Cru Bourgeois du Medoc, Craft Beer Hipsters, and French Courts

Before the Naked Vine was but a twinkle in my virtual eye, I was a fairly prodigious homebrewer. This was before the early-aught’s explosion of homebrewing. Working out of a closet in my old bachelor pad tucked away off Harrodsburg Road in Lexington, I cranked out wildly varied batches of beer. I’d pore through brewing books and the scant online resources at the time to find new styles. Steam beer, Scotch ale, Belgian lambic, bitter (which isn’t bitter), porter, stout. I tried to taste the rainbow.

(I also tried making wine, but the juice I could produce was inferior to what I could buy in the store. That is, except for one particular batch, codenamed “Libido Blanc,” which had an effect on mere mortals so powerful that the recipe was classified as a state secret.)

I enjoyed learning how the various styles were classified, the various malts and hops that were signatures of a particular type. That knowledge made me a good consumer, especially once my preferences started to shift from beer to wine.

Fast forward about…well…a decade and a half from my brewing days, and the craft beer revolution is in full swing. I’ve lost count of how many different permutations of India Pale Ale I’ve stumbled away from in the last few years. Hop heads carrying Moleskins have become common sights in the world’s brewpubs, sampling and classifying beers by taste, color, region, grain & hop terroir – even water sources. Some of them have adopted a bit of a hipster mentality, loudly proclaiming the superiority of a region or a style over another.

“Dude, I’m here for French wine,” you’re probably saying, “What’s this got to do with Vin de Bordeaux?”

For centuries, the French have treated wine like the craft beer crews do their steins of suds. In Bordeaux, red wine is parsed so finely that our beery hipster’s ironic Grizzly Adams beard would grow half an inch from sheer envy. Traditionally, Bordeaux is classified according to the “Classification of 1865,” stemming from a decree from Napoleon.

As we’ve covered before, the top wines in Bordeaux were classified into five “Growths,” based on their chateau of origin. The designation supposedly represents where the winery ranks on a hierarchy of general wine quality. (And if you imagine there might have been some skullduggery as wineries tried to get themselves “classed up,” you’d be 100% correct.) In all, there are 61 classified growth chateaux, and the wines they produce are historically the most expensive. If you’re curious, the wineries that make up the “Premier Cru Classe” (First Growth) are Chateaux Lafite, Latour, Haut-Brion, Margaux, and Lafite-Rothschild. Looking up the prices is left as an exercise for the reader, but fifth growth wines usually start around $50.

Below the classified growths come the “AOC” wines, which tend to be less expensive – and will be the ones you tend to find in the French section of your local wine store. They’re labeled with the sub-region of Bordeaux, such as Graves, Fronsac, or Medoc and with the name of the Chateau that produced the bottle. Below that on the classification scale are Bordeaux AOC and Bordeaux Superieur AOC. These wines can be made from grapes grown anywhere in Bordeaux. These tend to be the standard “table Bordeaux.”

Needless to say, the “official classification” led to some consternation among growers, mainly in the Medoc region, who felt that their own products were of higher quality than ordinary table wine. They wanted a classification above AOC even if they weren’t classified growths. For this reason, 444 estates were designated as “Cru Bourgeois” in 1932, indicating that they were a “cut above.”

Eventually, of course, some of those chateaux wanted a more prestigious designation within Cru Bourgeois. In 2000, the classification was revised again into three quality tiers, released in 2003. The reaction was swift and nasty, leading to French courts annulling the classification in 2007.

Ever enterprising, the winemakers of the region compromised. They brought back the Cru Bourgeois designation in 2010 – but rather than a blanket award to an entire chateau, the designation is applied on a wine-by-wine basis, based on a yearly blind tasting.

Crus Bourgeois tend to run between $20-50. The winemaking techniques and production costs are

very similar, if not identical, to those used in classified growth wines. The producers of Cru Bourgeois argue, since their wines are tasted for quality on a yearly basis, that they can promise a product of equivalent quality to many classified growth wines.

I was fortunate enough to receive a couple of examples of these Cru Bourgeois. I wound up with the Chateau Tour des Termes 2012 St. Estephe ($30) and the Chateau Lestage Simon 2012 Haut-Medoc ($22). We tried these over the course of a couple of evenings.

The Tour de Termes was a real treat. The bouquet had a really interesting mint scent over a bit of old world funk. Smooth and silky, the palate yielded complex flavors of dark cherry and blackberry, with a little bit of tar and some firm tannins. The finish was easy and lasting, with really nicely balanced tannins. Definitely a wine for consenting adults. When we came back to it the next evening, it still held on to many of its smooth characteristics. Even at $30, I thought this bottle was a great value.

The Lestage was also a good wine, but it lacked the wow factor and the complexity of the Termes. I thought it was a little more straightforward with the fruit, and didn’t have quite as much depth on the palate. This one had a little bit of a licorice flavor that seemed not to quite line up with the fruit. A day later, it had pretty much fallen apart and wasn’t too different from a “standard” Bordeaux to my tastes. Again, it wasn’t that it was bad – it just didn’t do as well in comparison.

I think that a quality designation like this carries a lot more weight than simply relying on a historical classification from 200 years ago. As my sommelier buddies would tell me, the French “Grand Cru Classe” designations aren’t inaccurate, but there are always considerable differences from vintage to vintage – and the price point doesn’t always line up with the quality. A yearly “stamp of approval” at least lets you know that a wine has passed muster. I find that process eminently sensible. And if you can get a Bordeaux for $30 that’s comparable in quality to a classified growth, you’re doing pretty well for yourself. Try some and thank me later.

The Naked Vine Guide to Ordering Wine in a Restaurant

Dinner for One. Wine for Six. Lovely.

You’re out on the town at a nice dinner with your besties. You’ve been to the bar, had a cocktail or two, and the maître’ d has escorted your happy gaggle to the table. Menus are distributed, and your server utters that fateful question: “Who would like the wine list?”

An uncomfortable silence settles over your tableful of playful banter like someone just asked for volunteers at a business meeting. Everyone nervously looks around, hoping someone…anyone will step up to the plate.

You’re a Naked Vine reader, by gum! You’ve accumulated enough wine knowledge to be dangerous! I know you’re good pairing for dinner in the privacy of your own home, but are you ready for the big stage? Are you brave enough to look that server in the eye and say, “Bring that list right here! Allow me!”

Hell yes, you are! And I’ll be right there at your side with these few basic tips to help you win the evening.

First and foremost, Take your Time. Once you’ve got the wine list in hand, this is the perfect opportunity to ask your server to get a round of waters for everyone – or just say that you need a few minutes while you make some decisions. (This little stall has the added benefit of letting people peek at their menus without feeling pressured.)

Once the server departs, Survey the Scene. “Does everyone want to go in on a bottle or two?” Some of your friends might want beer, cocktails, or a specific glass of wine. Get a quick sense of how many people you’re ordering for. A standard 750ml bottle equates to five 5-ounce glasses of wine. I usually assume 2-3 glasses per person during a leisurely meal for an ordering standard. Do appropriate multiplications and divisions to come up with a rough estimate of how many bottles you’ll need. Also, ask what folks are thinking of ordering, foodwise, to get a general idea on the pairing spectrum. For instance, if everyone’s getting fish, you’re probably leaning white. If you can’t determine whether a white or red will be best, order one of each and let people choose. And don’t let the server take the wine list away.

