Apothic Red, 2008, California Blend

Syrah, Zinfandel, Merlot; 13.1% ABV, $10

From time to time Erika and I will purchase wines based on the feeling or vibes that we receive from the wine label. Certainly not the most scientific process (actually, not at all scientific) but it's a method that has resulted in great successes with some disappointments along the way. Sadly this particular wine fell into the latter category. But before you give up and abandon this post there's some helpful facts that may aid your future wine purchases.

Wine regulations vary by country. There is the strict and iconic French INOA (Institut National des Appelations d'Origine) responsible for categorizing (AOC, VDP or VDT) and regulating wine production (see the post about Chateau L'ermitage, 2007, GSM for more information). Italy, Spain and Portugal follow a similar model whereas Germany places greater emphasis on regulating harvest dates rather than site selection and other methods of vinification. Then there is New Zealand, famous for their Sauvingon Blanc, who recently abandoned all efforts to formally regulate their wine industry. In its relative infancy/childhood, the U.S. falls somewhere in between the orthodox of Europe and New Zealand's laissez-faire approach. There are however some basic regulations set out by the American Viticulture Area (AVA).

1) In order for a bottle to be labeled as a specific varietal it must consist of at least 75% of that varietal. So when you buy that Napa cab you love so much you are guaranteed that no less than three-fourths are Cabernet Sauvignon grapes.

2) 85% of those grapes must come from Napa in order for it to be labeled as such. This means that at most 15% of the remaining grapes could not only have come from vineyards outside of Napa but they may have come from outside California or the U.S. entirely. This can be to the wine's credit or detriment as it's entirely dependent on the vintners intentions and discretion.

That being said, it's not always the case that California blends consisting of a variety of grapes sourced from all over the state will inherently be better than a Sonoma wine of 100% Cab. If there is one universal truth about vinology it is that the merit of any wine can only be truly judged in the glass and in the mouth. Yet estate wines, wines that are produced on the estates in which the grapes are grown, typically produce better quality and complexity. How will you know if a wine is an estate wine? Most if not all bottles indicate on the back label to what extent the producer of the wine was involved in the wine making process. While all grapes are created equally, all wines are most certainly not. Those wines of a lesser nature, in my opinion, are more often than not those that are solely bottled by the producer. So, turning to the back label you'll read "bottled by Vintner X" which tells you that the only thing this particular wine maker was involved in was the post-fermentation bottling and storing. Not an encouraging note. "Produced and bottled" or "cellared and bottled" are solid indicators that correlate with quality wines.

So what of this wine, you may be asking. Well this is, or rather was, "vinted and bottled" by the producer. You may be thinking this to be a positive indicator but do not be fooled. There is no definition or standard for what "vinted" means and as such it is a nebulous term that can trick consumers into thinking that more care and effort was put into the production of this bottle than actually was. Additionally, being labelled a "Californian blend" I can discern that the mix of Syrah, Zinfandel and Merlot grapes were sourced from all over the state in varying quantity and quality. But as I mentioned before, the only way to know the truth about this wine is to get into first the glass and then the mouth.

The color is a dark purple to inky black, a quality that I'm usually excited by as a lover of the big, bold reds. The nose smells of oak, coffee, toffee, and caramel. I'm initially excited about this wine but it is in the mouth where this wine shows its true nature. I'm immediately overwhelmed by candied cherries, like ludens cough drops. With a moderately weighted body this wine is bursting with underripe-to-ripe red fruit, so obvious that it makes one question whether it's wine or two-year-old cranberry juice. In short, this wine falls flat on its ass. Extremely low tannins and acid result in it having very, very little to offer beyond the initial onslaught of fruit. It's clear that the grapes for this wine came from all over California and that little care was taken to produce this wine beyond fermented grape juice.

