wine concept: terroir
Terroir (/tεʀwaÊ€/ in French) very loosely translated means “a sense of place.” In wine, it refers to the sum of the effects on the final product that can be attributed to the local environment, meaning climate, soil, geology, altitude, vineyard practices, and the history of the land. All these and more are said to play a role in the quality and flavor of the wine that is produced.
With that being said… during a recent visit to some Ontario wineries, I saw a “terroir” that made me think twice about consuming this particular vineyard’s wine.
Mmmm… smooth black raspberry with a hint of oak and grandma.
technorati tags: terroir
wine: The Wishing Tree Unoaked Chardonnay 2005 ($9.95)
Amazingly light and fruity, this Chardonnay was so much more crisp and flavorful than I typically associate with a Chardonnay. But I guess I am not used to drinking so called “naked” Chardonnays. It had such a deliciously crisp granny smith apple aroma, yet the flavor was more of a subtle pear, even honeydew melon perhaps. There was a slight citrus lemon bite, with a long buttery finish. I would even go so far as to say that the finish was slightly sweet, like a buttery caramel apple. The wine is extremely food friendly, and well worth the cost.
technorati tags: wine blog wednesdays
shopping experience: Sam’s Wine & Spirits
I was doing some research to write an entry about my experience at Sam’s Wine & Spirits in Chicago, when I stumbled upon a great article written by The Curious Shopper. It actually changed my perspective on what to write for this entry, as I came to realize that apparently one person’s wine shop heaven is another’s wine shop hell.
I can see why Sam’s would be the most intimidating place in the world for a certain type of wine shopper. The vast warehouse space, the high ceilings, the never ending aisles (5 aisles alone dedicated to French wines):
A few years ago, this would have been my wine shop nightmare as well. But I guess I have become more and more of a “wine smarty”, and this was a little slice of paradise for me, a place I could spend hours wandering around in. Sure it was intimidating, but for a person that knows quite a bit about wine without being an expert, it was perfect.
There was enough to get me exploring, I wandered around the French aisles, where they actually had maps of the towns I will be visiting above the racks dedicated to those wines. And once I got done exploring on my own, and was set on “finding”, they had experts from every geography wandering up and down the aisles. Our Italy guide took us as far as she could, before passing us off to the French guide, the Spanish guide, the Australian guide and so on. I respect that, because it is like you have little boutique stores rolled into one big warehouse. We were able to get those special picks from all over the world.
But this entry isn’t meant to praise Sam’s, as I think that The Curious Shopper brings up a good point about the way wines are organized and how it doesn’t work for her and probably the majority of shoppers. Maybe even as recently as last year, I would have agreed whole-heartedly with her suggested “organizational schema”, this idea that price comes first, then varietal. Not so long ago, I was absolutely and utterly confused about the way most stores chose to arrange their shop, it seemed like there was no rhyme or reason.
The more I’ve learn about wine, the more I’ve come to understand the complexity of wine store organization. Regions are the primary separation, it really is the best way to start. The world would be a confusing place if you tried to organize by varietal. Sure there are Chardonnays (aka “White Burgundy”) in France, but they are so drastically different than the Chardonnays of California that it wouldn’t make sense to put them next to each other. At the same time, Bordeaux wine is a specific government enforced blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon that has a rich history, reputation, and price tag that wouldn’t make sense placed next to any “red blend”. Then you get to countries like Italy where varietal has almost little to no importance at all, as one man’s Chianti is made with purely Sangiovese grapes, while another is a blend, and Sangiovese can be used to produce your basic table wines, as well as the iconic Brunello di Montalcino.
But someone like The Curious Shopper shouldn’t have to have that learning curve to enjoy shopping for wine. Part of it is her friends fault, as they should have sent her to a store more like Best Cellars, where it is specially selected awesome wines under $20 sorted by flavor profile. There is no reason that a person who doesn’t really care about what region they are buying wine from, so long is it is good, should ever go into a warehouse sized store.