Don’t Get Fancy. Remember, you’re not leading a wine tasting. While you may absolutely love the deep, barnyard funk of a particular French wine region, this isn’t the venue to wow the table with your in-depth knowledge. The pecking order is friends -> food -> wine. Think about middle-of-the-road, crowd-pleasing wines when you’re making your choice, since palates and entrees can be all over the map. Also, good restaurants often offer many of their most food-friendly wines by the glass, so file these away for reference as you’re perusing the list.

Go Deep. There’s a reason that Cabernet Sauvignon from California, French Bordeaux and Burgundy, and Italian reds like Chianti show up so often on wine lists. People are familiar with them – at least by name – so they make for an easy order. Since they’re an easy order, many restaurants tend to increase the markups on these bottles. Every country has lesser-known wine regions and grape varietals, many of which you’ve explored with me here. Instead of Chianti, for instance, drop a Barbera on folks. If you’re thinking French Burgundy, maybe think about a red from Loire or Languedoc instead.

Also, great values can be hidden on wine lists from somewhat obscure countries. Lesser-known varietals and wine regions are often priced to move. We know that South America makes fabulous, relatively inexpensive wine, for instance – and if you’re choosing between a California Cabernet and a Malbec from Argentina at a steakhouse, I can guarantee you the Malbec will give you a better bang for your buck.

Go Cheap. (Or at least don’t be afraid to.) Do you think, outside of a Guy Fieri joint, a chef’s going to put something on a menu that they know tastes terrible? Of course not! In any decent restaurant, you should be able to order the least expensive item on a menu and still have a quality meal. A wine list is nothing more than a menu. A restaurant should vouch for every bottle on their list. Order what you think will be best.

[Also, in my opinion, it's easy for high-end wines to be wasted in a restaurant setting. Many of the more expensive wines – top-end Bordeaux, Italian Barolo, and high-end Napa cabernets, for example – need to be decanted, sometimes for hours, for their flavors to really shine. That doesn’t happen in many restaurant settings, as server will often just go through the wine service and pour. There are some establishments who do a good job presenting these wines -- but you need to do your research...]

Don’t be Afraid to Ask. It’s perfectly OK to ask the server or the sommelier for advice. (After all, that is what they’re there for.) Rather than just asking, “What would you recommend?” give them a little guidance. If you’ve narrowed it down to 2-3 choices, say “I’m thinking about these. Which would you say is drinking best?” If you’re really stumped, maybe go to: “Can you give me a couple of options for a medium-bodied, food-friendly red?” or “What are a couple of mellow, somewhat fruity, dry whites?” They’ll suggest something workable.

Be the Boss. Here come those bottles! Time for the wine service. The server or sommelier will first present you with the bottle to verify they’ve brought the correct selection. They’ll then open the bottle and usually hand you the cork. Look for any signs that the cork might have been damaged. If there are wine stains running down the sides of the cork, or if it’s crumbly or brittle, this can be a warning sign that the bottle is flawed. File this away mentally for the next step. Don’t sniff the cork – I mean, unless you've got a particular fetish for that sort of thing.

Making this face at first sniff? Send it back. Please.

The server will then pour a little wine into your glass. This is a quality test. You want to give the wine a vigorous swirl, sniff, and sip to see if the wine is defective. Does it taste slightly carbonated if it’s a still wine? Does it have an odd odor or flavor? Flawed wine can smell/taste like wet newspaper, damp dog, a moldy basement, strong vinegar, or rotten egg. Trust me, you’ll know it if you encounter it.
 
Get any of these smells, sensations, or flavors? Simply turn to the server and say, “I’m sorry. I think this bottle is off.” Be firm. Don’t be intimidated. Trust your instincts. Use the Force. Whatever you need. They’ll bring you a new one, trust me. It’s your damned bottle. Get a good one.

Chances are, though, the wine will be just fine. If you sniff and everything’s cool, then lean back in your chair with a self-satisfied smile and say, “This will do nicely,” and relax as the server makes the rounds.

Finally, always remember that You Can’t Screw Up. There’s no “universal donor” in the world of wine. You’ll never find a bottle that’s perfect for a group of people with varied palates all ordering different meals. Your goal was to find a “good enough” wine, and you’ve done that! Once everyone has a full glass, raise your glass, give a hearty “Cheers,” smile, and bask in the admiring gazes of your friends.

In time for Easter: Seconds on Sagrantino

As Easter weekend rolls around, many Sunday dinner tables will feature some kind of lamb. Chops, roasts, perhaps even a stew or two. Rich meats generally pair well with full, tannic wines. Tannin in wine slices its way through fat, allowing us to taste the wine’s considerable flavor – which usually makes a nice complement to the rest of the table.

One of these tannic wines that can easily pair with lamb is a wine we’ve featured here before – Sagrantino di Montefalco from the Italian province of Umbria. Umbria, the “green heart of Italy,” is the only province in the country without any kind of coastline.

Cultivation of the Sagrantino grape in Umbria can be traced to the town of Montefalco in 1549, although vineyards in that area date back as far as 1088. The name of the grape comes from the Latin “sacer,” meaning “sacred” – referring to the concentrated raisin wine produced by monks in this area both for religious rituals. A “regular” version of this wine was consumed in mass quantities by the locals during religious feasts and festivals like Easter and Christmas.

Umbria is known traditionally for white wines. A combination of demand for those whites and the relative low yields of Sagrantino vines pushed much of the native red varietal out of the local vineyards during the 1960’s and 70’s, almost wiping it out completely. In 1979, a few wine producers sought and received a “classified status” for Sagrantino, which allowed broader cultivation. The status was granted in 1992. From that time, the acreage of Sagrantino vineyards has quadrupled.

If you’re in the “I drink red wine because it’s good for my health” camp, you’ve found your wine. Sagrantino’s claim to fame is that it has the highest concentration of polyphenols of any grape varietal in the world. Polyphenols are the chemical compounds found in red wine (sometimes called resveratrol) that help the body protect itself from cellular damage.

I also discovered that Sagrantino may be the most tooth-staining grape varietal. When I brushed my teeth the night after sampling, I spit almost-black. My teeth looked like I’d been at a long red wine tasting. (And yes, I brushed again.)

Speaking of tasting, these are frickin’ enormous wines. I considered Barolo and Barbaresco to be the “big Italians” until I tried Amarone – the super-concentrated wine made from partially dried grapes in Valpolicella. Move over, bambini. Sagrantino are inky black in color, highly tannic, and very high in alcohol. Mancy clock in around 15.5%. So, if you’re trying them – decant, decant, decant! (And assign a designated driver if you’re not at home.) Get the wine into a decanter a minimum of 90 minutes before you start your meal or else you’re going to end up with the wine equivalent of a mouthful of coffee. You can easily open it at lunch to serve it with dinner.

Sagrantino is also not an inexpensive wine. Most of them run between $25-50 for a standard sized bottle. (Like Amarone, it’s often available in half-bottles.)