Freemark Abbey, 2008, Chardonnay

Napa Valley, 14.1% ABV; $20

We all have off days. Menial tasks that usually occur with banal normality can overwhelm each and every one of us on these cursed days. Yesterday was such a day for me, at least concerning the deconstruction and identification of wine flavor profiles. Over the last 6 months I've been dedicated to expanding my palate. Drinking wine has become more like exercise than entertainment. With each enticing inhale and savoring sip I strive to identify more flavors and sensations. My olfactory bulbs are no longer passive observers when drinking wine but are trained muscles reflexively twitching at the sound of every cork popped like the legs of a runner anticipating the fire from the starting gun. My taste buds stand at the ready with every rigorous swirl like that of a Medieval infantryman about to do battle. I've trained my physiological tasting system through wine classes, diligently completing my homework and extra credit (i.e. drinking wine and more wine). I've even gone so far as to use a Neti-pot twice a week, a process that involves the rinsing of the sinuses with salt water, in order to improve my sniffing abilities. Yet despite all of this I totally botched this wine. And it's a shame compounded by the fact that this wine is awesome. Before I even get into the details (few and poor as they are) this wine rocked, plain and simple. I suppose that this initial diatribe is a disclaimer seeing as how if any of you purchase this wine (and you should) you'll probably be able to identify and enjoy the elements of this wine far quicker than i did. But nonetheless here were and are my initial reactions.

The color is a shimmering, light yellow like that of a dandelion only translucent. The nose is not very big but what does come across are aromas of stone fruits, some apple and butterscotch. The mouthfeel is heavy, something to be expected with an ABV of 14%. I'm convinced that this Chardonnay like most Californian wines of this grape varietal has undergone malolactic fermentation, a process whereby bacteria convert the natural malic acid into lactic acid (think lactose in milk and you'll understand the texture). "Definitely oak aged", I think to myself. Going into the second pour I'm feeling confident, borderline arrogant. More elements become obvious, as they usually do, and I begin to pick up some real parmesan cheese flavors, not the store brand powder nonsense. And now the moment of truth. I look to the vintner's description on the back label and I'm immediately hit with a contradiction - no malolactic fermentation. Ouch. The humbling description goes on to state that the wine was only partially aged in oak barrels. Ok, so I'm .5 out of 2, not exactly nailing this wine. But wait, aromas of butterscotch the vintner indicates. Success! Redemption! As I read on one flavor profile becomes immediately obvious and should have been apparent from the onset - bananas. But not just regular ripe bananas rather candied bananas, specifically those fruit candies that were in the shape of a the fruit their flavors represented. Overall, the acid and tannins are extremely well balanced (paradox?) with ripe fruit and a delightful viscosity, at least for those who enjoy a heavier white.

So while I'm not thrilled with my performance I am thrilled with this wine. There's so much overpriced and poor quality chardonnay and cabernet coming out of the mass producing wine marketeers of Napa, but this particular bottle is an exception. Try it and tell me what you think.

Chateau L'ermitage, 2007, GSM

Syrah 50%, Mourvedre 30% Grenache 20%, Rhone valley, Costieres de Nimes, AOC, 13% ABV, $10.

Purchasing French wine used to feel like I was taking the GRE's. There are words I can't pronounce let alone define or equate, the compositions lack clarity and I'm often left feeling like I've made a horrible, horrible mistake somewhere along the way that will inevitably cost me. With two wine courses under my belt, I'm still barely able make sense of what I'm bringing home with even a moderate degree of confidence. So for those of you out there that are as lost and mystified as I have been, and still can be, here are a few French wine buying facts that will hopefully lead to successful purchases:

1) French wine is heavily regulated and as such organized into three tiers (in order of highest to lowest) - Appellation d'origine contrôlée or AOC/AC, Vin de Pays (country wine) and Vin de table (table wine). The AOC system is the model for nearly every other national regulatory system in the wine producing world (e.g. DO: Portugal and Italy; DOC Spain; AVA: US) and dictates everything from what grapes can be grown where down to the methods of pruning. Yeah, it's that serious.

2) While a hierarchy of quality is implied, VDP's can demonstrate complexity and character of more expensive AOC's but at reasonable prices. With fewer regulations there exists the opportunity for using both traditional and non-traditional methods of vinification. Furthermore, vineyards in France are not comprised solely of AOC's, VDP's or VDT's. Rather vine rows that are deemed unworthy of producing upper level French AOC wines are often located opposite those that produce the less expensive VDP's and VDT's.

So the next time you're in your favorite local liquor store and feeling that wild hair up your ass to try something from the Mecca of the wine world that is France, save some money and look for a Vin de Pays.

Now all that being said, this wine is NOT a Vin de Pays and IS reasonably priced at only 10 dollars. Instead it's from the southernmost region of the Rhone valley, Costieres de Nimes, AOC. The color is just barely opaque, on the cusp of being translucent. The nose gives off aromas of cocoa powder, black currant and cream with cooked fruit. I'm expecting this wine to have a higher ABV than 13%. A woody component becomes apparent after a few minutes and also after the back label overtly instructs me that the wine has been aged in oak barrels for 6 months (perhaps the power of suggestion is at play). In the mouth the wine has a medium body, moderate levels of acid and extremely low to non-existent tannins. I expected more astringency given that this Rhone GSM blend is comprised of mostly Syrah (a typically tannic grape), a fact that demonstrates the powerful influence of the typically juicy Grenache. The fruit is akin to that of an under-ripe or sour blackberry, which is an interesting contrast to the aromatics it initially exuded. All that said, I'm tasting far more alcohol on the back end of my palate given the aforementioned modest percentage of alcohol.

