Certified

I am now a certified Sommelier.

The drinking margaritas with local St. Louis wine folk afterwards was much more fun than the exam itself. I suppose this shouldn't be surprising, but I can't even open a wine book right now. I think I'm going to read a few novels, and drink a few bottles without introspection. Then maybe I'll be ready to start preparing for the advanced, whenever I might actually feel ready to take it.

Montrachet and its subtle aromas

I had the singular experience of selling a Guy Amiot et Fils Le Montrachet 1997 tonight. While tasting for flaws before decanting, too much interaction with the wine is uncouth, but one stirred up, aspirated and swirled mouthful was enough to make me swoon. With a bright, racy nose and a palate of Asian pear, ripe green melon and quince paste on toast, it actually gave me a head rush. While I formally decanted and poured it out for the table, I was a million miles away. The finish was chalky, creamy and seemingly endless. I was waiting for it to dissipate, but the traces of wine on my palate continued to unfold layers of flavor and piercing multi-layered minerality, until I was quite sure it was the most subtle and long-lasting Chardonnay I've ever tasted.

It made me wish I'd talked them into the 2000.

Stag's Leap District

For years I had a Stag's Leap Petite Sirah poster. The glass broke a long way back, and when I moved out of my apartament in Wicker Park, I finally decided the stains of time on the surface of it were too various not to throw it away. When a guest didn't finish their bottle of 2005 tonight, I decided it was high time to taste a bottling whose label I'd been staring at for years, and never tasted. The 2005 Stag's Leap Petite Sirah is a great big monster of a wine, with a nose of blackberries, cassis and black pepper and a palate with all of the above, plus black plums, allspice, bergamot and rock dust. Petite Strah, which is now accepted to be a cross of Peloursin and Dwif, doesn't resonate in a subtle register. The acid is high, the tannins powerful, and the alcohol pronounced. There's almost a zinfandel-like quality to it, with its heat and lush fruit, but each grape has its own story, as I'm starting to learn.

Chasing the Obscure

April has certainly been the cruelest month for blogging. I've been assiduously studying for my Certificate exam in St. Louis next month, and the break down of a wine for the purposes of blind tasting is not the same as the relaxed appreciation of a wine by any means. Unlike some of my friends, I look for basic descriptors when tasting for varietal, vintage and region, and tend to avoid poetry in my breakdown of the wines I've been tasting. I've been trying to form sense pictures of the most prevalent international varieties, noting acidity, alcohol, tannin and wood, rather than searching for the ways in which a specific wine showcases its own personality in the glass. This doesn't mean I haven't tried some wonderful wines.

One VDQS I've been particularly captured by is Fiefs Vendeens. I love the VDQS system, which allows atypical regional wines within the AOC hierarchy to be recognized and marketed. The Domaine St. Nicolas 2004 Fiefs Vendeens is from the Pays Nantais, but it's not Muscadet, but rather a dry, complex Chenin Blanc, more reminiscent of Touraine in it's style. Not bone-dry and acidic like Savenierres, but full of canteloupe, nectarine and Anjou pear, with a chalky, crushed-rock minerality and chamomile and candied ginger palate. This is the kind of wine that rewards study. I'd never have considered picking it up, were I not immersed in the Loire right now, trying to put all of its various appellations on the tip of my tongue.

Pinot where you least expect it

I got a bottle of Sancerre a few days ago, and dutifully chilled it. Imagine my surprise when the Franck Millet 2005 Sancerre I'd put in the refrigerator the night before poured red. I knew in the back of my mind that red wines are produced in Sancerre, and that their production actually outstrips white Sancerre, but the Central vineyards so immediately say Sauvignon Blanc to me, that it didn't even cross my mind I'd be drinking red Sancerre this evening. I actually opened it last night, but my arctic, ghetto refrigerator had so distorted the possible flavors that I let it warm up over today. Conclusively, I'd take an Alsace Pinot or a Spatburgunder over a red Sancerre, but this is a fresh strawberry-scented, mildly tannic refreshing wine, with a surprisingly long finish. I always enjoy an oddball, and I'll happily enjoy this wine over a few days, but I think I'm still getting over the shock. I love the sui generis balance of white Sancerre, and the red Sancerre isn't quite earthy enough to capture my imagination. Too tomato-acidic, and too short on real minerality, with a profile of freshly-turned humus, rather than the gorgeous crushed rock austerity I was craving. Grist for the mill, nonetheless.