After getting a couple of samples of this wine, the Sweet Partner in Crime and I decided to get into a lamb-making mood and grill some loin chops. We had two bottles to try: the Antonelli San Marco 2009 Sagrantino di Montefalco (~$33) and the Scacciadiavoli 2008 Sagrantino di Montefalco (~$40). I opened both of them about three hours before dinner. Even that amount of time was inadequate for either of those wines to open. I had to do a speed decant on both of them – which, for me, means emptying the contents into a decanter and then immediately pouring it back into the bottle through a funnel. Probably not how a sommelier would do it, but hey...we’re low-tech around here.

The Scacciadiavoli (which translates awesomely from Italian as “Devil Hunter” had a nose of roasted meats, cherries, and leather. The body had, expectedly, some very powerful tannins alongside some plummy fruit and spice. The finish continues for quite some time as the tannin gradually dried my tongue. As powerful as it was, it’s nicely balanced.

The Antonelli was a somewhat different experience. This wine’s fruit opened much more quickly. The fruits were rich and full. The sensation was almost as if the fruit was “kissing me back” on the back of my lips with lots of licorice and blackberry flavors. There was a distinct undertone of oak to this wine which wasn’t there as strongly in the Scacciadiavoli. I thought this one wasn’t quite as well balanced, either. It was more approachable initially, and better to drink on its own.

With the lamb chops, The Scacciadiavoli was the superior wine. The wine’s structure made it a better match with the chops’ flavor, I thought. As the more restrained wine initially, I thought its flavors developed more interestingly alongside the meal. We finished a glass of each and then recorked both bottles for later.

We overbought on the loin chops but I went ahead and grilled them all. The leftovers ended up in a couple of lamb-and-mushroom melts a couple of days later. When we reopened the wines, both of them were still very drinkable. The Scacciadiavoli’s tannins had mellowed quite a bit, and it continued to be an excellent food wine. The Antonelli’s fruit calmed down a bit, but the overall experience was much more nondescript.

If you’re cooking a big Italian themed meal this weekend and you want an elegant wine alongside – especially if you’ve got folks coming over who enjoy big wines – then this might be an interesting option.

(Thanks to Stefan at Colangelo for the hit.)

Naked Vine One-Hitter: Dinner with the Father of Prosecco

I love a wine with a good story.

As you all know, I’m a big fan of bubbles. But I’ve never quite figured out what to do with Prosecco.

Bust of Antonio Carpene outside the Istituto Coneglio

I can usually find it for about the same price as other decent, entry-level sparkling wines like Cava or some of the less-expensive American producers, like Gruet or Domaine St. Michelle. When I’m snagging a bottle to go with a meal, I rarely gravitate towards Prosecco on my own, but I’ll certainly try one if it shows up at the door.

When a bottle of Carpenè Malvolti 1868 Prosecco di Conegliano-Valdobbiadene DOCG Extra Dry appeared, I was quite pleased. I’d given good marks to the Bisol “Crede” Prosecco a couple of months ago, and I hoped that this one would be of similar quality. As I pointed out when I wrote about the Crede, if you see the regional classification of “Valdobbiadene DOCG” on the side of a bottle of Prosecco, you’re probably looking at a pretty decent bottle.

What I didn’t realize when I opened the package was that I was holding an interesting little piece of history. Antonio Carpenè, the man whose name is borne by the bottle, sounds like one fascinating dude. He was a pioneer in Italy of scientific winemaking. Armed with a Chemistry degree from the University of Pavia, he turned away from a professorship at the University of Bologna to found the first modern winery, Carpene-Malvolti, in the Veneto in 1868 (hence the wine’s name) as well as founding the Istituto Conegliano, which is now the largest technical winemaking school in the world.

Now, one might suggest that he was a little too deeply ingrained with science. His son was named “Rubidium” and his daughter was named Etile, which is the Italian spelling of “Ethyl.” He was going to name his second daughter “Oenocyanin” – after the pigment in grape skins, and I can imagine the…um…conversation that followed. The daughter ended up being named “Mary,” who eventually carried on the family tradition by naming her first son “Iridium.” Takes all kinds.

In any case, in the 1930’s, Carpene’s sone, Antonio Carpene, Jr. decided to apply a new method of wine carbonation to Prosecco. This method, called Metodo Italiano or the “Charmat Method,” is a less expensive, less time-consuming carbonation method than the tried-and-true method Champenoise. In the Charmat Method, rather than being carbonated in bottles, the wine undergoes this secondary fermentation in steel tanks, which are sometimes coated in enamel. The wine is bottled under pressure in a continuous process. The grape varieties like Glera used in Prosecco respond positively to this method, maintaining their flavor characteristic much more firmly.

So, back to this bottle of bubbles. Prosecco is often an aperitif, but the tasting notes indicated that it

would be a good match for a fish dish. Since the Sweet Partner in Crime and I had a meal of slow-roasted salmon filets with a horseradish-yogurt sauce and some roasted balsamic potatoes in the queue, we decided to throw this in the fridge and hope for the best with those somewhat difficult to pair flavors.

My first impression was that the flavor profile in general was much richer than a “typical” Prosecco. The nose is floral with a hint of yeast and caramel. I found big peachy-pear flavors on the front end which led me to expect a Moscato-style sweetness. Instead, the palate is soft and quite dry. The carbonation is pleasantly sharp, finishing cleanly with a long, pleasant peach finish. Quite pleasant to enjoy on its own. AFter enjoying this wine with our meal, I imagine this wine could be a Swiss Army knife of pairings for a Prosecco lover. It has enough carbonation to clean the palate of a creamy sauce like the one we used, while it still had enough flavor to balance the starch and cut through the oil in the fish.

The price of the Valdobbiadene area wines tends to be a bit higher, but I thought it was every bit the equal to the Crede, which I previously reviewed – but at $19, it’s several dollars a bottle less. If you’re looking to explore some of those wines, this would be a nice entry into higher-end Prosecco. Is it a bit of a reach for an everyday sparkler? Probably, but I think you’ll enjoy the flavors within, whatever or whomever you have it with.

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.)

Down the South American Aisle -- The Bloom of the Blending Grape

Neighbor Jeff and I make an annual trip to our local Big Wine Store to stock him up for his annual project. You may remember the adventures of Jeff’s Dinner Club – an undertaking in honor of his wonderful wife, Christine the Pie Queen. Jeff lovingly crafts one delightful meal per month for his lovely Lady of Confection. As a planner, he prefers to have all of his wines in place before the project begins.

Our recent shopping trip (artist's rendition)

Jeff also likes themes and loves his grill, so we found ourselves in the South American aisle this time around. South American wine is food-friendly enough as it is, but it lends itself so very nicely to food dragged across fire. We ended up selecting a number of wines from below the equator for his year’s project.

Since we were in the neighborhood, and since the Vine has been pretty heavily Eurocentric recently, I decided to snag a few bottles from South America myself. I wanted to try some varietals I wasn’t overly familiar with from that area of the globe. I pulled some “new for me” wine from Argentina and Chile. I also picked up my first-ever bottle from Uruguay. You know, for science – and for sharing, of course.

