Whitesnake is coming out with a wine. A zinfandel.
Robert Parker in The Wine Advocate describes it as a "bodacious, cheeky little wine, filled to the brim with the spicy essence of sexy, slippery Snakeyness."
Wait, sorry—that’s Whitesnake lead singer David Coverdale.
Look for it July 1.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
2009 Albino Rocca Moscato d’Asti
I occasionally make hay about how much I dislike too much sweetness in my wines. Really, it’s just the overbearing sweetness you might get from a cheap merlot that tastes like cherry candy or something like that. Unwelcome sweetness, sweetness without context.
Jen and I tasted a Moscato d’Asti that was real sweet and real delicious. A 2009 bottled by the Italian producer Albino Rocca. Incredibly floral in aroma, easy drinking, lightly fizzy. The pourer had two or three Moscatos, each sweeter than the previous. This was the high end of the sweetness scale.
The Muscat grape may be the oldest grape variety to be domesticated, and there is evidence that wine from Muscat grapes may have been served at King Midas’s funeral feast. This is intriguing, not least of all because I thought King Midas was fictional.
This would be a fantastic dessert wine, or failing that, a great breakfast wine. I’m not sure how the idea got into our heads, but we opened up our bottle one Saturday morning with scrambled eggs, applewood smoked bacon, and a few berries.
Heaven. The wine splashed coldly through the bacon grease and provided a bracing accompaniment to the fruit. Don’t tell Jen, but I thought it had a bouquet reminiscent of soap. Like, really good, fancy soap you’d encounter at an upscale Paris hotel.
We were prepared for a day of foggy tipsiness, but the tipsiness never came. We couldn’t figure out why we weren’t drunker than we were, having finished off a bottle first thing in the morning. Then we noticed: Alcohol 5% by volume.
Hell, you could give this to children.
Part of a complete breakfast.
Jen and I tasted a Moscato d’Asti that was real sweet and real delicious. A 2009 bottled by the Italian producer Albino Rocca. Incredibly floral in aroma, easy drinking, lightly fizzy. The pourer had two or three Moscatos, each sweeter than the previous. This was the high end of the sweetness scale.
The Muscat grape may be the oldest grape variety to be domesticated, and there is evidence that wine from Muscat grapes may have been served at King Midas’s funeral feast. This is intriguing, not least of all because I thought King Midas was fictional.
This would be a fantastic dessert wine, or failing that, a great breakfast wine. I’m not sure how the idea got into our heads, but we opened up our bottle one Saturday morning with scrambled eggs, applewood smoked bacon, and a few berries.Heaven. The wine splashed coldly through the bacon grease and provided a bracing accompaniment to the fruit. Don’t tell Jen, but I thought it had a bouquet reminiscent of soap. Like, really good, fancy soap you’d encounter at an upscale Paris hotel.
We were prepared for a day of foggy tipsiness, but the tipsiness never came. We couldn’t figure out why we weren’t drunker than we were, having finished off a bottle first thing in the morning. Then we noticed: Alcohol 5% by volume.
Hell, you could give this to children.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Drinkin’ Square
Jen and I will be at this tonight. Lincoln Square plus Chopping Block plus wine, all for $5. If it’s anything like I hope, I’ll float home on a cloud of bliss.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Pasta, Meet Wine
I can’t remember how I first came upon the recipe for linguine avgolemono. But I have a theory.
My parents went to South America a few years ago and returned with a drink called the “pisco sour.” They brought back a few pouches of mix powder—just add pisco!—but the full recipe from scratch involves pisco (a South American liqueur distilled from grapes), lemon juice, simple syrup, bitters, and egg whites.
It drinks like a deadly cross between a margarita and the greatest Kool-Aid ever, and it probably warrants its own blog entry. But when I made it, I felt weird using just the whites of the eggs and tossing out the yolks. I felt the need to salvage the yolks somehow.
So I typed “egg yolks” into Epicurious and found linguine avgolemono, a Greek pasta dish involving not just egg yolks, but also artichoke hearts, green beans, cream, and parsley. It’s got a great creamy, earthy, slightly acidic thing going on, and it’s one of a handful of go-to dishes I can be relied upon to make.
Anyway, one day I was tasting at Fine Wine Brokers, and one of the whites being sampled was Béchar, 2007. I have a really hard time describing this wine, other than “unusual.” I’ve described it before as cake-like, and there’s a hefty mouthfeel and a mild sweetness that make me think so. But there’s also smoky edge to it, and kind of an earthy perfume that luxuriates in the sinuses.
I immediately knew it would go with linguine avgolemono. An unexpected cool sharpness that would complement the flavors while slicing through the cream.
I have bought several bottles, and I have only drunk it with linguine avgolemono. I brought Jen into the fold, and recently the two of us took to contemplating the flavors of the wine.
I kept saying pound cake, she kept saying breakfast.
“Do you get bacon?” she asked. We were on my back deck finishing off the bottle, our stomachs full of pasta and artichokes. I did not get bacon. I maintained there was something more bready and sweet.
“Yes, but there’s the smoke,” she said, and she squinted into the distance and flexed her jaw. She does this to simulate eating, which triggers her brain to analyze taste. (At least, that’s our theory of why she does this.) “And something kind of meaty.”
We sipped and analyzed in silence. Soon I tasted it too—bacon!
We reached the conclusion that the wine tasted like French toast that had been made in the same skillet as the rashers of bacon you made earlier. Why on earth that would go so well with a Greek pasta dish, I can’t begin to imagine, but it does. And thanks to the brief restock of Béchar a few weeks ago, and my subsequent consumption of the one I’d been saving, I am back to owning the last bottle in all of Chicago.