Unusual Takes

Beaujolais is not just candy-bright, nor is Pinot Noir only made in one part of France. Deciding to taste a cru-level Beaujolais of quality against an oak-matured Alsace Pinot Noir of quality, I was trying to examine how two wines unusual for their genre fared in comparison to each other, especially since they both are ruby-red, evoke red-fruits and have the same alchohol content.

The last time I tried Lucien Albrecht's Amplus Pinot Noir, it seemed somewhat unbalanced and one note, but the 2003 I opened tonight has a lot of depth, from its funky, green nose (read between the lines) to its spicy, hot palate paired with a lively acidity. The nose is full of raspberries and macerated strawberries, while the palate packs a lively combination of red plum, stewed strawberries, raspberries and spicy greens. Even at five years old, the vegetal quality is fresh and spicy, and vies with the fruit for attention.

The Laurent Martray Brouilly Vielles Vignes 2005, ruby-red with a magenta edge, has a nose full of still-green fruit, and band-aid box, with a touch of acetone. As unappealing as this sounds, the nose is vibrant and inviting, and the lovely pure-fruit palate of unripe strawberries, huckleberry syrup and fresh raspberries is delightfully balanced, while fruit-forward and simple.

Besides color, one would not confuse these wines. The eighteen months of oak aging that the "Amplus" undergoes would squealch the most charming aspects of the Brouilly, and there's an earthy quality to Pinot Noir, regardless of its viticulture and elaboration, that makes it stand out from a well-made, thirst quenching charmer like the Martray. There's more tension in the Pinot, which makes for more interesting drinking, but as a fellow wine aficianado once remarked "All those big, hot, tannic wines just make me crave a well-made Beaujolais." Certainly not a shameful craving.

More Side by Side

Continuing the side by side tasting project, which I began a week ago and didn't post about until today, Yesterday's side by side tasting was between the Dog Point Sauvignon Blanc 2006 from Marlborough and the Chateau Carbonnieux Pessac-Leognan 2003. Dog Point is one of my favorite New Zealand producers, and Chateau Carbonnieux, as little as it is to my tastes, is Chateau Carbonnieux, one of the handful of Grand Cru Classe white bourdeauxs. As far as Sauvignon Blanc goes, there are no two wines as diverse as a high alchohol, dizzyingly acidic New Zealand Sauvignon, and an oak-rich white Bourdeaux, with Semillon in the cepage and a more restrained acid profile.

The Chateau Carbonnieux, which I think may have been mislabled at 12.5% alchohol, has a toasty nose of yellow apple, Anjou pear and pineapple, while the palate displays non-fruit notes of white flowers, clove and black walnuts, along with a certain lanolin mouthfeel I associate with Semillon.

The Dog Point, a star-bright straw, is a different animal. The nose has unripe pear, lemon and green apples in it, while the palate, with its crackling acidity and an unmistakable Granny Smith apple quality, is all youth and vibrancy. There are secondary notes of green melon, kiwi and even fig, once the green apple recedes on the palate.

It seems almost frivolous to confirm assumed stylistic differences like this, but the differences are never so pronounced as when you can take a mouthful of one wine and then another, and really taste and smell how different terroir and elaboration can substantially alter the same fruit. It's rather splendid and strange!

Tasting Side by Side

Jancis Robinson, in her book " How to Taste : A Guide to Enjoying Wine" suggests tasting a few similar wines at a time to properly note the differences between them. In this spirit I decided to spend some time this afternoon comparison tasting two Spatlese Mosel Rieslings from two different vineyards, years and producers to establish sylistic differences in the Mosel and contrast a basic example of Tempranillo against a basic example of Sangiovese to note the basic differences between these two grapes, which I often confuse in blind tastings.

The first Riesling was from Karl Erbe, a 2004 from the Wurzgarten vineyard in Urzig, and the second was from JJ Prüm, a 2003 from the Sonnenuhr vineyard in Zelting. Both Rieslings were yellow straw in color, although the Prum was more intensely colored, and while both Rieslings suggested Golden Delicious apples, pear and citrus in the nose and on the palate, the Erbes evoked peeled pear and lemon, while the Prum powerfully evoked Bartlett pear and lime. While the Erbes had a clementine-like acidity, the pineapple-like acidity of the Prum was far more racy. With even a years difference, the whiff of petrol on the Zeltinger Sonnenuhr 2003 was pronounced, while the Erbes showed pretty much none.

