West Side Wine

I was approached today by a salesman and a representative from a “winery” in France, of all places, to taste a series of non-vintage wines (Chardonnay, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon.)  Why non-vintage, you may ask? I asked for you, and the answer was that they didn’t want to be pegged to a vintage so that they could blend vintages from year to year in order to guarantee that the wines would taste exactly the same, year after year. When I shook my head in disgust and disbelief, they sensed I was not receptive to that concept. So they quickly came up with a comparison to non-vintage Champagne. ”Have you no shame?” I thought to myself. Then, sensing that that had pissed me off, they went for the “think of it like liquor” approach. (The guy that’s behind this venture started Ciroc grape vodka.) People like liquor, they claimed, because it always tastes the same, bottle to bottle. The hole these guys were digging was now as big as Idaho. I was civil, but brutally honest, and told them that what they were pushing was an anathema to what wine is all about, and an affront to decent, hard working, honest winemakers everywhere. I wished them good bye and good luck. They’ll probably do well in those grocery stores and bullet-proof glass establishments who cater to a clientele that couldn’t care less what they pour down their gullets.   
But after they left I calmed down and realized that this has nothing to do with wine, but rather everything to do with the glut of grapes and juice that exists in France, somewhat like what Two Buck Chuck is to the California wine industry. We’ll get rid of all of this surplus, they think, come up with a nifty marketing approach and sell it all off. But at least with Two Buck Chuck you get what you pay for. The French version will cost you $13. This stuff is called Korus, and there’s another one (whose name escapes me) with a butterfly flitting across the label. I’ll get you the name, but in the meantime stay away from non-vintage anything, except booze, sodas, and Champagne. 

Another indication that it’s summer and the crazies are out there.  A guy came in yesterday to ask me what the difference is between cheap and expensive brandy/cognac.  I’m not sure if he noticed my blank stare or heard the wheels grinding in my brain in an attempt to come up with an answer to that question.  I bought time by asking him why he wanted to know.  He said that he was asking a girl out on their first date and wanted to know if he could buy the cheap stuff and still impress her.  What did I think he should do? Hmmm.  Using brandy as a way to impress a girl? A unique strategy.  Oh well. With no real axe to grind ( I had a strong hunch this was going nowhere), I told him that I thought it would be smart if he went for the real thing (cognac), because with brandy-brandy you get what you pay for.  He thanked me for my advice and left. Glad I could help.  Just another public service from your friendly neighborhood Wine Guy.  Maybe I should change my name to Heloise.  And it’s only mid-July.  What does August have in store?

Ok. So it hasn’t been all fun and games at Yankee Stadium this year. The word “mediocre” has been bandied about quite a bit by the press in describing The Bombers season-to-date. No argument from me, so it was with a sense of grim resignation that I set out with my friend Louie (David C. Bender) to catch last night’s game. The once “doormat” Tampa Bay Rays have the best record in baseball, and they had their best pitcher (Scott Kasmir) on the mound. We had Andy Pettitte, once formidable, now not so formidable. But even though Kasmir struck five of the first six Yankees out, an equally impressive pitching performance was happening with Monsieur Pettitte. The Rays were looking pretty helpless, too. Pettitte was pitching like his old self, and then some, and then the Yankees started hitting like their old selves. Louie and I were sitting there, perched way up in a tier box behind home plate, when all of a sudden this wave of complete contentment came over me. Wow. The Yanks were banging this phenom, scoring runs, making spectacular plays defensively (how does Jeter do that?), and our pitcher blew them away for eight complete shutout innings. The Yankees eventually won 5-0. 
But about two thirds through the game, I got up to get a beer to celebrate. The highlight of the evening came when I placed my order. I was carded.  I’m 60.  The perfect capper to a perfect night.

This time of year in New York City is always an adventure. The locals in the neighborhood take off for vacation homes and long trips, only to be replaced by the summer denizens. These can be folks who talk a lot to themselves, haven’t bathed in awhile, and have that Charles Manson look in their eyes. Or they can be tourists. Our neighborhood has seen a huge influx of folks from Europe (thanks to the euro) as well as Asia and Canada. Just such a couple came in to West Side Wine this morning looking for a New York State wine to bring back home to Canada with them.  I have a great New York State collection, and I proudly showed it to them. After perusing the selection, one of them turned to me, looking very disapponted, and said, “Don’t you have any Chianti?”  I very patiently (and this is difficult for me) explained that Chiantis would be from Italy as opposed to New York. The Canadian replied, “That’s what I thought.” Then they both walked out.  Sympathy for The Wine Guy, anyone? Please? Anyone?

I just finished Alice Fiering‘s book, The Battle for Wine and Love or How I Saved the World from Parkerization. The love part was lost on me, but her message about “real or authentic” wines rings loud and clear. About six years ago, two kids named Jenny and Francois walked into my store, unannounced, with a wheelie bag full of these wines from France. From the first taste of the first wine, I was hooked. I owe them a huge thanks. These are wines made by small producers, who make their wines free of all the crap that most winemakers use to make their wines “appealing” to the general wine buying public. By crap I mean artificial yeasts, wood chips, added enzymes, not to mention all those new contraptions that adjust alcohol levels and aerate the wines so that they mature sooner. The real winemakers not only shun that stuff, but they also farm organically, if not biodynamically. Some even go so far as use horses instead of tractors to work their vineyards. The wines are truly what wine was meant to be, the essence of the grapes that are grown in the winemaker’s particular piece of the world. Alice is a terrific spokesperson for authentic wines because of her passion, her palate, and her complete understanding of what makes these wines so special. So pick up the book if you want to know the real scoop on authentic wines, and when you’re shopping, ask your wine guy to show you his/her natural wine section. Look for names on the back labels like Jenny & Francois, or Louis/Dressner to be assured that you’re getting the real deal, so to speak.

I can’t tell you how many times Ellen and I have gone to a restaurant, ordered a red wine, only to have it presented at a temperature that feels like it has been in the trunk of a car in an outdoor parking lot in July for a week. When I ask for an ice bucket, I’m usually sneered at and reluctantly obliged. Oh the stares I get from neighboring diners. I could care less. Rare is the restaurant that knows how to keep red wines cool, or for that matter white wines not so cool. 
I talk about this to at least three customers a day. Most people drink their reds too warm and their whites too cold. Stick those “room” temperature reds in the fridge for 20 minutes and see how much better they taste. Even longer for the lighter reds. And for Pete’s(?) sake don’t leave your whites in the fridge for hours before that dinner or cocktail party. Try 45 minutes?  How many times have I had a frantic customer call and say they need a few whites right away for a party that’s going to happen in eight hours (or even the next night), so they’ll have time to chill them.  “Chill them?” I say. “You mean kill them.” That’s what I call vinocide.
Calm down, people. That white is going to be perfect if you just give it a slight chill and let all of those nuances, aromas and tastes come through. Same goes for reds. Heat brings out the alcohol in wine, and that just doesn’t taste very good. 
Check out the Dining in section of the NYT today. If you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe Mr. Asimov.