While this wine may be a value play at $10, spending just a few more dollars will get you substantially better quality and complexity. This wine has the potential to shine with the appropriately prepared Coq au vin or flank steak, nonetheless I'll be looking for a VDP next time. See you in the French aisle.

Zenaida Cellars, 2006, Syrah

California, Paso Robles, $26, 16% ABV

Que Syrah, Syrah. Whatever will be, will be. I’m finding this amalgamation of colloquial expression and grape varietal particularly enjoyable today. First because the phrase as it is normally spelled and intended is one that advocates for a life that doesn’t take the events of the day too seriously, that opts for stillness rather than stress, that encourages pleasures rather than plans. Second, because drinking good wine, while not an essential ingredient, can undoubtedly offer aid in discovering a life well lived - one comprised of simpler pleasures, more relaxed atmospheres, and calmer states of mind and mood. One such wine varietal with an ability to put me, at least, in a carefree state of being is Syrah. But, before delving into this particular Syrah, there are a few misnomers about this relatively unknown grape that I’d like to address:

1) Syrah and Shiraz IS the same grape. In an effort to increase their wine export sales Australia decided to rebrand the Syrah grape as Shiraz (pronounced sure-az). They succeeded at a meager rate of some 400%, which prompted other countries (e.g. South Africa) to adopt the pseudonym which stems from its Persian origin of Scyras.

2) Petit Sirah is NOT a smaller version of the Syrah grape. In South America, Petit Sirah is referred to as just Sirah, but do not be confused. Adding to the mire, however, is the existence of Petit Syrah and Grosse Syrah, smaller and larger version of the Syrah grape, respectively. To be clear, Petit Sirah is a distinct grape from Syrah in both name and genetics.

I’m particularly excited about this wine for two reasons. First, Californian Syrah is projected to be the next big wine varietal to dominate the American market. Much like Malbec today and Pinot Noir a few years prior, Syrah, alongside Grenache, is poised to increase in production, quality and most importantly, price. So now is the best time to buy Syrah before market demands cause their value to spike. Second, the Paso Robles area is typically an undervalued and underappreciated region within the Central Coast. As a result, wines marked at ten, twenty and thirty dollars can be great values for consumers with limited budgets.

With economics and pedagogy aside, let’s begin. Wine labels indicate an important and often overlooked detail about wine, with this particular wine being no exception. Adjacent to the initials ABV (alcohol by volume) reside the numbers 15.9%. Now, the average alcohol in wine is 13.5% so already I know that this wine is going to feel extremely heavy in the mouth (Note – alcohol is directly related to viscosity and weight; the higher the alcohol, the heavier the wine will feel). But before confirming my viscous suspicions, let’s address the color and aroma. This wine is dark, dull and opaque, like looking into a cloudy pool at night. The nose indicates earthy tones of hay and dirt with a healthy amount of funk (yes, funk). There are subtle hints of black pepper, dark berry custard and vanilla, all of which come secondary as the wine opens up. Tasting the wine yields an affirmation to my aforementioned prediction - this wine is extremely heavy. I taste strong, concentrated extract with supple, lingering tannins. The fruit is overripe-to-cooked and reminiscent of cassis or Chambord. There’s just enough acid to give this wine extraordinary balance with a long lasting finish.

My only complaint with this wine is that it’s not winter outside. Summer is not an ideal season for enjoying big, bold and sturdy wines such as this particular Syrah. In short, I love this wine. Buy a bottle--hell, buy a case if you can--before the prices of Californian Syrahs begin their inevitable ascent.

The Butt Cheese

"Grayson", Virginia, cow's milk, raw, 2010
$15/lb

I once told Eddie that he was "the cheese to my wine," being that he is, of course, hopelessly cheesy in his romanticism and humor, but finds me (probably rightfully so) to be somewhat melancholy, biting, and almost bitter. (Whatever, he loves it. And he could easily get hammered off of me if he wasn't careful. Muah!)

