I wasn’t as much of a fan of the Extra-Dry as an aperitif. It’s slightly darker than the Royal and has flavors much more along the lines of a typical “dry vermouth” – very little sweetness and quite a heavy dose of botanicals, especially anise, which finished with a little bit of clove and cinnamon spice. On its own, I didn’t find it particularly pleasant, but I decided to use it in its more contemporary role – mixing a martini with it.

I’ve never run from vermouth in my martinis. I usually mix them 2.5 parts gin (usually Bombay Sapphire or Hendricks, but New Amsterdam is surprisingly workable for cheaper gin) to 1 part dry vermouth, with extra olives. I like the vermouth botanicals in a cocktail – as I feel they really round off the harder edges of the gin. Here’s where the Extra-Dry really shone. All of those herbal scents and flavors married beautifully with the flavors of the gin. One of the better ones I’d mixed in a long while. As a mixer, the Extra-Dry is top notch.

Both of these cost around $15 for a 375ml bottle, so they’re a little more pricey than typical vermouth, where you can usually get a 750ml for about $7-8, but the interesting flavors make it worth taking a flyer on if you’re trying to craft an impressive cocktail.

(Thanks to Sean at Colangelo PR for the samples.)

Tapas Tuesday, Part 1 – Cava, Curious Math, and Biutiful Bubbles

Since joining our CSA, the Sweet Partner in Crime and I have challenged ourselves to power our way through every last vegetable in that wonderful box before the next one arrives. This has required some creative cooking on our parts from time to time – and we’ve ended up with lots of little leftovers, stray peppers, the occasional bag of ground cherries, and the like. How to clear out the tupperware, you ask?

Tapas Tuesday!

We decided, once a week, that we’d go through the fridge and see what we could easily combine into a small plate meal. Now, much of what we end up with wouldn’t be considered traditional Spanish tapas, but early returns on this little project seem pretty positive just the same.

Along came an offer I couldn’t refuse. One of my favorite memories of our European trip several years back was a meal in Barcelona at El Xampanyet, a tapas place near the Picasso Museum. After we sat down, the waiter brought us a bottle of the house bubbly – which, of course, was Cava. Few things in the world go better with tapas than Cava. The day after we decided on our Tapas Tuesday project, Tiffany at Colangelo offered to send us a couple of Cava samples. I almost sprained my finger hitting “reply.”

Cava, if by some odd chance you’re unfamiliar, is a Spanish sparkling wine. It’s usually a white wine, although it can be made as a rosé (which we’ll get to in a moment). The name “Cava” means “cave” and refers to the caves traditionally used to store and age the wine. 95% of all Cava is made in Catalonia, the region of Northeast Spain where Barcelona lies.

Cava is made in the methode champenoise style used in the production of Champagne and many other high-quality sparkling wines. Most Cava bottlings, however, are consistently lower in price than other sparklers of similar quality. Cava has long been my go-to bubbly when I’m snagging a bottle for immediate, unfocused consumption.

Tiffany sent us two bottles, one white and one rose, for our perusal:

1+1=3 Cava Brut – Make sure you chill this one thoroughly before you crack it open. One Tuesday, I came home from work and popped the bottle in the fridge, thinking that a couple of hours would probably be sufficient to get the bottle to a serviceable temperature. After I took off the wire cage, I found the cork to be super-tight, which probably should have been a warning to me. Driven by testosterone and a craving for little bubbles, I applied somewhat more force than I likely needed. The cork finally came loose. For my futbol-loving readers -- let’s just say that if Barça is looking for a great-spraying victory bubbly, I’ve done Messi’s beta testing. I got a bit drenched, but hey – small price to pay for science, right? As for the wine itself, it turned out to be very crisp and acidic with sharp bubbles that would cut through just about any flavor you throw at it. Some yeasty flavors, green apples, and a friendly fruity finish were the major flavor features. A very solid sparkler, especially at ~$13. Unfortunately, I’ve lost my note as to the array of plates we had with it, so you’ll just have to trust me in its ability to be flexible.