As for the reds, even in color, the garnet Sangiovese and the orange-ruby Tempranillo distinguished themselves in the glass. The Sangiovese, a 2006 from Terre di Sole in Sicily, smelled like red plums, Empire apples and smoke, while the Tempranillo, a 2005 from Solar de Roudez in Rioja, smelled like unripe strawberries, yellow plums, cranberries and fennil. On the palate, the Sangiovese tasted like soft red apples and bay leaf, while the Tempranillo tasted like yellow plums and Earl Grey tea, both in a distinct bergamot note, and in its tannic structure.

Voici, Vouvray

The Domaine Pichot 2005 Vouvray is an opulent cocktail of golden apple, lime and banana, with a touch of creme brulee from oak fermentation. While the lovely balance between acid and lush peeled pear sweetness could recall a Mosel Riesling in its balance, the heft of the chenin blanc on the palate, cradled between two bright stripes of acid on the edges of the tongue, shouts Vouvray. One could see beginning and ending a meal with this wine, with it's brisk, green palate and salted caramel finish.

When Burgundy Calls Your Name

There's nothing better than a wine you underestimate at first whiff turning into the blockbuster you'd been hoping for before your very palate. For a variety of reasons, including a fairly single-minded application to the task of studying for the first level exam of the Court of Master Sommeliers, I haven't had much to say here, but luxuriating in the wild mushroom lushness of the Dominique Laurent 2003 Ruchottes-Chambertin, I couldn't help but write about it. Certain wines, like certain books, actually make good on their reputation, and then turn around and shock you with just how good they really are. This wine is one of them.

The nose is full of mushroom, with yellow plum and barnyard aromas woven through, but the palate has so many well-integrated notes, of hen of the wood mushrooms, blackcurrant, mace, and even a regionally perverse suggestion of tropical fruit, that the wine literally staggers the palate, without high alchohol, tannin content or aggressive fruit. It's in the finish you appreciate why the epically uneven wines of Burgundy have inspired such devotion throughout the ages. There's just a hint of wet earth and laurel leaf on the tongue, but every other nuance of flavor, from white peppper to blueberry, coats the inside of your mouth as the wine evaporates.

Flying Solo

Sometimes I like to just pick out a wine from a region that compels me, and drink it on its own. In the case of the Domaine Phillippe Tessier Cour-Cheverny "Les Sables" 2005 it was the only Cour-Cheverney I could find in a non-exhaustive search of my favorite wine stores. With a nose of fennil and melon, and a petillant palate of musk melon, green grapes and geraniums, it recalls vinho verde on the one hand, and a grassy Sauvignon Blanc on the other. Only in the brisk finish does one start to detect the 14.5% abv of this wine, which ultimately makes the wine reminiscent of a glass of prosecco wiith a shot of vodka in it, which is a little too Britney Spears for me. Nonetheless, I was surprisingly taken by this Romorantin oddity from Touraine.

For the Super Bowl last weekend, I went Mittel-European, bringing over a bottle of the Dr. L Riesling 2006, from my beloved Dr. Loosen in Mosel, and a bottle of the Kurt Angerer "Kies" Gruner Veltliner 2003. Kurt Angerer is another long time favorite of mine, and I enjoyed introducing C. to this wonderful Austrian producer. Unfortunately, Dr. Loosen's Dr. L. shares nothing but a name and a grape with his more sophisticated Mosel-Saar-Ruwer single-vineyard bottlings. While the light citric nose got me excited to taste it, the fading-violet grapefruit acidity, coupled with a saccharine grapey sweetness, made this a technically well-made empty set of a wine. If this is his Riesling for the masses, I fear the revolution. Kurt Angerer's 2003 "Kies" remains wonderful. With a nose of pistachio, and a full-bodied, slightly vanillin palate of lime zest and marcona almonds, and a roasted nut finish, coupled with lively acidity, this Gruner could stand in for a full-bodied Chardonnay in a savory pairing.

