Le Clos Chateau Isenbourg, 2008 Riesling, Alsace, France

Riesling really doesn't get the play it should. First of all, most people (myself included) pronounce the word incorrectly. Reese-ling. There's no 'z' in that word. Ask Jancis Robinson. She'll set you straight. Slap you around a little. Second, people assume that riesling is sweet. No. I'm sorry, but no. Not all riesling is sweet. Alsace riesling is, in fact, bone dry. Steely. Minerals. Petroleum. Notes of glacial waters. I blame this misconception on Black Tower. That crap my dad bought at Christmas to fulfill the wine quota, which would inevitably loom at the back of the fridge like a blunt hammer until some summer party, when an uncle would get hammered enough to finish it and then begin pooning with a sprinkler. Growing up in the suburbs was an education.

La Puerta, Torrontes, 2010, La Rioja, Argentina

I'm in the rank armpit of a Canadian heat wave. People here are simply not accustomed to dealing with intense heat. They get quite unhinged. I choose to look on the bright side of things - white wine tastes amazing when you are glazed with varnish of sweat. And the wine drinking makes the state of being unhinged a lot more entertaining. Finally, hot weather also trims your criteria for white wine down to a very manageable list: it must be ice cold, clean, acidic, and possess delicately refreshing fruit. So long live the heatwave. I'm a big fan of Argentinian Torrontes. It pulls through on all of these key indicators and is especially forgiving with respect to price. This is one of my everyday wines. La Puerta is no glory-boat. It's salt of the earth. Sub-$10. Your nonno would approve. I'm matching it with some mussels with double smoked bacon, blue cheese and more Torrontes.

Ruffino, Tenuta Lodola Nuova, Vino Nobile de Montepulciano, DOCg, 2006

One of the main food pairings found in Tuscany is wild boar, tomato, fresh pasta and Sangiovese. People live on this and for good reason. It's delicious. The issue really becomes about which Sangiovese you choose. What I've pulled out tonight was a gift. I don't know too much about the producer. No big deal. Of all the many fascinating regions and subregions in Italy, Tuscany is the most well-known internationally and probably the most mundane. I don't want to disrespect all those Under the Tuscan Sun die-hards, but as superstar sommelier Rajat Parr states in his stellar book Secrets of Sommeliers, "All you need to know about the supposedly best ( Tuscan Sangiovese), Brunello di Montalcino, is that in 1960 exactly eleven producers were making it and today their ranks have swollen to over two hundred." That's a diluted product. Having said that, certain foods have an preternatural groove with certain wines - typically those that evolved together on the same plots of land. Sangiovese just goes with wild boar and tomato sauce, or so I am hoping. I am matching it not with a Brunello but with a Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. Wine from this region tends to be similar to a Chianti Riserva with a fuller, softer, more fruit-forward thrust. We'll see.

Chateau Montelena, Zinfandel, Calistoga Napa Valley, 2007

 

Chateau Montelena is one of those epic Californian houses, best known for helping to put Napa Valley on the world wine map when they beat four top Burgundian Chardonnays in a 1976 blind tastings with their 73 Chardonnay. Check out Bottle Shock. Great wine film. There's a scene where all the young Montelena interns are trying to win some money for some reason on their vintage-deduction prowess. I like that Six Feet Under guy, but I think he makes a better undertaker. I applaud his enthusiastic mouth-work, but I'm not buying his show. It must be a great skill to have though - to be able to dazzle with your varietal knowledge on the spot like that, with so much adrenaline churning about the roadhouse. Things could have got ugly. I want Matt Damon to make Good Will Hunting Part 2, but this time he's a sommelier - asking everyone at a wine tasting how they like his apples. By the way, don't steal my script ideas. Speaking adrenaline pumps, I've got to get back to my souffle. I'm matching a dry zinfandel with a chocolate one of those.

Nyarai Cellars, Veritas, 2007, Niagara Peninsula VQA

Conventional wisdom states that Niagara is home to serious emerging wines - Rieslings, Sauvignon Blancs, Pinot Noirs, sparkling and ice wines. Mainly those varietals that thrive in Northern France. Canada has many good things. Its weather is not one of them. Following this logic, if you swear by California Cabernet Sauvignon or Australian Shiraz you should probably veer away from Ontario Bordeaux blends or, god help you, shiraz or cab franc blends. Green and tannic come to mind. But what do you expect? There isn't enough sunshine or a long enough growing season to produce big lush wines in the new-world style. You can't squeeze deep, full-bodied reds from five month snow-drifts. Well, that's not necessarily true. An exceptional wine maker in an exceptionally warm year can shatter conventional wisdom with well placed rabbit-punches.

