Try Something New

Tonight I was in the mood for something I didn’t already have at home. I planned on cooking penne with spinach and shrimp in garlic and olive oil. My EuroCave predominantly houses reds and some white Burgundy, none of which would have complemented the meal.

My neighborhood has very few options as to where I can purchase wine. Yes, there are multiple wine shops, even on the same street, but I don’t believe many of them store their wines properly and I would hate to spend money on a bottle that’s been compromised.

There’s a spot on 74th and 1st – Baccus Wine – where I recall buying a delicious red from Mount Etna in Sicily around a year ago, so I decide to check it out. I’m looking for a Ribolla Gialla or a Falanghina – both of which they have – but then I see a Vernaccia. The varietal is so different that it didn’t enter my mind as one to serve tonight. It’s not the standard Pinot Grigio, Arneis, Vermintino, or Verdecchio commonly associated with a still Italian white.

It was the last bottle I spotted in the store. As I mentioned, I intended to bring home a bottle from Alto Adige or Campania, but as my eyes glazed over the bottle I thought, “Try Something New.”

I open the chilled bottle once I’m in my kitchen. I begin peeling garlic and boiling water. I take a sip. It’s acidity is mellow, not as crisp as a white from the utmost north – this one is from Tuscany – and there are floral notes with underlying stone fruit. This is perfect.

The 2009 Fontaleoni Vernaccia San Gimignano was delicious. I’ll be sure to recommend San Gimignano next summer when my family and I holiday in a villa in Tuscany, where we’ll have plenty of opportunity to taste all that the  region has to offer and, no doubt, “try something new.”

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Revisiting an old friend

In my early 20s, I first tasted Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio. At the time I enjoyed it, and, at $17 a bottle back then, I thought it had to be good, particularly because everyone seemed to be all about Pinot Grigio.

The more wines I taste over the years, however, the less I want to drink Santa Margherita. In fact, over the past several years I’ve boycotted all Pinot Grigio in favor of White Burgundy, Sancerre, Vouray, Falanghina and Verdicchio. (OK, so basically anything else.)

Part of the problem I think is that when ordering a glass of the wine in a restaurant or bar, it’s often served too cold, masking the flavors and reducing the bright acidity to a flabby, uninteresting wine.

A few months ago, one of the wines that was used for our store tasting where I work was the Attems Pinot Grigio. Though skeptical, I tried it nonetheless. I couldn’t believe that a Pinot Grigio could have so much character. There was crisp acidity, fruit and floral notes, and a nice clean finish.  Also surprising was that the wine cost around $15  but hardly tasted cheap.

Still, I assumed the Attems was a one-off and I never pursued a quest to find a style that would silence the naysayers, present company included.

That’s where Jay McInerney comes in. His article, “Giving Pinot Grigio Another Go,” (The Wall Street Journal, Aug. 14/15) supported the widespread dislike for the grape, but proved that some perseverance could lead to pleasant iterations of an otherwise disregarded wine.

McInerney states, “…nobility is possible with this grape.” He goes on to list several producers that should be considered, and notes that the wine region of Friuli, Italy produces some noteworthy selections.

Among McInerney’s picks is Movia’s Pinot Grigio. Based in Slovenia on the border of Friuli, Ales Kristancic is known for his interesting, biodynamic portfolio. Movia’s Pinot Grigio is no exception, though it is so far from what’s expected from the standard varietal that it almost seems unfair to consider it alongside the others.

Nevertheless, McInerney points out that  there is some potential in the world of Pinot Grigio. It may not be returning to favor anytime soon, but it once was en vogue and it just may be worth taking a second glance.

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Branching out

There are thousands of places to drink and dine in New York City, but inevitably we often find ourselves at the same old comfortable spots.

Since I’ve developed my love and interest in wine, however, I’ve been far more assertive at trying new places and was excited when a former colleague suggested we meet at Tangled Vine on the Upper West Side for some drinks. The place was deceptively small from the outside, but had a relaxed yet sophisticated charm inside.

Immediately I was pleased with the approachable wine list, which is largely, if not exclusively, comprised of Old World European selections. My initial thought was to have a light-bodied red, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted a Falanghina and was compelled to try the Campanian selection.

Zach, the bartender, told me that it was just added that day. I thought the wine lacked acidity and was a bit flabby and lacking structure, but I still was impressed to see it among the offerings (so few wine bars serve these less popular varietals). Zach let me taste the Sancerre afterward: crisp, flavorful and overall palate-pleasing.

As my friend and I perused the menu for something to eat, I decided to switch to red. I chose a Burgundy, from the Cotes de Beaune. It was the perfect transition to the Rosso di Montalcino that I would finish on. The Rosso was suggested by Zach and fellow barman Morgan upon learning that we ordered some veal meatballs. The wine couldn’t have been more perfect with the tomato and meat.

We decided to have one more glass of the Rosso while we digested our meal. We continued our conversation with Morgan and Zach, both of whom not only captured the expression of the wines on the list, but also were enthusiastic about each and every one listed on the menu.

Wine exudes passion on its own, but it’s intensified when shared with friends and knowledgeable staff. Perhaps what I love also about my night is that Tangled Vine’s philosophy aligns with how I’ve been trying to live this year and get out of my comfort zone: “Don’t just drink what you know; drink what you don’t.”