Finally, I sampled the Chateu Pipeau, Grand Cru St. Emilion 2003 this week. With a nose of African violet and asparagus, and a full-bodied, plush palate of dried cranberry, slate, sage and clove oil, and a finish of damp earth, this wine reminded me, as the Californian Carrhart Merlot recently did, that I consistently give Merlot short shrift, and did so long before "Sideways" came out. It's obviously time to challenge my preconceptions around Merlot, and I think the Right Bank will happily oblige me.

Two by Two

Over the last few weeks, I've been trying to strengthen my apprehension of regional characteristics. What difference is there between two Grenache-based blends from the Priorat? Given it's proximity to the bottom of the Cote de Beaune, how different is a good bottling of Rully than a basic bottling of Puligny-Montrachet? How different can two full-fruited, extracted shirazs from Australia be? What distinguishes Bual Madeira from Malmsey, in the hands of an outstanding producer? My subjective impressions follow.

We're pouring the Marge Celler de l'Encastell 2004 at work right now, so I decided to pick up another Priorat bottling, the Celler Cecilio, Negre 2005, and taste them alongside each other. The Marge has a more agressive cepage, with Cabernet, Merlot and Syrah bolstering its spicy, full bodied Grenache base. The nose offers baking spices and raspberry jam, while the almost rustic palate has monstrous raspberry and cassis fruit, along with a dose of mint, which points to its secondary grapes. The finish is brooding and tannic. On the other hand, the Celler de Cecilio has a less aggressive nose, with cassis, a mild tinge of game and a grassy freshness. The tannins are plush, with a green palate of snap beans, basil and black plums in amicable balance. The carinena seems to softem the Cabernet, giving this bottle a more subtle fruit profile.

The Moillard Puligny-Montrachet is the epitome of a stately, balanced white Burgundy, with its nose of creme anglaise and stone fruits, and its creamy, banana-kissed creamy, citric palate, with a balanced acid backbone that leads into a beautiful finish of lime zest and ginger root. The Matthieu de Brully, Rully "Mollepierre" 2006 is quite the opposite. While the subtle nose suggests dill, lemon peel and even coconut, the reason for this becomes clear in its weak palate. If it tasted like anything, this wine tasted like lemon water that had been steeped with a tea-bag of oak chips. It took three days to drink, which is never a good sign.

At a Southern Wines tasting on Thursday, I had the chance to try two gigantic Shirazs. The first was the Heathcote II HD Shiraz 2005. With a rich fruity nose laced with eucalyptus, a palate of mocha dusted blueberries, and a ruby-black, extracted coloration to it, this was not a wine to trifle with. Dry enough for a marbled cut of steak, and big enough to eat with dark chocolate, I could not bring myself to spit it out, in proper fashion. The Two Hands "Bella's Garden" was also fantastic. A long-time aficianado of their wines, from the "Angel's Share" to their second label "Lucky Country" Grenache, I expected big things from this wine, and it delivered, with a nose of raspberry-filled truffles, and a meaty, horse-blanket palate of cinnamon and plums, with a definitive yogurt-like acidity, which only brought home just how chewy and creamy a wine it is.

Sampling two bottlings by the Rare Wine Co. Historic Series, I was similarly taken by both their wines. I sampled the Bual and Malmsey, and may just buy a bottle of the Sercial, just to see what they do with that grape. As Madeira proves, oxidation, like rot, is sometimes a good thing. The Boston Bual has a lovely caramel nose, with a palate of baked peaches, freshly-baked brownies and even grapefruit. Funny thing is, these disparate flavor notes come together deliciously. The sweeter New York Malmsey was the stand-out of the two, however, with a funky, toffee nose and a balanced palate of caramel, clove oil and nectarines. The long sweet finish cries out for pairing with a chocolate and nut dessert.

Roots

On a cold, snowy night on the cusp of February, I find myself thinking about the roots of wine. Blame the Greek wine I've been drinking this week, but considering the ancient Greek rituals of wine service: in which wine would be poured from an amphora into a Krater and ladled by the Kythos into the drinking vessel, the two-handled Kylix, where it would be mixed with water to fend off intoxication (and no doubt cut the aromas of the Aleppo pine resin), and enjoying two throughly modern Greek reds, the Boutari Nauossa Xinomavro 2004, and the Skouras Nemea Aghioritiko 2005, I found myself thinking about the centuries of Greek dormancy as an international wine, when it was Greece itself that taught the Romans to make wine, who then spread winemaking up through Northern Europe, leading us to the present moment, where an American wine drinker will enjoy as delightful and contemporary a wine as the Didier Dageneu "Silex," without any desire to try any Greek wines, the cousins of any contemporary European wine, and the most direct descendants of ancient Greek viticulture, the ultimate lineage of such a modern wine. Krassato, a component of Rapsani from Thessaly, is in fact the grape that gave us the descriptor "Krassato" which is most famously employed in the Odyssey, in Homer's reference to a "wine-dark" sea. (MacNeil, The Wine Bible, pp. 611)