Among white wines, Argentina is best known for a grape called Torrontes, the second-most widely planted grape in that country. (The largest white varietal in Argentina by acreage is Pedro Ximenez, which is also one of the grapes grown in Portugal to make sherry.) Torrontes is considered Argentina’s “national white.” I was musing to Jeff, “I wonder why the Argentineans don’t make sparkling wine with all this Torrontes.” My eyes flicked over a few degrees and I happened to catch a glimpse of a sparkling wine cage, in which was – you guessed it – a sparkling Torrontes.

The bottle in question was Spirit of the Andes (NV) Sparkling Torrontes. From grapes grown in the Mendoza region, the largest winemaking region in Argentina, this sparkling wine is a refreshing enough sparkling quaff. Very pale in color, with a nose of apple blossoms, which move into a green apple-dominant flavor. It’s fairly acidic, and a little sharp on the carbonation. It was a decent enough sparkling wine, but it wouldn’t make me turn away from Cava as an inexpensive sparkling option anytime soon. $17 is a bit high for this one.

A bit further down the Argentina aisle, I saw a bottle of the Humberto Canale 2008 Cabernet Franc, and decided give it a run. I’m familiar with Malbec, Bonarda, and Cabernet Sauvignon as Argentine reds, but not Franc. Cabernet Franc is a hit or miss varietal often used for blending which, on its own, tends to produce a relatively lean, tannic wine. Most versions have a finish that tastes like graphite, which makes it a “love or hate” wine for many folks. But one region’s blending grape can be another region’s gold mine – as when the French first planted the Bordeaux blending grape Malbec in Argentina and it exploded into world prominence. Maybe there was something interesting to be found here.

The results were…mixed. I don’t know what kind of aging potential Argentine Cabernet Franc normally has, but this one might have been a bit on the downhill. The nose was of blueberries and violets with a barnyard-y funk in the background. I found it to be medium-bodied with a fair amount of dark fruit and a streak of earth. The finish is more blueberries, with a long line of pencil lead gradually trailing off. As it got some air, it developed more of the barnyard flavors, to the point where fruit largely faded. An inconclusive bottle, at best. Around $20.

Just across the aisle was the selection from Chile. Thanks to the nation’s skinny geography covering over 2,600 miles of latitude, Chile produces a little bit of everything. Among reds, they predominantly produce Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot/Carmenere, and Pinot Noir. I only remember trying one Syrah from Chile, so I thought it a ripe time for a revisit.

I should have remembered the big Chilean wines require quite a bit of time to open up. The fruit on the Lapostolle 2010 Cuvee Alexandre Syrah was basically nonexistent for about an hour after I opened it, so crack it well in advance if you’re going to go down this road. Once it opens (and even the next day), it turns into a right interesting drink. If you feel that French Syrah is too earthy and Aussie Shiraz is too fruity, this bottle from Chile might be a nice sweet spot for you. I thought this was quite nice. The nose is big with blueberries and a little bit of oak. The flavor is full of big dark fruits which are balanced capably by some punchy tannins. The flavors are full, making a solid wintertime red. With chocolate or big meats, it’s a solid choice at around $18.

Right next to the wines from Chile was a narrow selection labeled “Other South American.” Among that group was the Bodegas Marichal 2013 Tannat from Uruguay. Uruguay? Pop quiz – can you find Uruguay on a map? No? Let me help you:

When the Sweet Partner in Crime and I were on a wine-tasting excursion in Italy several years ago, one of the other members of our group was going on and on about how wonderful Uruguay was. He said that the food and wine were basically the best in South America, and it was great – because almost no one knew about it. That was the last I’d heard of Uruguayan wine until I snagged this bottle.

Uruguay’s “national grape” is Tannat. Tannat originated in southwest France and is used as a high-tannin blending grape to round off the edges and add structure to the Cabernet-based wines in that area, which includes Cahors. In this respect, Tannat seems to have followed Malbec’s terroir-driven path in Argentina – bursting from seldom-used blending grape into high production.

We cracked this open next to an Indian-spiced version of a shepherd’s pie made with a base of lentils and a little bit of ground lamb. We made a heck of a good choice. The Marichal is an extremely easy to drink, low-alcohol entry – clocking in at 13%. This wine sees no oak, and the result is a lean, fruit-driven red with enough grape tannin to give it a very nice structure. I found scents and flavors of raspberries and cherries – it’s about halfway between a pinot noir and a light Cabernet Sauvignon. There’s a nice little undertone of smoke, too. I’d certainly give this high marks, and for $13, it’s a great value for the quality.

Jeff got his wine cellar restocked, and there’s a rumor that he might even start the Dinner Club adventure posts up again…so watch this space…

Still here...I promise!

Hello friends.

Been on a bit of a hiatus around Vine HQ. We'll be back with more oenological yumminess soon. Thanks for your patience!

Naked Vine One-Hitter: Bisol’s “Crede” Floats Like a Butterfly

Homestretch of 2015! The year that was supposed to bring us Marty McFly’s vision of the Chicago Cubs victorious in the World Series turned out to be both exciting and challenging on any number of levels, and 2016 looks in all indications to be a “may you live in interesting times” kind of year. Still, we move forward with an eye to celebrating as best we can when we can.

With our celebrations go wine, and end-of-year celebrations scream for bubbly, of course. The all-around sparkling wine champ around Vine HQ these days, whether it’s being cracked on its own, alongside a light dinner, or next to a well-crafted post-merriment brunch, is Prosecco. Most Prosecco, as I pointed out recently, are usually under $15, are a bit fruity, hintingly sweet, and food-friendly.

Like most wine styles, though, there are a few Prosecco which are a little pricier. I haven’t bumped into too many of them, so when the Wine Fairy dropped off a bottle of Bisol “Crede” Valdobbiadene Prosecco Superiore DOCG – a $25 bottle – on the ol’ doorstep, I got my patented sideways grin of anticipation.

Before we get into the wine itself, let’s make some sense of that good long moniker. “Bisol,” of course, is the winery. The Bisol family has been producing grapes in the Prosecco region of the Veneto in some form or fashion since 1542.

If we peek back at the classifications of Italian wine that we explored not long ago, a wine labeled “Prosecco” would be at the “DOC” or “DOP” level of classification. “Valdobbiadene” is a specific area within the Prosecco region known for producing the higher-quality versions of the wine, so it gets tagged with “DOCG.” “Prosecco Superiore” does not indicate a difference in aging, as certain other similar sounding tags like “Chianti Riserva” do. Instead, it just translates as, “Hey! This is the gooood stuff.”

As for “Crede,” this apparently is a type of the Veneto soil in which the grapes for Prosecco thrive. In this case, the grapes are Glera (formerly called Prosecco, if you remember), Pinot Bianco, and Verdiso. This should not be confused with this guy, named after the Greek sun god:

No. Not him. But the Bisol gets a thumbs up.

This Crede is a darned nice sparkling wine. Many Prosecco tend to be a little sharp in both their fruit flavors and their acidity, which make them a good pairing for food, since those edges get rounded off. No need with Crede. The perlage (WineSpeak for “description of bubbles”) is creamy and gentle – much more reminiscent of a Champagne than an Italian sparkler. 

There’s a pretty nose of apple and apple blossoms that moves smoothly into a crisp palate of green apples and pears. Nicely balanced, the flavors are quite full and rich. The finish is lasting and creamy, with a gentle smoothness that’s somewhat unique to my experience. We had a couple of glasses alongside a pumpkin bisque with shrimp for dinner and the rest with Chinese takeout a day later, and it paired nicely with both.