Biutiful Cava Brut Rose – “Biutiful,” one of the few rosé Cava I’ve tried -- was much kinder to me than to my spellcheck! Most Cava are made from white grapes like Viura and Xarel-lo, but this rosé version is made from 100% Grenache, which I thought gave it a very interesting construction. It possessed the tight, powerful carbonation common to Cava. The initial flavor is very dry and, once again, crisply acidic. However, after a sip or two, notes of strawberry and pear start to emerge, but these flavors aren’t sugar-backed in the slightest. I guess you’d call it “fruity, but bone dry” – which certainly is not a problem around here. On this particular Tapas Tuesday, we had this bottle as a very nice accompaniment to slices of prosciutto wrapped around marcona almonds, paprika-ed potatoes, and pork tenderloin sliders topped with curried sauerkraut from a local place called Fab Ferments. Trust me on the slider pairing – it was delicious. The little extra fruit carried the flavors with the pork/sauerkraut mix nicely. If you’re looking for a sparkler with a little extra fruitiness, or you’ve got some food where you’ll have a little “fat in your mouth,” you could find a winner here. You can find this for $16-17, which is still a good value.

With Labor Day Weekend picnics abounding, consider snagging a couple of bottles of cava to pour. There’s no need to break out the good crystal. Cava tastes just as good out of a Solo cup, if you ask me. Enjoy!

Vine Nu Uma Rebatedor: Vinho Branco

A few weeks ago, I received an invitation for a wonderful sounding wine-tasting luncheon at a restaurant called Faith and Flower featuring wines from Portugal. Hosted by a master sommelier, this looked like a fabulous experience. Except for one thing.

Faith and Flower is in L.A.

With my enthusiasm slightly muted, I dropped a line to Katelyn at R-West, who'd forwarded along the invite. I told her that I probably couldn't get there on my lunch hour, but I'd sure like to try a sample of the potential wines. Ever helpful, Katelyn agreed, and the wine fairy delivered a bottle of Luis Pato 2013 Vinho Branco to my door.

To back up just a moment, Portugal has long been known for port (duh) and sherry -- but the "regular" wines from there are picking up steam. I've touched on a few of those wines previously -- notably my rhythmic ode to Vinho Verde and introduction to varietals from around the Alentejo region.

The Luis Pato is from the Bairrada region in central Portugal, known for fragrant white wines and full-bodied, tannic reds. Sparkling wine is also produced there in some quantity, and there's a growing production of rose.

In case you're wondering, "Vinho Branco" is Portuguese for "White Wine." (As opposed to Vinho Verde, which is "Green Wine.") This particular bottle is made from a grape varietal known in that region as Maria Gomes. Who was Maria Gomes? No one seems to know. There are stories about a hundred-plus year old woman who passed away in 2011, and a former female Portuguese army general who swindled many folks out of money by masquerading as a man -- but there don't seem to be many links between those two and grapes. In any case, outside of the Bairrada, the grape is known as Fernão Pires. This varietal, whatever its name, is the most widely planted white grape in Portugal.

If, like me, your experience with Portuguese whites is largely based on Vinho Verde, this bottle will come as a bit of a departure. The nose is much "fuller," with apple and pear blossom scents which are typical of this grape. The body has some considerable weight, along the lines of a California chardonnay, but without much creaminess. The main flavors I got were Viognier-ish peaches backed up with a lemony tartness. The finish is a bit on the soft side, which surprised me, considering the acidity. I thought it was a pleasant, though hardly complicated drink. Overall, I would say that it's a good change-of-pace summertime table wine that's not an acid ball.

The serving recommendation from Luis Pato (who, from his website, looks like a very nice guy) is to have this with lighter fishes or some kind of shellfish. I went with an Italian-style shrimp and beans and it went nicely alongside. It retails for around $13, which is just about right.

(That title translates from Portuguese as "Naked Vine One-Hitter: White Wine," if you're curious...)

Naked Vine One Hitter – Franciscan Estates “Equilibrium”

“This is a really good wine if you want to impress people. It would be great if you’re serving a nice brunch -- or if you’re opening it up for the first bottle of girls’ night.” 
    – The Sweet Partner in Crime

I remember a conversation I had at a conference in the days well before I knew much of anything about wine. The woman I was speaking with (whose name and face are long-lost in my dusty, ethanol-laden synapses) was waxing rhapsodic about her favorite white wine – a white wine from California called “Conundrum.” The wine’s name was a reflection of its several-grape blend. I filed that nugget away.

