EAT WINE

Friday night, innocent cosmopolitans with friends at the Ritz’s new martini lounge led to an impromptu dinner party at my apartment. With freshly made Moussaka lurking in my oven and no company to share it with, I decided to invite over my drinking companions and have them partake in this intense Mediterranean dish accompanied by some well-chosen Argentine and Chilean wines. Although the whole event was completely spontaneous, the wines selected ended up being quite coordinated. If you could characterize the central wine theme, perhaps it could be coined as New World “Fun” Wines. “Fun” is one of those vague words like “interesting”, that doesn’t necessarily define anything. In this case, fun referred to the distinct personality of the wines and that they all said something about where it came from and/or how they were made. They were all non-committal price wise, none of them passing the US$20 mark, and most importantly, they were an absolute delight to drink, which well, in good company certainly makes wine taste better.

Alta Vista Grande Reserve 2004 Malbec, Terroir Selection (Argentina, Mendoza)

Alta vista is a French-Argentinean venture seated in the Luján de Cuyo area of Mendoza, specifically (for those familiar with Mendoza), in the area called Vistalba at around 1,000 meters above sea level. Alta vista is a perfect example of French know-how well employed with a local winemaking and vineyard management team to produce wines that express Mendocino soil and climate, focused heavily on Malbec. This Malbec is a terroir blend meaning that 54% of its grapes come from its vineyard plots in Vistalba and 46% from the Valle de Uco, about 1 hour south of the city. In 2004, the grapes from Vistalba were very mature and create a noticeable volume in the mouth and long finish. The grapes from Uco, known for its freshness in general, gave the wine a general (nice) roundness and freshness. For being a 2004, a very, VERY young wine, it was quite balanced—no tannins out of check here—which is noticeable as Malbec can be tannic at times. Hence, it is the terroir that produces naturally in the fruit these soft, lovely tannins. In terms of flowery adjectives, I cannot remember much (especially after several cosmos) of the taste other then I will remember this wine as utterly enjoyable and at one point, while sautéing zucchini as a side for the Moussaka, stopping with a winemaker friend to comment that it had a “soul”.

Gillmore Meritage 1999 (Chile, Maule)

Opened mid-way through dinner (now midnight, yes we eat late here!), this wine was quite a departure from the former bottle. Gillmore is part of the Tabonitaja winery, located in the southern Maule valley, about 300 kilometers south of Santiago. The Maule has a centuries-old tradition of winemaking, although mostly in the país variety, red table wine. A special edition wine produced in 1999, a very good year for both the Maule valley and Chile, this wine was one of only 2,500 bottles produced and sold. A blend of Carignan, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon, this wine was a break from most Chilean reds with only 13.5% alcohol. It was drinkable, went down easy and was perfect for drinking now. I personally found the acidity to be a hair off (which can be a general trait of Maule wines due to the cooler weather and tendency to “pick green” to avoid early rains), or rather, not totally integrated into the “flow” and “feel” of the wine on the palate. It was representative though definitely of its land and was well made so it is more a stylistic comment than anything.

Coyam 2002 (Chile, Colchagua)

Now onto a dessert of fried empanadas stuffed with dulce de leche (milk caramel) and the local nutty-tasting fruit paste, Lucuma, which I somehow had ready-made in my freezer, we opened the last trophy of the evening, Coyam 2002. Coyam, from Viñedos Orgánicos Emiliana, is one of my favorite wines in Chile and one of those lovely US$20 wines that is solid and maintains the price-quality ratio perfectly. Coyam means “Chilean Oak” in the native language and also happens to be the trees that delimit the parameters of the Los Robles vineyard in the Colchagua valley. Coyam is made from Carmenere, Merlot, Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Mouvedre grapes. I love the addition of Mouvedre to soften and round out this robust blend (note apart: these lesser-known Rhone grapes, such as Mouvedre and Marsanne, sneak into different VOE blends as they are the closet love of Emiliana winemaker Alvaro Espinoza). What surprised me though, was that had the 2002 vintage in our wine cellar. While certainly not a bad year, 2002 (at least for Coyam) was a “shy”, unremarkable vintage that was wedged between two heavyweights: 2001 and 2003. Coyam 2001, as indicated in an earlier post about “G”, got the best grapes and was one of those wines that made critics (and consumers) swoon. 2003 in Chile was a blockbuster harvest with many wines now  scoring 90+ points in Wine Spectator—quality, complexity, and longevity went through the roof—Coyam included. I am still not sure if was the time of night (now the madrugada, or early morning hours), all the previous flavors (and alcohol) at that point but Coyam 2002 came and went very pleasantly but without really leaving much of an impression.  That’s okay though. Feeling inspired yesterday, I made a hybrid Texas chili so we are going to give the 2003 a test drive tonight.