Prieure de Montezargues, Rosé, 2009, Tavel, Rhone

Rosé. For a long time, North Americans dismissed pink wines as little more than a change of pace beverage for ladies who chug their white wine with ice cubes and debate the sexual currency of leopard pattern versus fluorescent green miniskirts. This slander is connected to white zinfandel. Sweet, sloppy and fractions from a California Cooler, white zinfandel is pretty traumatic if you enjoy dry, well-built wines.

D'Arenberg High Trellis, Cabernet Sauvignon, 2007, McLaren Vale

If you're in the mood for a big south Australian red, you can rarely do better than D'Arenberg. Well, perhaps you can do better, but this producer is so consistently good and well-priced, that you rarely have to wonder if you've picked up a shallow wine. Tough to screw this up. It's always solid. At under $20, the High Trellis is one of my go-tos.

Rocca delle Macie, Chianti Riserva, 2006, Tuscany, D.O.C.G

Italy is a demanding wine region. As a modern nation-state, Italy is just a bit older than Canada. It's an incredibly diverse, complex and slightly illogical cobbling together of micro-regions with distinct idiomatic dialects, cuisines, hand gesturing, blood vendettas, hairstyles, virgins and wine-making styles. Schiopettino. Uva de Troia. Nuragus. Ribolla Gialla. Pignolo. These are neither diseases nor dead Emperors. These are grapes. Varietals that dominate pockets of the country. Having said that, Tuscany is what most people picture when the word Italy is lobbed into a conversation - villas, hilltop monasteries, cyprus trees and those cool straw-cased bottles that you can find in the basement kitchens that Italian mothers cook in so as to avoid wearing out the nice main-floor kitchen.

Gabriel Mefffre Laurus, 2007, Gigondas, Southern Rhone

Animal. Charcoal. Leather. Dried herbs. All of these notes apply to the Grenache - a grape which along with olive oil, garlic, herbs and game holds up the Mediterranean's culinary tradition. Grenache is the key varietal in France's southern Rhone blends, the big lad of this group being Chateauneuf du Pape. 'The New Castle of the Pope.' Pretty holy, all round. We aren't having one of these tonight. I don't wish to provoke unnecessary celestial episodes. We will be profiling a wine from Gigondas, a nearby village producing serious wines at a moderate price.

Leira Albariño, 2009, Rias Baixas

Albariño is Spain's greatest white wine. Rias Baixas is the DO. Galicia in the Northwest of Spain is the region. Very unique wine. Medium to full bodied. Some of them are almost creamy in texture, with intense aromas of citrus, stone fruit, flowers and mouth-watering acidity that brings to mind wet Atlantic coastal rocks. These wines are both delicious and singular, mainly because Albariños manage to bring together many of the best things of various white-wine styles. It's one of those wines I can see Chardonnay drinkers enjoying as easily as Aromatic lovers. The result? Explosion in the culinary world. The question is how a rainy, green corner of Spain manages to produce a varietal able to harness all of these sensations in a single glass. The nose, so reminiscent of Viognier and Alsace riesling, has led more than a few to wonder if the grape was brought to Galicia from France.

Bodegas LAN, Crianza 2006, Rioja

The fact that I haven't yet featured a Spanish Rioja is amazing. I have a weakness for Rioja. A deep-seeded one. I'm always showing up with Rioja, buying Rioja, suggesting another one. I've been told it's repetitive and has a pigeon-holing impact on my persona, but I can't help it. It's really good. So it's pretty startling I haven't been pushing hard for wines from this part of Spain in this space. I've made strides. So yeah, lets drink one. Not so fast, trigger-happy. Instigator. Firebrand. There are a few formalities to take care of. First, a word about the grape. Tempranillo. It is only grown with success in Spain. It produces a wine of high acidity with medium body, more reminiscent of Chianti or a muscular Pinot Noir than anything else. At its best, a Tempranillo is tart, fresh, subtle, earthy - in other words, an excellent food pairing wine. Usually it is blended with a small amount of grenache, mazuelo or graciano. But tempranillo is the mainstay. The backbone.