Yet, I will be the first to admit that even with my newly acquired knowledge of French and Italian wines, I still get confused, and ultimately frustrated when I am looking for something and want the way I’m looking for it to make a little more sense. The truth of the matter is that people shop in different ways, and big wine stores like Sam’s need to cater to a diverse audience. There needs to be a code, and then there needs to be a tool to use that code. Why isn’t there some consistent form of wine organization, like the Dewey Decimal system? Sure, the basics are there: new world wines by varietal, old world wines by region and subregion. But beyond that, no system. It’s not alphabetical so far as I can tell. Not that it would make a difference with the European labels that are so confusing anyway. I guess the lower shelf ones are lower priced and the higher shelf, but not always, and what if you don’t have shelves?
Wine shopping should be like going into any Borders. You should be able to search via computer the way you want to (taste, price, food pairing), get a bin number, and print out a list. How hard would that be? They already have all the wine entered into the system. We could still have the wine experts wandering around, tasting stations, and end caps with featured products. But those should be added bonus, not necessary navigational tools. People want to feel self-sufficient, people want to feel knowledgeable. And as of right now, I am going 100% agree with The Curious Shopper, the current system just doesn’t work, and people are probably just too intimidated to say so.
wine: rosé madness
It’s every where you look this summer. It is a Rosé Craze!! Ever since I posted a not so excited review of my first rosé ever, I just can’t seem to go anywhere without hearing about the wine. There was the issue of Wine Spectator, displays at my local supermarket, rosé tasting nights at nearby wine bars. It was enough to inspire me to try a second rosé, and when that one failed to wow me, I just kept thinking… I must be crazy, I must be crazy.
Well, I was glad to find out that I wasn’t the only one having a “pink” crisis. There has been a running “pink” debate all over my favorite wine blogs, between those who just don’t get it and those who do.
So up until this weekend, I whole-heartedly agreed with the NY Times. What is all the hype about? This drink is completely bland, blah. The mix of red and white apparently equals the blander of the two. But still, there was something about it (maybe the fun color) that made me really want to like it.
So then, on Friday… it clicked. Bad day at work, I missed a meeting by getting lost in Chrysler headquarters for half an hour in 5 inch heels. My feet hurt, my brain hurt. All I wanted to do was sit on the back porch at my dad’s house, bask in the sun, and escape the world. No thought, just relax. According to the experts, it was the perfect conditions for rosé.
So, I had the Domaine Des Karantes. It was cool, it was fruity, it smelled like perfume and tasted like watermelon candy. Watermelon and summer, rosé and summer. It all became clear (I’m sure it helped that it was 80% red).
While there was nothing amazing about the wine, I finally got the idea. Sometimes drinking is a mood, a state of being. You have cocktails in swanky night clubs, you have wine during orchestra concert picnics, you have beer at a cozy pub, and you have rosé out on the deck in the summer when you want to be carefree.
technorati tags: rosé
wine: Pinot Noir
There is probably no other grape varietal out there with so much emotion and opinion surrounding it as Pinot Noir. It gained ridiculous levels of popularity after being featured in the film Sideways, where the main character Miles so eloquently romanticized his love for the grape:
“It’s a hard grape to grow … it’s thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early … it’s not a survivor like Cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and thrive even when it’s neglected. No, pinot needs constant care and attention … it can only grow in these really specific, little, tucked-away corners of the world. And only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time to understand pinot’s potential can then coax it into its fullest expression. Then, oh, its flavors, they’re just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and ancient on the planet.”
You just don’t get poetry like that for Zinfandel or Sangiovese.
I used to find Pinot Noir sour, boring, and smelling of “moldy shower”. I was very confused with all the attention paid to such an underwhelming wine. However, I have since been slowly warming up to the grape and have started to truly understand what all the hype is about. It is great with a wide variety of food, it is easily drinkable, and it’s not overwhelming (which is a good thing). The one mark against it is that in it is expensive, or it least it is if you want to actually enjoy everything that makes a Pinot so wonderful. So while I can easily go to the store and grab a $10 Cab or Zin with decent results, I will continue to steer clear of the bottom shelf Pinot. This may sound strange, but I find it tastes quite “cheaper” than other varietals in that price range.