All in all, I thought it was a winner. When I’m looking for sparklers that are of slightly higher quality than everyday, but aren’t quite in the premium category, I tend to lean towards some American bottles like Mumm Napa or Schramsberg. The Bisol will certainly have me peeking around the Italian aisle, looking for some interesting drink from Valdobbiadene. If you’re looking for something nice for a holiday meal or celebration, this would certainly be a solid option.

(Thanks to Laura at Colangelo for the bubbly.)

WITNESS THEM -- The Wines of Macedonia

The national flag of Macedonia. Sunshine!

Some of my favorite wine tasting days involve sampling from countries whose wines I’ve not yet experienced. If you’ve followed this space for any length of time, you know we’ve bounced everywhere from Turkey to Thailand in our quest for good juice.

Since the fall of the Soviet Union and the rise of the EU, many Eastern European countries returned to their winemaking roots. Armed with more modern winemaking techniques, some of these countries, like Moldova, are starting to produce some quality wine. The Wine Fairy recently delivered some treats from another one of these former Soviet Republics to Vine HQ. This time, the wines of the Republic of Macedonia found their way to the tasting lineup. Macedonia has a winemaking history dating as far back at 800 BC. Macedonian wine was common on the dinner tables of Alexander the Great, and the country hopes that their wines will again find favor around the globe.

Before we get into the wines themselves, here’s a quick geography lesson. The Republic of Macedonia should not be confused with the identically-named northern region of Greece. The Republic of Macedonia was once part of Yugoslavia, which split in the early 1990’s – also creating the countries of Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Slovenia, and Montenegro.

Wine grapes thrive in the terroir of Macedonia. There’s abundant sunshine (usually about 270 days per year) with a continental climate very much like what exists in parts of Italy, France, and Spain. Macedonia has over 61,000 acres of vineyards dotting its hillsides.

Long a part of the culture, many Macedonian families produce wines from their own personal vineyards. Each February 14^th, as many Americans are scurrying about buying heart-shaped boxes of chocolates or trying to find last minute dinner reservations, Macedonia celebrates the Feast of Saint Trifun, the patron saint of wine and winemaking, which sounds like a much better time to me.

While winemaking has long been a part of Macedonian culture, the mass production of wine was slowed several times over the years– first by being a part of the Ottoman Empire, where wine production was largely kept alive in monasteries. After a brief resurgence, the rise of the Soviet Bloc placed all Yugoslavian winemaking under control of the state. After Macedonia declared independence in 1991, production began to pick up again – this time with more of an eye towards export. 85% of all Macedonian wine is now exported, making it an important part of the country’s economy.

Macedonia produces wines made from Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, and Merlot as well as indigenous varietals Smederevka (white),Temjanika (white), Vranec (red), and Kratosija (red). Because of the varied soils in Macedonia, the flavors and character of these wines vary widely. Thanks to Arielle at Colangelo, I had the good fortune to be able to try a few bottles from this new and interesting region. Here are my thoughts:

Bovin 2014 Chardonnay – As I imagine it, when the Macedonian winemakers started spreading their wings after the Yugoslavian breakup, they looked around the world to see what kinds of wines would go over well. My guess is that the winemakers at Bovin ended up drinking some Kendall Jackson or Meridian and tried to emulate it. The result, as the Sweet Partner in Crime put it, was “an Old World take on a 90’s California Chard,” in that there’s plenty of tropical fruit alongside a really strong oak presence. The old world slides in at the end with a crisp, flinty finish. Chardonnay is one of those grapes that really reflects the unique terroir of a region, and at $15, it’s a quality white to start your Macedonian explorations.

Macedon 2013 Pinot Noir – From the mountains in the southern Macedonia, this pinot noir is not a morning person. If you crack a bottle, expect that it will take a bit of air and time to loosen up. I decanted it for a couple of hours and it still needed a good, long spin in the old tasting glass. Until it gets enough air, it's a little grumpy, with some fairly rough tannins dominating. Once it's had a little time to face the day, it unlimbers itself and becomes quite pleasant, much like me in the a.m. The Macedon’s nose is light, floral, and cherryish. A solid earthy backbone gets wrapped in layers of smoke, plum, and leather. The finish is grippier than your average pinot and hangs around for a good long while. The pricetag is the kicker. I figured it would be solidly in the $25 range, but it's only $15. A killer value.

Bovin 2012 “Imperator” Vranec Red Wine – Unless you're the Wizard of Covington, you likely have no idea how excited I was to try this wine. I mean, I was stoked to be trying an indigenous varietal – the aforementioned Vranec (VRAH-netsch), whose name translates from Macedonian as “black stallion.”

While the Black Stallion grape is plenty cool in and of itself, my enthusiasm stems from my strongly-held opinion that Mad Max: Fury Road is one of the great pieces of cinema in recent memory. You might recognize her here:

In my world, Furiosa is the Wine Fairy. I'll drink whatever she suggests.

Her character’s name is “Imperator Furiosa.” She’s an asskicker. Her namesake wine? Also an asskicker. 

As many in that film discovered, you do not mess with the Imperator. Approach gently and with caution.  At 15.5% ABV, the wine's as hot as Charlize,  so give it plenty of air. When I got her in a calm moment, I found a nose of vanilla, caramel, and menthol. I thought it very fruity and medium bodied, with powerful blueberry notes. There's not a ton of tannin to be found, surprisingly, in such a big structured wine, although they started peeking out as time went on. The finish is long and laced with cherry. I thought it tasted like a petit sirah and a pinot noir had a baby. A big, strong, kick you in the palate baby.  Alongside a spinach stuffed veal brasciole with a mushroom sauce, it sincerely shined. Holds up well overnight, if you have any left over. Like many indigenous varietals, the prices tend to get somewhat inflated on export. The price point on this one is $70.

Naked Vine One-Hitter: Avignonesi, a Bordeaux lost in Tuscany

Ah, Tuscany -- how we love you. Home of all those wonderful Sangiovese grapes which get turned into Chianti and Vino Nobile di Montepulciano and rich goodies like Super Tuscan wines.

The Super Tuscans, are not made according to the traditional standards of Tuscany. Instead, these wines generally have Sangiovese blended with other grape varietals like Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot -- usually yielding wines that are bigger and richer than many of their Italian counterparts.

So what happens when a winemaker in Montepulciano decides, "Oh, heck with it -- I've got all these high-quality Bordeaux-blend grapes...let's make a high-end wine from that juice and commit the heresy of including zero Sangiovese in the mix."

The answer, or at least one of them, is the Avignonesi Desiderio Cortona DOC Merlot 2011. This Bordeaux blend of 85% Merlot and 15% Cabernet is a big, burly bottle of red, clocking in at 14.5% alcohol. It's aged for 18 months in barriques, which are the small barrels traditionally used to age Bordeaux.

Thanks to Sean at Colangelo, I had the opportunity to try a sample of this high end (around $60) Italian red.

Not a wine for the faint of heart -- this merlot is toothstainingly rich and thick. I'd say it's probably as big an "Old World" wine as I've come across any time recently. That said, the Desiderio starts with a nose that's surprisingly light. I caught the cherry notes that I usually find accompanying a Sangiovese-based wine, which is probably at least some function of the teroir. I also found some darker blackcurrant scents followed by a whiff of chocolate.