A couple of years later, I met a very attractive professor at the University of Kentucky who agreed, in a stunning lapse of judgment, to let me cook dinner for her. I made a shrimp and scallop curry that night, and I’d splurged on a bottle of this Conundrum stuff. This wine tasted like nothing my unpracticed palate had run into before – very fruity, a little sweet without being heavy, and super-easy to drink. I also remember it as a great pairing with the curry. The attractive professor is better known to all of you as the Sweet Partner in Crime, and during the early days of our relationship, Conundrum was our “special occasion” wine. Conundrum became wildly possible (and more expensive) as the years went on.

What does all that have to do with the sample of Franciscan Estates 2012 “Equilibrium” Napa Valley White Wine from Folsom & Associates that showed up on my doorstep?

While white wines sourced from a number of different grapes certainly aren't a new thing, they were reasonably rare in American winemaking. These "field blends" tended to be inexpensive wines made from whatever was left over after making the "premiums." Conundrum was one of the first mainstream California wines to marry the tart acidity of sauvignon blanc, the body of chardonnay, and the sweet fruit of sauvignon blanc (and a few other grapes) in one bottle in a manner that suggested high quality.

Equilibrium, to me, represents a step forward with these sorts of wines. As my palate became more experienced, I found myself liking wines like Conundrum less. It seemed a bit overly heavy. Similar wines started appearing -- many of which simply weren't very good. (They were usually much too sweet or tasted like they were artificially "thickened.") Equilibrium, on the contrary, is quite nice.

It's a blend of Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay, and Muscat. The nose is grapefruity, like a sauvignon, but with an light undertone of flowers. The first taste gave me more grapefruit, melon, and nectarine. It's medium-bodied and fresh. The finish is very fruity. I expected a sweetness like honey or sugar at the end, but there's none of that. Instead, there's a lingering peachy flavor that's extremely pleasant. Very nice to sip on its own.

For dinner that night, in a lucky coincidence, I was making shrimp curry. (Seriously, I didn't plan it that way.) I was very impressed. The label recommends “BBQ and Asian cuisines” – so I thought, "Hey, close enough!" It went delightfully. The very prominent fruit flavors of the wine were strong enough to shine through the curry spices, both cooling the heat a bit and complementing the meal well.

A really nice effort. Equilibrium retails for around $23. Good first-bottle-of-the-night wine, especially if you're following the SPinC's advice above.

Wine and...pub grub?

Vine reader Lee D. posits this scenario:

I joined a group last week at a (sports - of course) bar where multiple screens were showing Blues Hockey, Cardinals Baseball, Mizzou Football, and even though people roll their eyes about the Rams, they're still the home team, by gum! As I perused the menu and thought about which elixir would go down best, I felt very uncomfortable even implying (with discernible hesitation and accompanying raised eyebrows) I might throw beer and wings to the wind and satiate my lust for the vine. The confused group looked at me as if I had six heads. Additionally, the added peer pressure made it difficult to order a nice pairing with confidence.

What's a wine gal to do? Could you suggest strategies for making quick and confident selections of food/wine based on the traditional watering hole menu? There are usually more wines than just the "house", but I don't want to merely partake alone in my corner; I want to inspire.

Hmm...inspiration and nachos often go hand in hand -- but nachos and wine? Hmm...this one's going to take some thought...

Disclaimer: I am not referring to "bars" like Friday's, Applebee's, Chili's, or other apostrophe'd chain restaurants that are ostensibly watering holes. These zits on the face of most American suburbs offer broader food options and "wine lists," but they're the gastronomic equivalent of a bachelor/bachelorette party -- sure, you can make a ruckus with your friends and you'll probably end up buzzed and full, but you'll wonder what happened to your evening, your wallet, and your sense of self-respect afterwards.

Most bars, pubs, taverns, etc. offer some kind of hot (as opposed to haute) cuisine. The menu usually consists of various forms of absorptive, high sodium items usually created for sharing, scarfing, and grazing unthinkingly while your focus is elsewhere. These selections, as Lee pointed out above, usually cry for beer -- often for cheap, light lager-ish beer. Why is that?