Thinking about the ways in which Greek viticulture has finally caught up with the international market, and the more recent criticism of the "International" style of winemaking, which practically suggests that Michel Rolland passing by a vineyard will leach every note of authenticity out of it, I found myself considering what constututes vinuous authenticity, and just who's doing the measuring? In Pedro Almodovar's "Todo Sobre Mi Madre," the transsexual prostitute Agrado gives a rousing oration on authenticity, which immediately came to mind. She discusses the literal cost of her authenticity, and defines authenticity as coming closest to one's vision of one's self no matter how far from the starting point it takes you. Pine resin was a reliable ancient preservative, but it would only serve to distort the subtleties of either of these wines.

The Boutari Nauossa 2004 was a delight. With a saline, mineral nose, a palate of asparagus, laurel and fennil seed, and an unnervingly long, evocative yet evanescent finish, it made for easy drinking, and immediate consideration of what a vegetal, nuanced light-bodied red like this would fetch if it were produced in Burgundy, and not from xinomavro.

The Skouras St. George (Agiorgitikos) 2005 invited similar speculation. Its nose is full of wild strawberries, plums and roast lamb, with a palate of cloves and red cabbage, and an artichoke roundness, which extends into a fast-fading finish of bright acidity and berry patch richness.

Both these wines invite quaffing, and would drown in water, Socrates be damned, but both these wines also point to the power of modern wine-making technique to bring ancient varietals into clean and nuanced focus, without the palate dulling influence of pine resin.

Thinking about the roots of viticulture, I also found myself thinking about the sentimental education one must undergo to really engage with wine. I was lucky that my father introduced me to the pleasures of the vine early, inviting me to try such beautiful wines as the 1972 Mouton-Rothschild and NV Krug, which I never really fully appreciated until I found myself working in Chicago in the early years of this decade, lucky enough to receive a comprehensive wine education from two Master Sommeliers still working in the city at the time, Serafim Alvarado and Jason Smith. My generation of servers at Charlie Trotter's now helm the wine programs at a number of the city's best restaurants, and I am proud to count myself in their number, however humbly.

Thinking of the Boutari family, with a winemaking tradition that stretches back six generations into the nineteenth century, in a region that's been making wine since the birth of philosophy, I am suitably humbled. These Greek varieties have been cultivated since the birth of Western Civilization and they still have something to say. "Muy autentica," in other words.

The California Cab

Much as middle-of-the-road German whites were once the gateway to more sophisticated vinuous pleasures, California Cabernet now sounds the siren's call to wine drinkers of a certain income level and gender. Perhaps blame Robert Parker, who never met a hot, heavy blockbuster he didn't like, but people with money, especially men, enjoy the masculine, brash quality of California Cabernet, and often never move beyond its voluptuous charms to enjoy more slender, demure wines.

Most of my most unforgettable experiences of Cabernet have been Old World wines: the 1945 Mouton, the 1990 Lynch-Bages, the 1959 Margaux. Even among New World producers, the Bordeaux blend has always offered a level of nuance and complexity that a typicaly busty New World Cabernet doesn't present. I think about the Andrew Will "Klipsun" blend, or the Ecole No. 41 Apogee in this light, or even Opus One.

Of course, with the exception of one particularly thrilling bottle of Grace Family Vineyards, I've never had a chance to try many of the California Cabernets that certain oenophiles wax poetic over: Bryant Family Vineyards, Dalla Valle, Harlan Estate. I don't see myself failing to throughly enjoy any of these bottles. I get excited when people order them, since serious winemaking never fails to excite me, and these are serious wines.