Any illusions that the light nose might yield subtle flavors disappear quickly. On the palate. stuff gets going right away with the gobs of big, rich dark fruit that you'd expect in a merlot, but alongside a big blast of smoky tannin. The mouthfeel is big, tannic, and drying. The finish lingers long and dry, with plenty of plum and smoke. I found the Desiderio to be little rough around the edges, so you might want to consider laying it down for a bit. If you crack it now, decant it for a good long while, and serve it next to some hearty, preferably grilled, fare or big sauces to take the edge off. Many lamb preparations would be a good match here.

In Time for the Holidays -- The Naked Vine Guide to Champagne and Sparkling Wine

Champagne. Sparkling wine. Spumante. Bubbly. It’s that time of year.

Dom Perignon, the monk who popularized the concept of carbonated wine apocryphally stated, “Come quickly, I am drinking the stars!” upon opening a bottle in the wine caves of his monastery, and generations thereafter have shared that particular sensation, especially around this time of the year, when the loud pop of a cork accompanies celebrations large and small.

As party season cranks up, you might get called on by your friends to “pick up some Champagne” for your next soiree. The word “Champagne” is, for all intents and purposes for most people, a stand in term for all sparkling wine – much like “Coke” in the South translates as “any kind of soda/pop.”

“Champagne,” remember, is not a grape varietal or type of wine. It’s the region of Northern France where this style of wine originated, and where the most famous and most expensive versions of this sparkling wine -- like Veuve Cliquot, Moet & Chandon, and the aforementioned Dom Perignon -- are produced. If you go to the wine store and ask for “Champagne,” you might get steered over to this rack, where you’ll be staring at a bunch of French names and pricetags starting at forty or fifty bucks.

“Waitaminit!” you say. “I’ve seen Korbel Champagne in the store! Isn’t that Champagne?” Nope. It’s sparkling wine made in California that was labeled for years as “Champagne” as a marketing ploy. In 2006, a trade agreement outlawed labeling US wines as “Champagne” unless they’d been using that as a traditional trademark – but they were required to relabel their wines as “California Champagne.” Sparkling wine that’s not from Champagne, whether from California or elsewhere, is now generally labeled “sparkling wine.”

Getting back to the French stuff, and getting down to brass tacks – in all honesty, Champagne can be a real ripoff. Yes, Champagne is wonderful. I’ve had the opportunity to try a few high-end champagnes, and they’re delightful. They’re flavorful and sensuous…and completely overpriced for my semi-educated palate. I say this since, if you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’re likely not going to be doing vertical tastings of high enders like Krug or Pol Roger anytime soon. Still, why are these wines so damned expensive?

Simply put? Brand loyalty.

We pay a premium for these wines because of the name on the label – no different from buying clothes, cars, or headphones. In some cases, the quality of actual Champagnes might be slightly higher than other sparkling wines, but at 11:59 on December 31^st, are you really thinking about doing a Parker-esque pull-apart of the various flavors? I thought not. If you’re opening vintage Champagne at midnight on New Year’s, you’re either showin’ off, or you’re at a ritzier party than I’m ever getting invited to.

That said, there’s nothing quite like the ritual of cracking open a bottle of celebratory bubbly. Good news! Consumption of sparkling wine has increased sharply in the first half of this decade. (We must be in a collective mood to get down!) Because of this increased demand, there are many options to allow you to have a good experience while still maintaining a grip on your fiscal sanity.

A couple of quick things to consider about buying sparkling wine. Unlike most reds and whites, many sparkling wines do not have vintage dates, as they’re often made from blends of wines from different years to produce a consistent product. Vintage wines often command higher prices, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re better.

Also, remember that the wine’s sweetness level is on the label. The traditional French nomenclature for sparkling wine is more or less the standard. The ones you’re likely to see are, from sweetest to driest: Doux (sweet) → Demi-Sec (semi-dry) → Sec (Dry) → Extra Dry → Brut. Yep. Brut is “drier than dry.” There are actually another two, even drier, levels -- Extra Brut and Brut Nature, but you’re unlikely to come across those.

What you will come across, however, are plenty of alternatives to higher-end stuff. Here are a few that you’ll be able to find without too much trouble:

Crémant – We’ll start in France. Crémant (pronounced cray-mahn) has come to refer to French sparkling wine produced outside the Champagne region. Most Crémant is produced with the same methode Champenoise process that Champagne is, often with the same grapes. The big difference? These are more “everyday” French sparkling wines, and usually can be had for between ten and twenty bucks. The best known will be labeled Crémant d’Alsace, Crémant de Bourgogne, Crémant de Loire, and Crémant de Jura. All of these make excellent alternatives if you’re trying to look classy by putting a bottle of French sparkling wine on the table at your next party. Are they as high quality as high-end Champagne? No. Is that quality difference worth $50 or more? You be the judge.

Cava – Over to Spain. Cava is my go-to inexpensive sparkling wine. This sparkler, produced in the area around Barcelona. The name “Cava” stems from the caves in which these wines were originally stored and aged. These wines are also produced in the same method as Champagne. I find most Cava to be crisper and somewhat more acidic than the creamy gentle bubbles in the French versions. The extra acidity, in my opinion, is what makes Cava perfect for tapas – allowing it to go alongside almost any kind of food. Cava is also quite inexpensive. For a typical bottle of Cava, if you’re spending more than $15, you’re overpaying.

Prosecco & Moscato – The Italian sparkling entries. Prosecco is the more “traditional” version of sparkling wine – and you’ll typically find it nestled next to the Cava in your local wine store. I find it to be fruitier and slightly sweeter than other sparkling wines, which I think makes it a better option for an early evening palate cleanser or morning-after mimosas than for cracking at the end of the year, but your mileage may vary. Moscato, whose popularity boomed in the early 2000’s, is a sweet, peachy, low-alcohol sparkling wine that – as a wine-savvy friend once put it – “you could drink for breakfast.” Produced in both sparkling and still versions, Moscato is a favorite of brunch aficionados and high school shoplifters everywhere.

United States Sparkling Wine – While some more expensive versions of “California Champagne” are decent (for instance, President Obama celebrated his inauguration with a special version of Korbel Natural), in general, they’re best used for christening boats or hosing down your friends after winning the sports contest of your choice. That said, there’s no shortage of high quality bubbly within our own borders. In my experience, the highest quality stuff comes from Northern California, and can be every bit as expensive as its French counterparts. However, there are many of these California products you’ll find in the $15-20 range that are very serviceable for any occasion. Oregon, Washington, and New Mexico are producing very good sparklers at bargain prices.

Bottom line – unless you’re really wed to the idea of having “traditional” Champagne for whatever your occasion may be, you’ll have good luck finding alternatives that won’t break your bank. So snag some bottles and pop your corks. You deserve it.

Reclassifying Italian Wine -- and a triple from Acinum

Just when I think I had this whole Italian wine naming convention down pat, I come to learn that those folks have gone and changed the rules on us.

Actually, this happened a few years ago, but the newly named wines are finding their way to our shores now, so we might as well get ourselves good and caught up. So, what’s the story?