Case in point… My husband and I drank two different Pinot Noirs recommended by our local wine guy. One was a $23 French wine that was so “perfectly Pinot” that it is what inspired me to write this blog in the first place. The other was a $9 New World wine that reminded me of why I disliked Pinot for so long. And although the tastes were so clear in my mind as the perfect illustration of my expectations and past experiences with Pinot, as soon as I sat down to try to explain what makes a cheap Pinot taste so offensive and a $23 Pinot so inspiring, I find that their just aren’t any words for the ideas in my head.
Joseph Drouhin Vero Pinot Noir 2003 - tart ripe raspberry, very smooth and dry with a round feeling on the tongue, a delight to drink
Morande Casablanca Pinot Noir 2006 - tangy overripe raspberry, tastes cheap, like Charles Shaw but Pinot
What do my notes really mean? If they both taste like “raspberry” then what is the problem? What does it mean for something to taste “cheap”? Every wine drinker has experienced the disappointing flavor of moving from a more expensive wine to a less expensive wine. It is an all too familiar flavor that my husband and I can only describe as “farty”. The wine just tastes cheaper, flatter, and a little more rotten. It’s like going from a piece of medium-rare tenderloin to overdone flank steak. It’s hard to describe why one cut of meat tastes “cheaper” than another without resorting to texture comparisons. In wine, you are just stuck with comparing it with the industry standard of cheap wine.
technorati tags: pinot noir, charles shaw
web concept: Exceptional Experience
My EE Essay for employment at Organic:
On a typical Sunday, I walk through the doors of my local Holiday Market to be greeted by a fresh olive bar, stockpiles of foreign cheeses, and an assortment of Lindt chocolate bars. Extraordinary indeed, but no gourmand’s dream would be complete without a wide selection of wines from around the world. I often spend up to an hour wandering through the densely stocked wine aisle, searching for new wines to take home. I enjoy the hunt, but eventually begin looking for my trusted wine guy, Tony Klee. Occasionally I run into a stock boy who either looks at me blankly or attempts to match me with an uninteresting wine. A wave of relief comes over me when I see Tony rounding the corner, ready to help.
During a typical interaction, Tony tells me about the coolest new wines, most of which are not even priced and on the shelves yet. He asks about previously recommended wines, carefully looks at my wish list, and matches me up with something he thinks is going to “do the trickâ€. Never pretentious, always collaborative and honest, Tony makes me feel like the ultra cool shopper who is getting some true insider tips.
I’ve been to countless other wine shops. Sometimes I wander into one targeted for a novice audience, looking for a simplified buying experience. A place called Simply Wine divides their stock into flavor profiles (ripe, rich, rustic, and clean). It’s a fun way to shop, but you don’t really get wines matched to your own needs. Instead, you get a peek into the shop owner’s personal taste.
Then there are the fancier wine shops where the learning curve is too high and without an in depth knowledge of French geography and ideal growing conditions, I feel as if I am shopping completely blind. I’ve occasionally had worthwhile experiences, but ultimately, I feel intimidated, apologetic, and terribly out of place.
Being in the profession that I am, online research has become a large part of my wine purchasing experience. There is an endless wealth of information: expert ratings, online classes, food pairing recipes, comedic video blogs, and community sites. It is information overload and it becomes easy to get lost. At Holiday Market, Tony is my personal guide.
Instead of using only his opinion, the buying experience with Tony feels truly collaborative. There is no complex rating scale or talk about “well-integrated tanninsâ€. Tony communicates in my language. He tells me whether I’m dealing with a “cool little wine†and whether it is going to “rock my socks offâ€. He tells me how it rates on my “scale of yumâ€, a term he coined after catching a glimpse of my tasting notes where I put a big “YUM†next to every wine I liked. I end up feeling like the wine I’m walking home with isn’t just one guy’s opinion, but rather a customized fit.
As part of the youthful wine market that advertisers are paying millions to target, it’s easy to be tempted into picking up the newest California Zin with a flashy label and funny name. I need help to make the right choices without being forced to appreciate the subtleties of a $100 Bordeaux before I’m ready. That is why I am so grateful for Tony, who is more than just a “wine guyâ€. I would consider Tony my “Wine Tailorâ€, someone who has an exceptional skill at fitting quality wines to my unique style.
technorati tags: exceptional experience
Wine: Quinta da Alorna Ribatejano 2004 ($9.95)
First participation in Wine Blog Wednesdays, woohoo!! The wine I chose took about the least amount of thought I’ve put into a wine purchase in a long time. It was 10:05 (5 minutes after Holiday Market was supposed to close) and my trusted wine guy was nowhere in sight. Which reminds me, I should post my Organic EE essay that I wrote on my fabulous local wine guy, Tony, because he deserves some major props for pointing us to some majorly great wines. Anyway, I trust Tony enough that I felt comfortable grabbing anything (especially in his beloved Spanish wine section) and rush out the door before they kicked me out.