So now for something completely different: a cheese review. Cheese is the best thing that has ever come from rotten milk, and is rarely over $30 a pound, so it's pretty much always within the bounds of reviewing it here. And it's me, so I can do this "outside of the schtick" business. You may see some "under/over 30" stuff when I review expensive stuff and get to be under 30 at the same time. Huzzah!

So Eddie and I go to The Wine Source in Hampden to frolic in the aisles and swim through the plentiful bottles like Scrooge McDuck. I discover they have a cheese section, and this little squishy pale orange wedge catches my eye. It's interesting-looking, and I notice that it's from Virginia (my old stomping grounds), and made from raw cow's milk. And orange. And kinda stinky. I have to poke it. We normally get a good portion of everything in our fridge from the farmer's market, and the bestest cream-of-the-crop stank-ass cheese you can find there happens to be made of delicious (surprisingly not-so-goaty) goat's milk, so cow's milk is an interesting change of pace. I run off to The Cheese Guy to purchase it.

It began to stink up the car as we drove down the street a few blocks. Eddie thinks I'm probably one of those Super Taster/Smeller freaks who have more taste buds than anyone normal, though maybe it's just abnormally sensitive olfactory bulbs. Either way, it didn't really occur to me at that moment that the straight-up baked foot stench that emanated from the offending lump should have caused me to forcefully throw it out the passenger's side window.

We brought it home, along with a bottle of the Domaine de Cambis rosé that we decided we'd chill and very probably drink in the public park about a block from our apartment. We decided to taste the cheese before bringing it out with us.

Upon tasting a small chunk, Eddie responds with, "It smells like I just stuck my hand up my own ass.” Looking at the cheese disappointedly he says to me, “That's all you."

So even though "Grayson", a semi-soft washed-rind cow's milk cheese which apparently, "was awarded a third place Open Category Farmstead Cheeses at the American Cheese Society Competition of 2007, a second runner-up to Best in Show in the 2008 American Cheese Society competition and a second-place ribbon in the 2009 competition," has won several awards, it still smells (and thus tastes) like the fermented, musty buttcrack of one who has spent the better portion of a hotter-than-the-devil's-drawers August day in Baltimore sweating bullets down his or her hind crevice. I love me some rank-ass cheese, but not the butthole variety. I love me an earthy, mushroomy, squishy dirt-cheese like a good triple crème brie, or a garlicky, dirty sweat sock bleu variety like Roaring Forties. But this should more accurately be called "Virginia Rimjob". This makes me wonder what exactly the other cheeses were that the judges in these competitions had tasted, or what it was they chose to eat in their free time.

Beyond the butthole, you get a Velveeta-like plastic/aluminum quality with a similar soft, waxy texture. It tastes remarkably like that Velveeta Deluxe macaroni and cheese with the pouch o' orange crap that, upon sliding down your esophagus, makes you feel your congealing blood move through your heart in an almost lava lamp-like fashion. The only not-terrible part of this cheese is the rind, which is moderately palatable if you 1) can move beyond the horrid stench to even be able to taste the damn thing, and, 2) like the taste of washed-rind, or 3) like to eat ass-flavored cheese rind.

So the Butt Cheese gets a hearty thumbs-down. For $15 a pound, go for a nice Roquefort or St. Andre. Or anything, really. Because this tastes like something I found underneath a park bench.

Rioja, Vega del Rayo, Vendimia Seleccionada, 2007; $20.

This marks official wine review number 2 and back-to-back Old Worlds to boot. Given my affinity for the big and bold New World varietals of California and Australia, this comes as a bit of an ironic surprise. And yet my palate, particularly as of late, has been inclined towards the balance and subtlety of the wines produced from those vintners whom use more gut and less science (i.e. old world vs. new world). My subconscious desire for the more traditional methods of viticulture may be exercising a strong influence on my blogging endeavor. Then again, it may just be that Erika has chosen the wine thus far. Well, who’s to say?