Osoyoos Larose, Le Grand Vin, 2006, Okanagan Valley

I was in an elegant financial core restaurant a few days ago. At a corner table sat a some businessmen. Not any kind of businessmen. Expense account gladiators. A slowly dying breed. Some deal had been reached. Some return on investment coupe or other tax sheltered conquest. Their hands smacked down on the reclaimed wood table. When the check was dropped, a wrestling contest with corporate credit cards ensued. None of them would back down. Each insisted that their company's shareholders would be taking care of the bill. Ordering another bottle diffused the conflict and ended the questionable groping session. I did like what they were drinking. They were on their third bottle of the 2006 Grand Vin from Osoyoos Larose. It was being decanted and I caught the deep toasted chocolate and sunny black fruit curling over me in muscular waves. I decided that I had every right to try this wine. I didn't order it and swallow the 200 percent markup. There's no need to be foolhardy while getting into imaginary entitlement contests with white collar workers. Pick your battles, is my philosophy. I found the Grand Vin at the LCBO. At $45.00 CAN, Osoyoos Larose isn't the cheapest option, but it is a flagship Canadian wine - one that should be tried whether you're from Kamloops or Bordeaux or Napa.

Man Vintners, Chenin Blanc, 2010, Costal Region, South Africa

Chenin Blanc isn't a hugely popular grape with Canadian wine drinkers. Niche interest. Sommeliers like it, but they like every region, as long as it poses interesting questions and provides something distinct. Chenin Blanc is grown in quantity only in the Loire Valley and South Africa. The key to identifying Loire Chenin Blanc is its high acidity along with some honey and traces of summer flowers. Anjou, Saumur and Vouvray are parts of the Loire synonymous with Chenin Blanc - these would have been better places for me to start. I do not have a Loire wine in the substandard linen closet that serves as my cellar. What I do have in there is from South Africa. It's called 'Steen' on the Cape. Man Vintners is firmly on the value end of things. Grapes are sourced from 'bush-vine' or untrellised vineyards in the Agter-Paarl Region. This bush-origin is an important quality distinction for South African Chenin Blanc. Tropical fruit, crisp citrus and sharp acidity are said to be the defining tast-profile features. To be honest, this is my first Chenin Blanc. I'm matching it with snapper.

Pisa Range Black Poplar Block, Pinot Noir, 2007, Central Otago, New Zealand

I don't know many sommeliers, but those I have met swear by the greatness of pinot noir. 'Ethereal' is a word thrown about. I think the word means 'finesse' but with a little more metaphysical spunk. I don't know if this is accurate. What I do know is that Burgundy is the cradle of the elusive pinot noir. It's also home to the most expensive agricultural land on earth. The colour of pinot is the first giveaway in a blind tasting. Light. Bricky. On the nose, you'll generally find red fruit, earth, barnyard, stewed rhubarb, light spice. In the mouth, minerals and tight acidity dominate. As a grape, pinot is temperamental, but when done well it is so exciting - so ethereal, if you'll allow the word - that producers all over the world have been tempted to try the grape out at least once. Pinot is a tough grow. New Zealand, with its cooler growing climate, has had some of the best results to date and now produces some of the finest pinots outside of Burgundy. Pisa Range Estate is at the top end. The winemaker's name is Rudi Bauer. He's renowned, speaks English with a Austrian and New Zealand hybrid accent and drops the occasional f-bomb. Observe.

Seghesio Zinfandel, Sonoma County, California, 2009

Zinfandel is burly, opinionated, up in your face, intoxicating and - in the end - pretty gripping company. I'm not talking about white Zinfandel. That stuff is mostly criminal. But true Zinfandel is satisfying and honest. Blackberry and strawberry patch. Surges of pepper, oregano, thyme. Moderate tannins. High, high alcohol and uppercuts of fruit. Zinfandel didn't originate in the United States, however. DNA testing has traced its origins to Croatia and has also revealed that it is the same grape as Italian Primitivo. The Seghesio Family is Italian. Piedmont Italian. Their California vineyards lie where three important Sonoma Appellations meet - Dry Creek Valley, Russian River Valley and  Alexander Valley - and the family has been making Zinfandel since the late 1800s. Some of the Sonoma's finest Zinfandels. Their 2007 vintage made the Wine Spectator's Best 100 Wines of 2008. #10 on that list. 

