Greek To Me, But Not Everyone.

Skouras Agiorghitiko

I'm a Greek by every means, but maybe without a say in the sure-free doxy of things. Some have stared conspicuously at me with a fixed gaze, especially when digressive explanations about my Irish first name come into play. I don't mind it so much, but most people seem impressed about how I've handled this lifelong imbroglio of mine. Granted, language is the premiere sign of any culture, and yet, I am soon indebted to learn my own ethnic lexicon. So far, I can only recall sparse proverbs and maxims that are somewhat useful. If things weren't bad enough, I often say in some imprecise representation of self-parody: "Eimai Xelona!" Which may sound like a Peloponnesian battle cry, but in a cruel reality, it means, "I'm a Turtle." Now, I can guarantee this is not so, but it gives you an idea as to the outright shame I've encountered. However, I like to amuse my own mentality by talking about the stuff that makes perfect sense. "Tiropita Alonissos" anyone ? Maybe you would like a couple of "Keftedes," or some "Hirino me Kythonia?" I would think so, because I've made this symbolic Grecian fare many-a-time, and I can spin-out any one of these common specialties very easily. I've got the best "Gigandes" around, so if you have some drinkable Retsina at hand, I'm extending to you a sheer welcome on the part of my ancestries. Still, the culinary and linguistic expositions that I have, or will undertake, would not be complete without the proper libations; some of which, involve formidable winemaking that's more than "quaffable" for any of my family members.

Athiri, Robola, Agiorghitiko and Moschofilero...sorry to begin things this way, but your tongue is going to whirl in rhapsody a couple more times before you understand Greek wine. It is by reason, one of the most misinterpreted disciplines in European viticulture and continues to leave us with an outer-dimensional, yet feeble curiosity that you would only find in old astronomical texts. That's fine, but give-in to its mysterious grace for once, and discover that there's more to our craft than just simple mispronunciation. Again, I stress about the casual things in life and I promote moderation as the key point in everything; but as any psychologist will tell you, their job becomes more complex when we sew the intricacies of human understanding. So if anything, the need to follow my advice is somewhat applicable. I know the grapes very well, but I can tell you, there's nothing too intricate about these long-lived cultivars.

Take "Athiri" for example; a dry, crisp white that can actually pair well with lamb dishes. Maybe not a "kid lamb" but something of a full-grown, sinewy, but mature cut of anatomy that's been pole-roasted by humans with sore shoulders and tired, smoke-filled eyes. It's a lot of work for the food, but the wine shows remarkable restraint in terms of fruit and alcohol. Pithy lemon and gorgeous indications of terrain make these whites suitable for hot summer days where the meat is served hot and the mezedes are at imperatively lower temperatures. “Robola” is another focal point, insofar as the peachiness and smoky qualities will abide. It shows a remarkably dry palate, but with a fruitier edge than its more loamy brethren. In some of the lightly praised indigenous pork dishes, it’s more than anyone can ask for. “Moschofilero” is one that is not entrenched in normalcy though, considering the appeal of its aromatics alone. Given the white’s adaptability in becoming a food wine, or a distinct aperitif, it’s abundantly clear that it has perfumed, almost spicy characteristics that show favorably well before, or, after your aunt Tula’s orange cake. One thing I didn’t mention though, was the infamous “Retsina” which, if you gather, has a piney, citric disposition that’s tantamount to a good meatball. It’s the quintessential Taverna-side house wine that has probably bred the most unconsciousness about Greek viticulture. Sometimes sold in unforgiving quantities, it’s a nominal ingredient for sauteed paddlefish. Resinous maybe, cheap ? Yes...but if you need it, the stuff is indispensable.   

Boutari Moschofilero

The reds are not limited to Merlot, Cabernet and now, even Pinot Noir, but the one varietal that has earned a more stable relationship with your common epicurean is, “Agiorghitiko.” Which, if interest beckons, you have a gorgeous, equilibrium of weight that leans on a pretense of blackberries and spheroids of mixed red fruit. Some critics could sagaciously remark on its light, easygoing profile, but even on the lesser end, it’s an underdressed cameo for proteins that are strictly bone-in and braised beyond expertise. I wouldn’t go praising something like “Mavrodaphne” too soon if you have some Arni Souvlaki on spit, but if you’re looking to spend some downtime on the curtails of this sweeter, more lascivious variety, be prepared for candied fruit and chocoholic clairvoyance. 

I wouldn’t deter anyone from some of the garnet-robed specialties, but the impasse I experienced when learning of the market’s heavy concentration on whites, was something of a surprise. There are more grapes of either hue, or brilliance to discover; however, despite color, taste, or any concepts involving its availability, the enjoyment of Greek wines are somewhat deadlocked. The comforts of this mediterranean craft do not appear viable enough for consumers and notarizing gurus to offer up any realistic dialogical stimuli whatsoever. My thoughts retract and retrace between my own understanding of a foreign language and the people who should be using words to translate  something that’s been mysteriously vinous, but always exceptional. 

Seems like we’ve all been lax in the Alpha and Omega of things.

Brian Maniotis

Westchester Wine Warehouse Team

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