What of the more reasonably priced California Cabernets? During certain busy weeks, the supermarket ends up being my default wine merchant. Now, the Edgewater Domenick's doesn't have the worst selection going, but one doesn't go there looking for jewels. Nonetheless, I've been trying a number of Cabs there in the last few weeks in the $10-$20 range and have been pleasantly surprised.

The least exciting of the bunch was the Estancia 2005, Keyes Canyon Ranch, Paso Robles Cabernet. While its dark chocolate and cherry nose bode well, and its palate of sweet and sour cherries, artichoke and asparagus was suitably nuanced, the finish was hot and sweet, and it ultimately proved a not terribly compelling wine.

Not anchored to a specific geographic area, I expected even less of the Hess 2005 California Cabernet, as geographically generic as they come. Much to my surprise, with its nose of basil, strawberries and violets, palate of mint and blackberries, and soft tannins which suggested a shot of merlot in the cepage, this proved a stunning bargain. The finish was long and full of cassis and pipe tobacco, and its diverse expression of aroma and flavor made this quite a winner for the price.

Tonight, I cracked open a bottle of Rodney Strong 2004 Sonoma County Cabernet. With a nose of mocha and leather, and a palate of lingonberry, black cherry and black olives, green notes of dill and bitter greens, and a lingering finish of cured meat and the mediterreanean larder, with green olive oil and stewed tomatoes in the mix, this proved a pleasantly nuanced wine, and another bargain for the money.

On a desert island, I suppose I would nonetheless drink Burgundy. The best red wine I've enjoyed so far this year was a 2003 Vosne-Romanée, "Les Malconsorts" from Albert Bichol. The nose had raspberries, pistachio and wet earth in its bouquet, and its palate of red fruit, chalk, green tea and roses was thriling. The finish was green and laced with subtle minerality. Burgundy always triumphs or fails in a subtler key, which is why I suppose I love it.

On a related note, the latest issue of "Out" features the food celebrity I most love to hate, Sandra Lee, who bragged of enjoying Opus One and caviar at the same time, in the rarified environment of the New York Four Seasons. She might as well have sat down to a meal of kumamoto oysters and motor oil, if Kraft made motor oil and sold it in bordeaux-shaped-bottles. Semi-homemade? How about semi-déclassé? She apparently followed up the caviar with a Kobe beef burger. Need one say more?

Alsace

For a variety of reasons, I've started trying to drink my way through Alsace. Of course, the most compelling reason is the unique expressions of Riesling, Pinot Gris and Gewurtztraminer one can find in the Northwest of France along the German border.There's Muscat too, but even Faller-Weinbach's version leaves me rather cold. As much as Pinot Gris finds a completely different profile in Alsace than it does in other settings, my real love affair with Alsace wine begins with Riesling.

The Chateau d'Orschwir Riesling Bollenberg 2006 is bone-dry with a nose of lime rind and ginger root. The palate presents grapefruit, fennil and tarragon, with mineral notes and an acidic finish that recalls white asparagus as the acidity dissipates.

The Marcel Deiss Riesling 2005 has an off-dry quality, married with acidity, that both recalls and confounds the impressions of Alsace Riesling left by the Chateau d"Orschwir. The nose presents candied ginger and lime, while the palate is full of ginger, lime and Lily of the Valley. The bracing acidity gives way to an ephemeral honeyed quality in the finish.

More full-bodied, the Trimbach Pinot Gris 2003, while its nose is spicy and citric, has a mouth-filling palate of bananas and baking spice, as well as thyme and a lanolin quality. While this wine is both fruit forward and off-dry, the finish is green, reflective of its Old World pedigree.

While the grapes are mostly shared with Germany, Alsace occupies its own ground stylistically. This is food-friendly wine, neither purely austere or overly honeyed.

The Worst Liquor Store in Edgewater

It was with great trepidation that I entered the only liquor store South of my apartment off Broadway, to find a wine to drink with the prosciutto cotto, bacon and onion pizza I had just ordered from Apart Pizza, which recently opened in the neighborhood. All of the liqour and wine there is held hostage behind the counter, and I feared the worst. Such are the vagaries of wine marketing, that you never quite know what you're going to find, even at a liquor store with more malt liquor than wine. Imagine my surprise at finding a Renwood Zinfandel "Sierra Foothills" 2005 standing dusty on a top shelf. If there was ever a wine merchant with poor storage conditions, this would be it. The Korean proprietress, who was surprisingly jovial, assumed that I was looking for White Zinfandel. "No," I said. "I'd like a bottle of the Red Zinfandel."