I just finished one of the most insightful and intelligent books about the wine world I have had the pleasure of reading in some time: The Accidental Connoisseur. Part of its lure is its engaging text written by Lawrence Osborne, a terrific writer who is anything but a wine expert. However, being astutely open-minded he asks the right questions, wanting to learn about what makes a great wine and weaving these interviews and experiences into an erudite tale. Stemming from his claim that, “I don’t trust my own taste”, he dives into 11 Quixotic wine adventures traveling the Northern Hemisphere from California to Europe (France and Italy) to find out what is truly behind this mystery of great wines (from Chateau Lafitte to Mondavi to those oddball Super-Tuscans): the people who make these wines and their passion, the places where they come from, and the economics of the industry that drives (and thrives) on it.

At times, it seems more like an intellectual journey of trying to capture what should make a great wine (its aesthetics), which inevitably is trying to contemplate that age-old wine lover’s question: Is wine more than merely a drink of fermented grape juice? (My response: it is and it isn’t). Parts of the book reminded me of Jonathan Nossiter’s film, Mondovino, depicting the dichotomies that coexist today in wine like: small vineyard owners v. powerful international wine lords like Mondavi; California v. France (and Italy now) and their influences; the concept of terroir and their vehement defenders like U.S. importer Neal Rosenthal (almost an evangelist of terroir in small appellations in Europe like the northern Rhone, Barolo, and Carema) v. globalized wines with no “soul” that have fallen to capitalism’s obsession with brands and product synergies. It is an easy but inquisitive read that at times hit home and for me, as someone who works in the industry on both the tourism and tasting side, asks those probing questions of truly trying to understand what good wine is and the world surrounding it. A personal word of advice—keep it lighthearted and pour yourself a glass of your favorite “juice”; and settle in for a fantastic book--but never loose sight of the fact in all this wine discourse that it is ultimately just a drink. Enjoy it.

Available at Amazon.com

I recently had the chance to try “G”, the new super-Chilean wine from Emiliana Vineyards, Chile’s pioneer organic and first fully certified biodynamic vineyards. The private tasting, held in (parent) holding company Viña Concha y Toro’s wine store, Vinos CyT, was in the company of the biodynamic grape guru, winemaker Alvaro Espinoza. G, whose name is derived from the Greek root meaning earth, alludes to the palpable terroir that one should find in their glass. I was interested to see where G would fall in this “super wine” category that has proliferated in Chile during the past two years, many of which are oriented for the US market.

G comes from the vineyard’s best lots in Los Robles, located in the Colchagua Valley about 2 hours south of Santiago. Colchagua, for those not familiar with the valley, is known for its “big” reds, mostly Cabernet and some Syrah, Merlot, and Carmenere. The valley runs east to west wedged between the Andes Mountains and the Pacific coastal range, a geographical situation that creates good ventilation and an area drenched in sun, which is not unlike Napa. In fact, it shares with its North American cousin similar punch and alcohol levels (15 degrees here is not uncommon!).