Well, let's think about that. We're not talking craft brews here -- those are usually better appreciated on their own. Your typical lagers that you'll find at a bar are usually served ice cold, so you can't taste much. They're watery, which washes the salt out of your mouth. (Which is, after all, the point of salty bar food -- keeps you drinking!) Thanks to the hops, they're also mildly acidic, which counteracts the heat caused by the bases you find in your average jalapeno popper. Beer's your most flexible choice -- but we want wine here.

OK, first off, as with most nights you're going out, start by lowering your expectations. You've got to be realistic. Most bar owners aren't interested in keeping a well-stocked wine cellar. They're often thinking, "Red, check. White, check. Pink, check. OK, on to the Jagerbomb makings..." Thankfully, as wine's popularity permeated the mainstream "going out" crowd, bars began stocking something other than Sutter Home White Zinfandel to feed a particular stereotype.

So, what should you expect? Uncomplicated wines (read: "California or Australian") are the order of the day, so you don't have to worry about screwing up a pairing. You can almost always bet on three wines for sure: a cabernet sauvignon of some kind; a chardonnay (which will probably be the "house white"); and a white zinfandel. Merlot's not uncommon, and there's usually a pinot grigio lying around somewhere. Riesling is becoming more common -- usually the sweet versions, and places trying to be classy might have a pinot noir.

The brand of wine probably won't matter much. I made reference way back when to a friend's descriptions of many cheap quaffs as "pop tart wines" because they're so interchangeable. Most of the wines you'll see are in that category. When the server comes, just ask what kinds of wine they have. If he or she doesn't know, send them back to the bar to find out -- at the very least, that will buy you some time to run down the few pub grub pairing rules:

Rule #1: Bubbly. I've said it over and over again -- the best wine pairing with the salty, fatty foods that you're likely to find in any of these establishments is going to be a sparkling wine. Many bars don't carry it, but if you're lucky enough to be in a place that does, go with it. It doesn't matter what kind -- dry works just as well as sweet for this purpose. Swallow your pride and some Asti Spumante. So what if people look at you crosswise for drinking bubbly in a bar? If there are enough sporting events on, you can always say that you're celebrating something. And before long...you probably will be!

Rule #2: When in doubt, white.
This may sound somewhat emasculating to men who have a strange aversion to wine that's not big, powerful, and dark -- but get over it. If you want a good flavor, this is generally going to be the way to go. Wines that are tannic or high in alcohol don't generally play well with foods that are high in salt. Salt and tannic wine combine to taste "hot" and a bit unpleasant. White wine has a couple of other things going for it, too. The higher acidity makes for a more flexible food pairing. Acidic wines like pinot grigio will either quiet spices or go more easily with flavors. Also, as anyone who's ever eaten French fries with ketchup or chocolate covered pretzels can attest, sweet and salty make a delightful combination. Inexpensive white wine often has a little bit of sweetness, because a little bit of sugar covers up a whole lot of poor winemaking. Use this to your advantage. Actually, while white zin gets a particularly bad rap for being sweet, bubbleheaded plonk -- the very thing that makes it palatable to people who "don't like wine" make it particularly good with your typical bar menu. It's sweet and tart -- so it'll work with just about anything. However, if you go that route, tell everyone that it's actually a dry rosé so you can maintain a modicum of dignity.

Rule #3: Remember the four food groups. When you peruse the menu, keep in mind the four pub grub food groups: spicy, meaty, fried, and cheesy. These are used in various combinations and permutations, but almost anything you're going to order will slide into one of these categories. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to determine which flavor will be dominant. If you're getting a burger or barbecue -- your reds will be better. Spicy foods call for something acidic or sweet -- which is going to bring you back to pinot grigio or Riesling if they have one around. If you really want red and you're lucky enough to have a red Zinfandel as an option, you could go that way with it. With fried foods, pretty much anything white will beat anything red, especially if it's battered up. And with cheesy? This is where you can break out some of that house chardonnay that you may have noticed we haven't discussed at all...

Wine School! -- The Index

Class #1 -- Introduction to the main varietals/Reds
Class #2 -- Whites
Class #3 -- Pinot Noir
Class #4 -- Sauvignon Blanc
Class #5 -- Cabernet Sauvignon
Class #6 -- Chardonnay
Class #7 -- Syrah/Shiraz
Class #8 -- Riesling




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