My parents went to South America a few years ago and returned with a drink called the “pisco sour.” They brought back a few pouches of mix powder—just add pisco!—but the full recipe from scratch involves pisco (a South American liqueur distilled from grapes), lemon juice, simple syrup, bitters, and egg whites.
It drinks like a deadly cross between a margarita and the greatest Kool-Aid ever, and it probably warrants its own blog entry. But when I made it, I felt weird using just the whites of the eggs and tossing out the yolks. I felt the need to salvage the yolks somehow.
So I typed “egg yolks” into Epicurious and found linguine avgolemono, a Greek pasta dish involving not just egg yolks, but also artichoke hearts, green beans, cream, and parsley. It’s got a great creamy, earthy, slightly acidic thing going on, and it’s one of a handful of go-to dishes I can be relied upon to make.Anyway, one day I was tasting at Fine Wine Brokers, and one of the whites being sampled was Béchar, 2007. I have a really hard time describing this wine, other than “unusual.” I’ve described it before as cake-like, and there’s a hefty mouthfeel and a mild sweetness that make me think so. But there’s also smoky edge to it, and kind of an earthy perfume that luxuriates in the sinuses.
I immediately knew it would go with linguine avgolemono. An unexpected cool sharpness that would complement the flavors while slicing through the cream.
I have bought several bottles, and I have only drunk it with linguine avgolemono. I brought Jen into the fold, and recently the two of us took to contemplating the flavors of the wine.
I kept saying pound cake, she kept saying breakfast.
“Do you get bacon?” she asked. We were on my back deck finishing off the bottle, our stomachs full of pasta and artichokes. I did not get bacon. I maintained there was something more bready and sweet.
“Yes, but there’s the smoke,” she said, and she squinted into the distance and flexed her jaw. She does this to simulate eating, which triggers her brain to analyze taste. (At least, that’s our theory of why she does this.) “And something kind of meaty.”We sipped and analyzed in silence. Soon I tasted it too—bacon!
We reached the conclusion that the wine tasted like French toast that had been made in the same skillet as the rashers of bacon you made earlier. Why on earth that would go so well with a Greek pasta dish, I can’t begin to imagine, but it does. And thanks to the brief restock of Béchar a few weeks ago, and my subsequent consumption of the one I’d been saving, I am back to owning the last bottle in all of Chicago.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Austria and Australia
Not quite the onslaught of oenological onanism as last week, but I bought a couple bottles.
The pourer today at FWB was a chatty woman, one of those pourers who sometimes forget to pour. But she was friendly, and the first wine she had was a Grüner Veltliner (Huber, 2008). I first heard of Grüner Veltliner on a wine podcast called "Wine for Newbies," and I believe the host of the podcast said it was the most common grape grown in Austria. The Huber I tasted today was very chalky and mineraly, like licking wet limestone.
Two reds were competing for my dollar. I ended up with the last one she poured, a Heartland Australian shiraz, 2008. Rich and decadent, it carries a long chocolate caramel finish.
And as long as I was keeping the alcohol-based businesses of Lincoln Avenue afloat, I figured I'd head down to the Half Acre brewery and pick up a growler of Gossamer Golden Ale. George is having a housewarming cookout tomorrow, and it will be enjoyed there.
I am a big fan of Half Acre, particularly their Lager and their Daisy Cutter Pale Ale. I only wish they sold souvenirs. Seems like a real missed opportunity for them.
The pourer today at FWB was a chatty woman, one of those pourers who sometimes forget to pour. But she was friendly, and the first wine she had was a Grüner Veltliner (Huber, 2008). I first heard of Grüner Veltliner on a wine podcast called "Wine for Newbies," and I believe the host of the podcast said it was the most common grape grown in Austria. The Huber I tasted today was very chalky and mineraly, like licking wet limestone.
Two reds were competing for my dollar. I ended up with the last one she poured, a Heartland Australian shiraz, 2008. Rich and decadent, it carries a long chocolate caramel finish.
And as long as I was keeping the alcohol-based businesses of Lincoln Avenue afloat, I figured I'd head down to the Half Acre brewery and pick up a growler of Gossamer Golden Ale. George is having a housewarming cookout tomorrow, and it will be enjoyed there.
I am a big fan of Half Acre, particularly their Lager and their Daisy Cutter Pale Ale. I only wish they sold souvenirs. Seems like a real missed opportunity for them.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Frédéric Magnien Pinot Noir, 2007
Jen is away, so I stopped at Dawali for a chicken shawerma sandwich. In my experience, it goes really well with bold red wines.
Last night, we opened one of the forty bottles I bought over the weekend, the pinot noir from The Chopping Block. I got a thick dark chocolate and red berry taste from it, like eating a liquefied gourmet candy bar.
I tried it with the sandwich. It went well. It’s a pretty spicy pinot.
I noticed that Jen had done some shopping. I finished the sandwich and ate some tortilla chips dipped in guacamole, and for the hell of it some tortilla chips dipped in hummus.
I went back to the wine. It suddenly tasted like Welch’s.
Such a mystery is the human tongue.
Last night, we opened one of the forty bottles I bought over the weekend, the pinot noir from The Chopping Block. I got a thick dark chocolate and red berry taste from it, like eating a liquefied gourmet candy bar.
I tried it with the sandwich. It went well. It’s a pretty spicy pinot.
I noticed that Jen had done some shopping. I finished the sandwich and ate some tortilla chips dipped in guacamole, and for the hell of it some tortilla chips dipped in hummus.
I went back to the wine. It suddenly tasted like Welch’s.
Such a mystery is the human tongue.
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