When she pulled it down, she touched the tip of her finger to the top of her nose, laughed, and then addressed herself, "bad," she said, "very bad. Customer look for Red Zinfandel, and I tell them we don't have it, and here it is."

I certainly was equally surprised. I didn't expect a label I once recommended at Charlie Trotter's to be sitting on the top shelf of her store either. Sure, it's their basic bottling, but this is a wine you'd find at Kafka, whose environment is distinctly more wine friendly than where I was.

It's been an amiable companion to the pizza. The nose has a certain austerity, even as you can smell the fruit and alchohol, with black pepper and nutmeg at the forefront, but this light bodied wine doesn't just have jammy raspberry and blueberry fruit, but also a pleasing acidity that can match a tomato, and a tight bud of flavor that flowers in the mouth and throughout the finish, which posed a certain sweetness against the bacon and ham, and cut the saltiness of both.

There's a certain tyranny in the reification of food and wine pairings as a minor cult among food and wine cognoscenti. Larry Stone once remarked that every dish should favor either a white or a red, if the wine is well-chosen, and I think there are a number of wines that can complement any dish, the best choice being the wine you actually have on hand. I could've happily drunk Alsace Riesling with this pizza, Oregon Pinot Noir or Loire Cabernet Franc. I certainly could've drank more of the Zaca Mesa Roussanne, but I think I would drink that with anything, come to think of it. Maybe not a Pastel de Tres Leches, but if I had both on hand, I might let them fight it out.

Holiday Wines

Having reached the point just after the holidays when life and wine consumption assume their normal pace, it seemed a propitious moment to collate my notes on certain particularly pleasing wines I enjoyed during the holiday season, and reflect on the ways in which very different grapes, grown in different settings, reveal their own special grace, and the ways in which the same wines can be cagey, especially if one imagines having tasted them blind.

I brought a bottle of Orin Swift "The Prisoner" 2006 home for Christmas dinner. Universally acknowledged to have been a particularly interesting blend released within the last year, with Zinfandel unusually occupying the most prominent place within the cepage, the nose revealed blackberries and laurel leaf, with a palate of black raspberry, thyme and anise. It wasn't surprising the second grape in this Napa Blend waas Cabernet, but the footprint left by a small percentage of Charbono on this wine was almost imperceptible. Certainly, the nose and mouthfeel revealed hot fruit, which said New World, and even Zinfandel, but the initial rustic palate mellowed quickly in the glass to stymie even half-educated guesses at its precise composition.

Similarly, the Ken Wright Pinot Noir, McCrone Vineyard 2005, displays a hot nose and distinctly Californian fruit. My first guess might have been a cepage led by Zinfandel, except for a concommitant earthiness and green profile, which didn't point to Cabernet or Zinfandel, but rather Pinot. This is a full-bodied wine, with a black center and violet meniscus, but its slight acidity, herbaceous profile and demure finish says Burgundy, even as the nose belies the possibility of it being an Old World Pinot. The nose is too full of plums and black raspberry, and there is too much blackberry and cassis in the palate for the essential earthiness of the wine to deceive you into thinking you're drinking, let's say, a Gevrey Chambertin. There is a vivacious, fresh green bean quality, married with fennil and dill , but the alchohol level and fruit-forward quality bespeaks New World growing conditions. Oregon often strikes a balance betwem Californian exuberance and heat and Burgundian restraint and minerality, and this wine clearly expresses its Willakenzie soil and Yamhill-Carlton provenance, if your antennae are up.

Back in the realm of Cabernets, we consider the Chilean Calcu 2005, from the Colchagua Valley. This particular blend of Cabernet, Cabernet Franc and Carmenere is a far more accesible blend of Bordeux varietals. While the nose of roast meat might suggest Syrah, the palate of cigar box, raspberries, roses and espresso says Cabernet, as its velvety tannins suggest Merlot, which has so often been confused with Carmenere.

The final wine I offer for consideration is a California Roussane from the Santa Ynez Valley, the Zaca Mesa 2003. With it's full-bodied palate of bosc pears, figs and honey, this wine was a charmer in every way, so much so that I drank the whole bottle in one sitting, and very nearly missed my flight home the next morning as a result.