As you might remember from this space previously, there are – or more accurately, were -- four basic classifications for Italian wine, based on how and from where the grapes are sourced. The old designations, which you can find on any bottle of Italian wine were:

·         DOC – short for Denominazione di Origine Controllata, which means that the wine is made under a certain set of standards for a particular region, like Chianti. There is some flexibility for wine makers working under a “DOC” label. These are generally the standard wines from an area.

·         DOCG – short for Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita. These wines are made under stricter rules than DOC wines. They are from particular vineyards, have strict aging standards, and tend to be the highest quality wines from a region, like a Chianti Classico.

·         VDT – short for Vino da Tavola, which translates as “table wine” and is…well…exactly that. Generally inexpensive wine made to be drunk young.

·         IGT – short for Indicazione Geografica Tipica. This designation, technically a subcategory of vino da tavola, was created for wines that don’t fall under the general classification system, but are considered of high quality. “Super Tuscan” wines fall into this category.

When I received a set of Italian samples recently, a couple of the bottles were labeled “DOP” – which reminds me of some sort of hair product. A little research led to the discovery that in 2011, the Italian wine industry had changed these designations. The new ones are:

·         VDT – again, table wine, but the primary grape varietal must be listed on the label.

·         IGP – short for Indicazione Geografica Protetta, and is identical in standards to the old “IGT” designation. IGP is now a separate category from VDT. An IGP wine must pass certain standards for aging and quality -- which differentiate it from VDT.

·         DOC and DOCG wines are now both subcategories of DOP. DOP, or Denominazione d'Origine Protetta, is more often now applied to foodstuffs like tomatoes. DOP is basically a guarantee that, yes, an item is actually produced in a particular area of Italy. DOP and DOC are now used somewhat interchangeably, while DOCG is still the mark of highest quality. All DOP wines must now include a vintage, with the exception of sparkling wines.

Or, if you'd prefer a more visual version (click to embiggen):

Many thanks to Italia Wijn!

The DOP and IGP classifications are also used for other Italian foodstuffs like tomatoes, cheese, meats, etc. In those cases, the designation indicates that the items were actually produced in particular regions, using particular standards of quality. IGP is considered less stringent than DOP. Look at a can of real Italian tomatoes next time you’re at the grocery store and you can see what I mean.

The aforementioned samples,from Maggie at Colangelo, are from Acinum wines – a new producer from the Veneto region. “Acinum” is Latin for “Grape,” and these wines are intended to provide relatively low-cost, high quality Italian juice.

  

Acinum (NV) Prosecco Extra Dry DOP – Quite a nice Prosecco. Very pleasant flavors. Straightforwardly crisp flavor of lemon at first sip, with a lively carbonation. The flavors settle into a lemon crème and pear palate which smooths nicely into little acidic tingles at the back end. Just a very pleasant sparkler. My sister was visiting the Sweet Partner in Crime and I when we opened this over brunch. We had it with an arugula salad with roasted butternut squash & white sweet potatoes, toasted walnuts, and pomegranate seeds in a citrus and sesame oil dressing. Made easy what would have been a somewhat difficult pairing. Also makes great mimosas! $11.

Acinum 2014 Soave Classico DOP –The Acinum Soave isn’t the lean, acid-driven sipper that many of its Italian compatriots are. A much fuller-bodied white than your Pinot Grigio or Vernacchia, the Soave is a richer, creamier experience. The nose is quite floral, a bit of a “Viognier-lite” in character. The first tastes are quite fruity, but the body is quite silky and elegant, full of honey and pears. The finish does turn slightly acidic, but in a very pleasant manner that makes it quite food friendly. While suggested as an aperitif or with fish, we had this with a braised chicken with fennel and white sweet potatoes (can you guess what we got in the farmshare this week?) and it more than held its own. $11.

Acinum 2012 Amarone della Valpolicella DOCG – Amarone is one of the biggest, most expensive Italian wines. Made from raisinated grapes, these wines generally pack quite a punch. This one is dense and full without being heavy. I got leather, plum, and a little raisin on the fragrant nose. Big concentrated dark fruit flavors were followed by a shot of smoke on the palate. Lots of structure with a great balance between fruit and tannin. Certainly a muscular wine, but no one flavor takes over too much. The finish goes on and on with blackberry and smoky tannin. I could easily get remnants of flavor after well over a minute. Strong and elegant. Well done. The pricetag on this one stunned me. Retail on this one is $55, which seems high – but many Amarone will run you that for a half-bottle. Snag for a special occasion.

If you’re a little confused by the shifts in designations, don’t worry. A little extra research turned up the fact that while winemakers must register with the government under the new naming conventions, their labeling can remain basically the same. So, for the most part, don’t worry about IGT/DOC/DOCG going away or referring to new things anytime soon. Keep calm and drink on.

TNV Guide to Prosecco – Italian Sparkly Goodness

Since we’ve been on a bit of a sparkling wine kick around here, let’s take a look at another star of the world of inexpensive bubbles: Prosecco, the official sparkling wine of brunches from sea to shining sea. When you run across cocktails like mimosas, kir royales, or bellinis, odds are that the sparkler used to fizz the drink up will be Prosecco. So, what is the stuff?

Kir Royale...because Prosecco makes you happy.

First off, as you probably already know, Prosecco is an Italian sparkling wine. As with most Italian wines, “Prosecco” does not refer to the grape that the wine is made from. Prosecco is actually a village in the growing region where the grape is said to have originated. The Prosecco DOC is the term for the actual growing region, which encompasses parts of the Veneto and Friuli-Venezia-Giulia regions.

Prosecco is not the name of a grape, at least not anymore. The primary grape varietal used to make Prosecco is called Glera. The grape itself was known as both Prosecco and Glera until 2009, when Italy officially started using Glera as the sole name of the grape to avoid confusion.  Other grapes can be included in the mix, such as Pinot Grigio, but there must be at least 85% Glera.

Prosecco comes in three varieties: spumante, meaning sparkling -- the most common version; frizzante, meaning semi-sparkling; and tranquillo, meaning a still wine – which you’ll rarely see outside of the Veneto. There are also designations for levels of sweetness, which are a bit counterintuitive. Brut is the most dry and the most common; Extra dry, which is slightly sweeter; and Dry, which is the sweetest. 

Most Prosecco you will commonly encounter will be labeled “Prosecco DOC” – meaning that the grapes are all from the growing region. The higher quality stuff will be labeled “Prosecco Conegliano Valdobbiadene Superiore DOCG” – which I will let you explore at your leisure.

The wine is produced slightly differently from other sparkling wines. Rather than the Methode Champenoise (known as Metodo Classico in Italy) style, where the wine is carbonated in bottle through secondary fermentation, Prosecco is carbonated in stainless steel tanks and bottled under pressure, which is known as the Charmat process or Metodo Italiano. This method allows for a less expensive production.

Prosecco is relatively low in alcohol – usually around 11-12%, which is why it’s so popular for brunches. It’s usually drunk as an aperitif or, as I mentioned before (and will mention again in a bit), used as a cocktail mixer. Like most Italian wines of any stripe, it’s exceptionally food friendly – and can be broken open with almost anything. It really shines with bacon, believe it or not. Prosecco tends to be relatively inexpensive. Most bottles will run between $10-20. Serve it well chilled.