The first thing I notice about this wine is actually what I don’t notice – namely a nose. Aromatically tight and unyielding, there is almost no indication of berry or fruit, but rather an odd and familiar smell from my childhood. As I fervently swirl the glass I expect that this time (as I did the last time) some elusive aromatic will appear. I plunge my nose into the glass, isolating all available air by creating a vacuum-like seal with my hands. I inhale. Nothing. Swirl and plunge, swirl and plunge. I repeat this process for what seems like several minutes and begin to wonder if my nasal passages are overly congested (as a side note, Neti pots are amazing) or if I’m just completely inept at this wine tasting business. Frustrated and thirsty, I give up on identifying the primary aromatics and sip. Hello, tannin! Similar to last week’s review, I’m impressed by the level of tannins in this wine but for a different reason. Whereas tannin in a rosé is unexpected, the tannins in this Rioja are overwhelming, almost offensively so. Drinking this wine is like drinking a fermented baseball glove. As a caveat, I should mention that I prefer a wine with heavy tannins that create a drying, astringent effect but balanced with fruit and acidity. The acidity and body of this wine are moderate players, at best, in the production; the star is clearly the level of tannin. Given that, this wine may need a few more years in order to fully mature so that the tannins will soften and the fruit and secondary flavors will have an opportunity to contribute more than just one-liners. That being said, it was probably a mistake to not let this wine breathe for about twenty minutes, a point in time that by now the wine has reached. As I continue to taste the aforementioned mysterious aromatic finally becomes obvious and apparent – shoe polish. Growing up I witnessed my father frequently break out his shoe shining kit before events that called for formal dress such as weddings, Sunday morning church or a romantic dinner with my mother. The smell of metallic ethanol and tar that this wine now effervescently exudes reminds me of those simpler days.

While this wine may be overly tannic for some, the body and acid are ample enough to provide sufficient balance. There’s a hint of cranberry as well, but this is not a fruit friendly wine nor is it a “patio-pounder”, a term one of my bar regulars has coined for those overly acidic, light white wines. Rioja, Vega del Rayo, 2007 (Tempranillo); $20.

Rosé, Domaine De Cambis, La Vie en Rose 2008; $15

Following a rather slow night at the restaurant I came home to this. Brie cheese, strawberries, sliced pears, and of course a bottle of wine. This, my friends, is the ideal ending to good days, bad days, any day, every day. And yet something is askew in this picture, at least as I traditionally envision it in my dreams concerning fermented grape juice and aged cheese. No, the lightening isn’t off nor is this a doctored photo. The wine you see in the background is in fact a blush wine. Typically scorned by most serious wine aficionados, blush wines such as the American white zinfandel are generally consumed by individuals who want to enjoy a bottle of wine but who don’t want it to taste like wine. Given the market’s demands, vintners will and have produced wines that meet their customer’s expectations of simplicity and sweetness. However French rosé such as those from Provence are produced with passion and precision resulting in a wine that can be considered as serious as an aged Bordeaux. That being said and in the interest of full disclosure, I typically join my colleagues in demeaning any wine bearing the color that resembles a Crystal Light flavor. But this blog isn’t about wine snobbery. Therefore, this wine, like every wine (like every human being) deserves an opportunity to prove itself regardless of color.

The first thing that is most striking about it is not the aroma or apparent viscosity as it gently coats the glass, but rather the cork catches my attention before anything else. It's pink. This is not starting off well. But determined to judge after and not before I plunge my wine key into the “Hello-Kitty” colored, anti-oxidizing synthetic cork and gently remove it. As the wine comes to settle in my glass the color is noticeably different from the regrettable pink I initially assumed it to be, an observation that belies my obvious bias. Instead a pale color of amber or apricot offers momentary encouragement that this wine may have more to offer than I originally believed. Two things become immediately apparent as I vigorously swirl to release the aromas – strawberries, red raspberries and ethanol. Smelling dominant alcohol on a wine is an event typically reserved for the full-bodied products of Australia or California. I reach for the bottle; the innocent and unassuming wine label decries a meager 12.5% giving me further pause and skepticism. “Just drink the damn wine”, I say to myself. I do so and as the last remnants escape my mouth a thought emerges. “Is that tannin”? I look to Erika for confirmation and it quickly becomes obvious that she’s thinking the same thing. Complexity and a finish!? I’m shocked. The initial sour acidity that I was expecting and received on the front of my palate was not only pleasant and balanced but as it subsided gave way to a hint of tannic astringency on the back end. Tastes of sour to ripe strawberry and red raspberry are most prevalent. As the wine opens up the Syrah makes a subtle appearance with flavors of allspice and clove.

This rosé is pleasant, well balanced and perfect for the upcoming warm, humid days of the mid-Atlantic summer. Light and refreshing with mild flavors of red fruit it can be drunk alone or with an earthy, savory cheese such as the triple cream brie we enjoyed (though avoid acidic fruits such as those shown above as the wine will become overly and offensively sour). Rosé, Domaine De Cambis, La Vie en Rose, 2008 (80% Cinsault, 20% Syrah); $15.