Pirramimma Shiraz, 2006, McLaren Vale, Australia

Longing. Hankering. Ache. Need. Lust. Call it what you like. I've been craving a big Australian shiraz alongside fillet mignon for about a week. I've made a point of ignoring this caveman call. I've staged rational internal point-by-point dialogues along the following lines: 1) You have enjoyed many of Australia's shiraz specimens. Try something else. 2) You're palate is supposed to be evolving - flowing from the jammy black fruit, chocolate, vanilla and pepper highlands to the quiet valley floor where subtle flavours of earth, fungi, barnyard and dry-aged meat frolic about in huge Burgundy glasses. 3) Look to your left, on the Blog List Bubble thing: the two largest words are BEEF and SYRAH. Don't be a wine heathen. People will question your character. I don't know about my character, but I believe my palate is a touch slow or maybe dyslexic. It could require professional tutoring.

Wunsch et Mann, Gewurztraminer, 2008, Alsace, France

The Super Bowl is history. Much like my ability to digest pulled pork. I need something light, aromatic, and exotic. Something that I might seamlessly intertwine with the characteristics of the fragrant Alsace Gewurztraminer I picked up last July after a few too many Lychee Martinis by the poolside. Nostalgia is a dangerous lady. Yes, I am old enough to recall the golden summers of lychee martinis.

Chateau de Gourgazaud, 2008, Minervois

I have a tier system for the wines in the closet: the daily (-$15), weekly (-$30), monthly (-$50) and - once I've made the necessary calculations and drawn the necessary diagrams - the sacred yearly wine. I don't particularly want to crack my bottle of 2005 Chateau de Beaucastle some dreary Wednesday night while watching a home renovation program on HGTV, gripping as these episodes can be. Witnessing some drama queen lose out on the perfect sink or wallpaper gives me more satisfaction than it should. Don't judge me. The point is this: in order to suffer such spirit-killing spectacles I need wine. Not spectacular wine. But good wine. Value wine. Wine that I would offer as a house wine if I had a restaurant. Wine that I can add to a pot while cooking with no qualms or hesitation. The 2008 Chateau de Gourgazaud is one of my daily wines.

Stolpman Syrah, 2007, Santa Ynez Valley, California

Syrah. Inky bliss. I used to work with this wine-guru server who told me the Syrah grape was brought back to France from the Holy Land by disillusioned Crusaders who went to meditate on their sins in the Northern Rhone. Hermits. Hermitage. Etcetera. I've never been able to confirm this story, which is the perfect kind of story for a server. One founded on a romantic interpretation of a secondhand history. Horticultural archaeology aside, drinking Syrah can be an epic experience. Hedonistic even. Like Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc it is grown around the world to quite different ends. But speaking generally (too general), syrah or shiraz is defined by ripe rushes of black fruit, pepper, smoke, high levels of alcohol and tannins that rarely (perhaps only in the Northern Rhone) punish the palate like Cabernet Sauvignon can.

Crios, Torrontes, 2009, Argentina

I've been accused of holding a pretty open grudge against the white wines of the world. Okay, considering that the first four wines featured in this blog have been red, I'll concede the point. Or at least I'll concede the basis for some basic confusion. I'd argue that the one-sided selection process has more to do with the weather in Canada during the months of December through March. A harsh meteorological reality. One that lends itself to braised shanks, oven-roasted birds, fall-off the bone stews consisting of noble hoofed beasts. And meat goes with red wine. Or does it? Jancis Robinson says, "it is body that matters more than colour." I'm interested.

Clos de L'Obac, 2004, Priorat

Gratallops is a Catalan village at the heart of Priorat. L'Ermita by Alvaro Palacios, Clos Mogador by Rene Barbier and Clos de L'Obac by Charles Pestrana are some of the heavy hitting vintages that have made the likes of Robert Parker do bare knuckle push-ups in the middle of the night from sheer anticipation. Priorat is a beautiful place with steep terraced vineyards that fold and buckle up to this mountain-top town. Gratallops is a bit sleepy in the wintertime but what are you going to do? Drink wine and invade the vines of these world-class winemakers is what I did last February. [...]