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Uncorking contamination

I’ve been purchasing wine for home consumption for more than 10 years  now, and for the first time the other night – at least as far as I’ve ever been able to detect – one of the bottles I opened was corked. It was a 2008 Ocone Falanghina Taburno that I recently purchased.

A corked wine is when the cork comes into contact with a fungus that produces a chemical known as 2, 4, 6-trichloroanisole, or more commonly referred to as TCA. A wine affected by cork taint will give off an unpleasant nose, often associated with dampness, wet cardboard or newspaper, and even wet dog. Drinking a wine contaminated as such is harmless, but, of course, there’s simply no reason to do so.

In a restaurant, sommeliers or wait staff provide customers with a chance to taste the wine for faults before serving it. If there is a fault, the restaurant will certainly take it back. I’ve heard that wine shops practice the same guarantee, and I decided to try it out for myself.

The merchant was more than happy to offer me a store credit or an exchange, with my receipt. She conceded: “It happens, not often, but it does.”

Measures to avoid cork taint continue to be explored. Some include using a screw top and synthetic cork, but there are some filtration and purification systems that remove TCA from the wine in effort to make it drinkable. These approaches require the addition of polyethylene or Half & Half to rid the wine of contamination.

I wasn’t sure I’d be comfortable returning a bottle just because it was corked, but I am certainly not comfortable adding something to my wine to make it taste better.

And for the record, I didn’t bring the wine back because I was out the $16 or so that I paid for it – anyone who knows about my recent Amarone purchases will attest to my freewill spending on wine – but rather because I was really looking forward to tasting the Ocone. My Falanghina of choice is usually the Dei Feudi di San Gregorio, and I would like to branch out and try other producers.

On the night of the corked bottle, I instead opened a 2007 Sauvion Sancerre Les Fondettes. It was magnificent.

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Are we what we drink?

I got on the topic of Zinfandel the other night with someone. The varietal is prolific in Napa Valley and requires a warm – though not too hot – climate. The thin-skinned grape generally yields juice with a high alcohol content that strongly reflects the terroir.

It’s said that the varietal is genetically linked to the Croatian grape Crljenak Kaštelanski as well as Primitivo, found in Puglia, Italy. Wines made from Zinfandel generally exhibit good fruit, with blackberry, raspberry, plum and cherry notes. There may also be chocolate, spice and leather notes on the nose and palate.

The wine is often medium-to-full bodied, and its tannins are usually moderate and well balanced. It therefore can be a food friendly wine, pairing well with meats and cheeses but particularly with American fare including pizza, burgers and barbecue.

And that’s where the conversation got interesting. The person I was speaking with was explaining why he thought Zinfandel was so interesting – primarily because it is so representative of America and its inhabitants. He said Zinfandel is an American wine, and it is like Americans: big and bold.

This idea got me thinking about wines from other regions. The French are often considered sophisticated and refined, and doesn’t the iconic French woman possess some of the same elegant qualities of a Burgundy? Maybe it’s a bit stereotypical, but perhaps our wines say more about us as a culture and our genetics than we have previously regarded.

Looking at personal preference makes further sense to me. Yes, some of the typical cuisine from the southern Italian region of Campania is among of my favorites, specifically the holiday traditions of Easter bread, peppered bread; meat pies, consisting of various cheese and types of salami; and the Christmas struffoli, which are little balls of fried dough dipped in honey.

Some of my preferred wines are also indigenous to the region, including those from the white varietal Falanghina and the red Aglianico.  Yet, those who know me are aware that I’m a  “Barolo girl.” The Nebbiolo-based wine from the north does possess some similarities to Aglianico, namely its full body, heavy tannins, and deep color that yields garnet as the wine ages, and some have dubbed Aglianico “the Barolo of the south.”

That might be stretching it, but maybe what we drink really does say something about who we are and where we came from.

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Tradition and wine

My family and I gathered Christmas Eve to participate in the Italian American tradition La Vigilia, which is known as the feast of the seven fishes. My brother carries on the culinary tradition that Grandma Jennie created for us and that remains fondly imprinted in our minds. However, the meal now includes the pairing of wines that accentuates the flavors and the experience.

Straying from Italy, we started off the evening with some Champagne – Piper Heidieck Brut.  We toasted Christmas 2009 as we nibbled on some antipasti, comprising, shrimp, seafood salad, anchovies, baked clams and olives. We then moved onto the Feudi Di San Gregorio Falanghina, which is a crisp white varietal from Campania and perfect accompaniment to the seafood.

We stayed in Southern Italy, drinking aglianico, also from Campania, and a negroamaro blend, from Puglia, with our main course. The course consisted of baccala, stuffed calamari, fennel and blood orange salad and broccoli rabe.

As we enjoyed the wine and delicious food, we spoke of Christmases past and the Christmas morning that loomed, when my nephews who were upstairs nestled in their beds would wake up and tear open the gifts they eagerly anticipated from Santa.

To the twins, that is what Christmas currently is all about – as it once was to my brother and me.  But one day, Michael and Stephen will be sitting at the table enjoying vino and the seven fishes, and realize that Christmas is La Vigilia and the family we share it with.

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