I had half the bottle of the Quinta Da Alorna last night, and the other half tonight. My first few sips had a searing acidity that made the inside of my nose burn. I was a little fearful at first, as that feeling often leads to sour grapes on the tongue in many wines under $10. However, the flavor opened on my tongue and left me with a delightfully fruity aftertaste. Each sip (as the wine opened and my tongue got used to the acidity) tended more towards the rich fruit that seemed to coat my tongue and linger. I’m not a fabulous super-taster by any means, but I definitely got some black raspberry (little sweet, little dark, little tart) and mild spice.
Second night, I really didn’t give any thought to pairing although the back of the label gives a fabulous little multilingual guide, something you don’t often see in foreign wines. So supposedly the wine goes good with game, roasted meats, and soft cheese. Not giving ANY thought to pairing, even with last minute wine purchases, is also very unlike me, but I had a craving for salmon. So we drank the wine with baked salmon in red pepper sauce with some fresh steamed vegetables from our garden (don’t I sound grown up). While the salmon was a bit mild for the powerful punch of the Quinta da Alorna, the fleshy texture made it a good match. The wine was so smooth and gulpable the second day, I think it really could have gone with anything. Oh, except dark chocolate… didn’t really go too well with that. Perhaps a very dark chocolate might have worked better, but I think this wine is just too acidic for desserts. I’m a pretty big fan of dry red wine and chocolate, as I find Port too rich and sweet most of the time, but this wine had a quality unlike your typical Cabs and Zins that made it not cocoa-friendly.
Final assessment: Great Value
We moved to Dancing Bull Zinfandel right afterwards. For a similarly priced wine, it tasted far cheaper. Perhaps I’m getting too used to the flavor, now that Dancing Bull is our standard back-up wine (we can get it really cheap at Sam’s), but I swear it tasted like strawberry starburst and not in a good way.
technorati tags: wine blog wednesdays
Wine: TOLLOT-BEAUT Aloxe-Corton 1997
I don’t think I’m ready to drink wines like this. At a fifty-dollar plus price tag, the risk and expectations are just too high. I opened the bottle to see that the top of the cork was looking a little green. My heart sank. As I pulled out the cork though, I could see that the rest of it was fine and the wine didn’t appear to be corked or at least I don’t think so (another reason I shouldn’t drink a wine like this). I’m inquiring with the wine store owner if it is possible that occurred or not.
Anyway, the thing stank of wet mushrooms and came out a brick red, all bad signs. I pushed it aside and ignored it for about half an hour. When I looked back, it was a nice ruby and the smell of must had mostly gone away. Phew!! I served the wine with duck in cherry sauce and mushroom risotto. The first few sips I drank by itself before dinner, and they were amazingly complex. However, those went away pretty fast and we were left drinking an enjoyable dry but smooth wine that was comparable to other French wines we’ve had for less than half the price. Sigh…
I’m not sure if my experience was normal or not. Is my palate unrefined? Was this not a particularly extraordinary wine? Is $55 not enough for a fantastic Burgundy form 1997? Was 1997 not a great year in the region? Did the moldy tip of the cork cause a slight bit of taint that subdued the flavors? Did the cherry sauce in the duck bias our taste buds for more bold flavors? All in all, there are too many factors, and at a price tag that high, it isn’t worth the risk to do on a regular basis. Still, it was an enjoyable experiment. I think we might just wait until after we come back form our trip, with a bit more knowledge and experience, to take a risk like that again.
On a happier note, we drank an incredible $12 wine from Sicily that knocked our socks off: Colosi Sicilia Rosso Cariddi 2000. Thanks Morgan & York, everything you’ve recommended us has been stupendous.
technorati tags: Aloxe-Corton, french wine, 1997 Burgundy
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