I recently came into a few bottles for sampling from Kelly at Colangelo. All of these are Prosecco DOC versions:

Mionetto Brut Prosecco DOC – This prosecco had a distinct yeasty aroma when first cracked. Along with the yeast, there were flavors of apples and pears on the palate. This was one of the least carbonated Prosecco that I’ve had the chance to try. While listed as “spumante” – it seemed much more in the “frizzante” range. The overall effect was that of drinking a very dry, slightly bubbly hard cider. On its own, it was not my favorite Prosecco. It did make a nice accompaniment to some roasted vegetable “paninis” (we didn’t have the right bread, but we did have some whole wheat naan – worked well enough!) that we put together with assorted items from our CSA share and basil pesto from our patio container garden. Side note: Mionetto is the largest exporter of Prosecco.

Jeio Brut Prosecco DOC – Vvery different character with this bottle. Considerably more carbonated than the Monetto, it also didn’t have those particular yeast characteristics. Instead, this one sported a much more delicate, floral nose to go along with a fresh flavor of green apples and a touch of lemony citrus. The finish is dry and crisp. We had this alongside some leftover Minestrone soup and some flavored pita chips and it paired nicely. I think it would be a fantastic brunch bottle. I declare this one officially tasty.

La Gioiosa Prosecco DOC Treviso – The “DOC Treviso” means that the grapes are sourced from

around the village of Treviso, Of the three, this is the one I liked the feel of the best. I thought it had the right amount of sparkle and a certain richness to the flavor that I enjoyed. There’s a refreshing lemon bite at first sip, which quickly calms down into some nice key lime pie flavors. The bubbles keep the train moving across the palate, and the finish is long and lemony. I had this one as an aperitif over a couple of days. (A sparkling wine stopper makes a great stocking stuffer!) Super pleasant for sipping and conversation. Another point in its favor – the bottle looks pretty darned cool.

As I mentioned, Prosecco works well on its own, but the brut versions work exceptionally well as a mixer. For your next brunch or party, here are some Prosecco cocktails you can try:

• Mimosa – fill a sparkling wine flute halfway with Prosecco. Fill with orange juice.
• Kir Royale – add ½ oz. of crème de cassis (I prefer Chambord) to a wine flute. Fill with Prosecco. For an extra fancy presentation, add a few fresh raspberries and watch ‘em float around.
• Bellini – add a couple of ounces of peach puree or peach nectar to a flute. Top up with Prosecco.
• Sorrento Sparkle – add a shot of chilled limoncello liqueur to a flute. Top up with Prosecco.

Saluti!

Tapas Tuesday Part II – Sherry to Make Merry?

While enjoying our Tapas Tuesday kick, I received an offer to sample a few bottles of sherry. Sherry’s popularity peaked in the 1970’s in the U.S., when every household seemed required by law to keep a bottle of cream sherry around for nightcaps and highballs. I cook with sherry all the time – it’s a fundamental component of many of my sauces and no chowder is complete without at least a splash of the stuff.

Neither are the sherries regularly found in tapas bars and Spanish restaurants around the world. The “drinking sherries” are somewhat more carefully constructed, usually quite old, and have a small yet passionate following in the world of small plates.

 

Sherry casks aging in "solera."

Years ago, back when blogging was considered cutting edge and I was just beginning my wine education, I did a rundown of the major types of sherry. I can honestly say that, at the time, none of the various styles agreed with my palate. Fast forward a bit, now that I’ve become slightly more refined in experience if not in practice, and I hoped the passage of years might have made me more appreciative of the stuff.

Before I get to that, though – let’s talk for a moment about what sherry is. The name “Sherry” is an Anglicized version of “Jerez” (pronounced “zhe-RETH”) -- the region in Spain from where this tipple hails.

Sherry is a type of fortified wine, which makes it a cousin to port, Marsala, and Madeira. In WineSpeak -- a "fortified" wine means that the winemaker's gone and added a bunch more alcohol, usually a neutral spirit like brandy, after the grapes have been fermented. This additional alcohol prevents the wine from spoiling, and allows the wine to be aged in barrel for a long period of time.  Most sherries are between 15-22% alcohol. Sherry is made largely from the Palomino grape, but other grapes called Pedro Ximénez and Moscatel are used in sweeter varieties.

Sherry has a fascinating method of production. Winemakers fill the large casks, known as butts about 80% full -- and then put the bung (translation: "big ass stopper which closes a cask") in loosely, so air can circulate during fermentation. While in the barrel, as much as 5% of the wine evaporates. As any veteran of a distillery tour can tell you, this is what's called "The Angel's Share."  

During the aging process, many types of sherry develop a solid layer of yeast, known as flor, on the surface of the wine in the barrel. This yeast layer slows the process of oxidation as the wine ages, preserving certain aspects of the flavor, as well as adding certain compounds called acetylaldehydes, which give sherry its “sharp” aroma.

As a part of the aging process, Sherry producers use what is called the "Solera System." Solera is Spanish for “on the ground.” In this process, as much of a third of a cask of sherry is drained and bottled, and the butt is refilled with younger wine made in the same style. This process is known as "refreshing the mother wine," and maintains consistency in the product from year to year. Sherries are aged a minimum of three years before bottling.

There are five basic types of sherry: Fino and Manzanilla are dry. Amontillado is aged for a minimum of  eight years and is dry to medium dry. Oloroso is also a medium dry sherry which is produced without the flor. Cream sherry is sweet. Fino and Manzanilla are made to be served well chilled. The others can be chilled slightly. (Also, Cream sherry is often poured over vanilla ice cream.)

For a summary of this information, Samantha at Colangelo provided this helpful infographic:

All you need to know about Sherry -- click to embiggen!

She also sent along two bottles -- Emilio Hidalgo Fino ($14) and Faraón Oloroso ($17) – to try alongside our Tuesday slate of various yummies.

Back to my hope for an evolution of my palate. The last time I did a sherry tasting was somewhere in 2007. Eight years later, I can honestly say that my sherry palate is largely unchanged. I just don’t think I’m programmed to appreciate it, as someone who has it as a “house spirit” on a regular basis would. The old “acquired taste” cliché applies firmly.

The fino, which was my favorite of the two, had a nice floral nose and an almost olive brine-type flavor. It was the most drinkable on its own, and it paired OK with the various olives and spreads that we’d assembled for dinner. But I wouldn’t exactly seek out that drinking experience. The oloroso – I simply wasn’t a fan. The darker, oxidized flavor had a nutty characteristic that was interesting – but it was largely overwhelmed by the jet fuel-y alcohol flavor.

I’m sure that there are many out there with more sophisticated sherry palates who might be able to guide me through the cultivation of an understanding of the stuff, but on my own, it just didn’t really resonate. There are so many good Spanish reds and whites – not to mention my beloved sparkler cava – which I would turn to in a tapas bar ahead of either of these.

That said, with the broad range of flavors and aromas in tapas – a higher-alcohol wine like this would be able to cut through most flavors. If you’d been out and found yourself at a tapas bar in the wee smalls, you might consider a glass of this to keep your evening rolling. As for me, bring me that split of cava and I’ll be a happy man.