G is a blend of five varietals: Syrah (55%), and equal percentages (15%) of Cabernet Sauvignon, Carmenere, and Merlot. Although the first harvest was in 2001 from the actual lots they are using now for G, only after the 2003 harvest (an excellent year for Chile) was G finally put into production. (Note apart: all those outstanding lots in 2001 went into Emiliana’s organic Coyam 2001, which has been declared a slam dunk by various journalists here). 2003 also coincided with the international certification of the vineyard as biodynamic. Alvaro told me that G’s objective is to produce a wine that expresses this biodynamic system and show the land of this specific nature which nurtures and produces these grapes. Let’s see.

The tasting: We tried the 2003 vintage, the first and only year released at present. Trying a fine wine this young almost seems like a sort of infanticide--like judging a baby and deciding how he/she will be at 20! The color is a deep, inky purple with long legs. The nose was a little closed upon first sniff so we swirled for several minutes in order to open up the aromas. For me, and excuse my lack of opulent wine journalist vocabulary, the nose hinted at prunes, black berries, and almost a whiff of dust (like a tractor just drove by—is that terroir?). In the mouth, it is much softer and more balanced than I expected for a wine weighing in at 15 degrees alcohol. It had a very long finish and did show complexity. Alvaro thought it was a wine ideal for aging at least 5-10 years.

Relevant info: Available this year in the US market at a cool US$90 (approx.)

My thoughts: An agreeable “drink” which could pair well with grilled meat, wild mushrooms, and “smoky” ingredients like bacon. The key is to keep it simple and not detract from the complexity of the wine. The dish also needs some amount of fat for the overall power of this wine (hence the meat, actually lamb chops could fare well here). My outstanding issue with this wine is its alcohol level. One could argue and perceive it as well balanced, but the truth was my palate still felt worn out after a glass, which I decided not spit (this is the “true” test, or prueba de fuego, as they say in Chile). While it is normal to find many Colchagua wines that are “big” and “heavy”, it was the sensation of having drunk a cocktail, not a glass of wine. Another round was out of the question if I was to drive home in a sober state. While it is classified as an ultra premium wine, I am still not totally convinced whether or not I tried a true terroir wine that spoke of those lots in Los Robles (that is, what made it exclusively taste and speak of Los Robles and not just a refined Colchagua style?). The line nowadays in how the word terroir is understood and used has blurred significantly. And the price tag, well that is a question of what the market perceives and ultimately will bear.

Por Liz Caskey 

Hace dos semanas asistí a mi primer matrimonio en muchísimos años en Estados Unidos—el de mi madre. Se casó por segunda vez y a diferencia de su primer matrimonio con mi padre (que fue frente a un juez en el cesped de su recién construida casa), decidieron hacer una pequeña gran fiesta para celebrar junto a todos sus familiares.

La verdad es que no sabía mucho qué esperar. Mi mamá nos había contado que el matrimonio iba a ser en un restaurant en una zona muy rural de la costa este de la Bahia Chesapeake, en el estado de Maryland. Ni mi hermano ni yo teníamos idea por qué escogieron esa zona en particular pero bueno, fuimos con nuestras parejas y el mejor espirítu. Mirando un mapa, lo único que yo podía discifrar de antemano del lugar fue que quedaba relativamente cerca al puerto de Baltimore (2 horas), desembocaba a un río importante en la Bahia Chesapeake (cuyo nombre ya no me acuerdo) y por ende habían miles de botes, pero quizás lo más importante, había , pero mucha, mucha Jaiva—y en todas las preparaciones culinarias que se podrían imaginar. Okay, vamos—para Mom.

El sábado del matrimonio, un día caluroso y con humedad pegajosa, muy típica de la costa este de Estados Unidos, partimos rumbo al destino del matrimonio: Georgetown, Maryland. Georgetown no tenía nada de “town”—sólo era una marina, un par de restaurantes, varias bares-picadas, un hotel y miles y miles de botes. El matrimonio fue en la sala privada del restaurant más fino de la villa—tan fino que aún se podía entrar con look casual--es decir, shorts, polera y hawainas. La ceremonia y la recepción fue en la sala privada; una sala simple pero que  luego del paso de mi mamá más temprano ese día, la transformó con su toque especial; decoración, los recuerdos y los  dulces caseros, quedó con mucho encanto. La vista del agua, los botes y el atardecer desde la terraza y grandes ventales del salón iba a dar el toque final. 

Llegamos a las 18:15 y ya había comenzado la fiesta con cocktails, para mí una tradición muy norteamericana que suele comenzar cualquier día de la semana a las 18:00 de la tarde. Como hacía mucho calor, casi todos los invitados (por lo menos mi hermano, mi abuelo y varios familiares de mi padrastro) estaban tomando algún licor con tónica, vodka o gin. Aunque estaba con ganas de lanzarme directo a los martinis mi pareja me convenció que fue mejor idea esperar para no terminar tomada ya que parte de ser el testigo para mi madre fue tener la responsabilidad de guardar el anillo. Me rendí y pedí una vodka tónica. Lo que me trajeron fue un vaso largo lleno de hielo picado (el hielo les encanta a mis compatriotas, no sé por qué), un golpeado (o menos) de vodka,  mucha agua tónica y lo peor, todo ya mezclado para ocultar las porciones exactas. Me parecía casi agua, aunque al riesgo de sonar copetera, sospechaba que tenía que ver con muchos años en Chile y esos tragos largos tan fuertes que suelen servir en bares ahí.   

La ceremonia fue linda y emocionante. Hacia el final, comencé a buscar por la esquina de mi ojo si las mozas venían con el champán—no, sólo más tragos. La pastora/juez, anunció “marido y mujer” a mi madre y su nuevo esposo, y en menos de 30 segundos, la pastora ya tenía su mano en el aire señalando un vodkatini seco. Estaba perpleja—¿DÓNDE estaba el champán? ¿Qué pasó con el brindis del matrimonio? Le preguntó a mi mamá y se rió (con comprensión) y me dijo, “Mi amor, aquí no somos tan aficionados del champán ni en zona vitivinícola. Lo siento, pero hay varios tragos ricos.” Ahh, es decir, nosotros (gringos) preferimos ir directo al copete duro. Acepté su respuesta, pero sentí que realmente se había perdido ese momento mágico de desearle lo mejor a una nueva vida juntas con una copa de vino espumoso y su simbolismo. No pareció ser lo mismo con una cerveza o trago en la mano. En todo caso, seguí a la pastora y varios otros invitados y pedí un vodkatini sucio, dos aceitunas.

Nos sentamos a comer, con los tragos obviamente, y mi pareja, ya cansado de ellos, preguntó a la moza qué vinos tenían. “Zinfandel” le contestó. “Ah, sí, eso me gustaría probar”. Esperando un vino tinto estructurado y redondo de Napa, lo que le llegó, a su decepción, fue todo lo contrario: el (in)famoso zinfandel blanco—un aguado, dulce, un casi-vino que el público promedio norteamericano compra por galón y adora. Sentí mucho la decepción de mi pareja pero de repente me di cuenta que estabamos en un lugar provinciano donde el (buen) vino no fue parte de sus vidas, por lo menos como era parte de la nuestra. Los cocktails y la cerveza reinaban. Me pareció obvio que para no seguir en contra de la corriente que había que olvidarse del vino un rato y juntarse al público tomando los clásicos cocktails norteamericanos saliendo del bar—que hizo relativamente bien: Tom Collins, Long Island Iced Tea, Bloody Mary, Gin & Tonic, Whiskey Sour, más martinis. Cenamos con martinis y Long Island Iced Tea y me sorprendió de hecho que funcionaba el maridaje con todos los platos—desde la ensalada delicosa con queso azul, berros y berries hasta los famosos queques exquisitos de jaiva. Al final, nos dimos cuenta que nosotros eramos los extranjeros mañosos--y bueno, como dicen, “Cuando en roma”...así que pedimos otro trago y disfrutamos del resto del matrimonio. Después de todo, el punto fue estar con mi madre y celebrar. Salud!