Wading In The Poul.

Gaujal Picpoul De Pinet

Somehow, I think conjuring up all these feelings about summer being this profound time for white wine is a bit contrived. Not to say that the blistery, oncoming heat is the reason for it, but I would like to think there’s something in a red grape that would have my thirst certifiably quenched. There is, but I expressed my love for Cinsault and Cab Franc ad- nauseam. More notably, I am by all rights and reasoning, this supposed lover of nothing but reds; however, I have come across what appears to be this angelic, somewhat sprightly little bottle of white that, of course, no one seems to have bared any witness to. You know what I mean by that, it’s one of those intermittently unpopular grapes blissfully coaxed by French vintners. Seriously, it could escape a barrage of sonar pulses even if, upon its untimely death, a squishy  “blor-blop” noise occured beneath your sneaker. Poor thing, barely had enough ripening time to be called, “tank-worthy.” Ok fine, cynicism is over, here-here! to an semi-hero who by all associations, should be knocking white Bordeaux straight into the corner post.

Picpoul de Pinet, also interchangeably known as “Piquepoul,” it’s a seafaring dream if you’re keen on “Fruits De Mer,” or any recipe that qualifies as fish-laden. Additionally, those saline oysters that promote lustiness as well as misgivings, tend to call for items like Sauvignon Blanc, Sancerre Blanc, or a swarthy Savennières. Alright, that’s fine, but when on God’s Greenly lit Languedoc Region are you going to ‘lobster’ the hell out of your vacation? Right now...go for it, because there’s a salty, almost minerally accented white in a Picpoul that‘s implicative of many things. . . Don‘t worry, I‘ll get to that. Honestly, nary have I seen such an affordable bottle that I could have derived such pleasure from. I admit that there’s a stark acidity to the little roust-a-bout, but we forgive him, because most of the glassmongers that produce its bottles seem to have a practical sense of humor. Many that I’ve come across seem to resemble the early containers that Sprite was privy to in the bronze age of cola. I’ve detected some lemon-lime notes here and there, but nothing with the same sugary cloy that’s placated in the beverage industry. It’s a good thing really, because we don’t want a sucrose bomb in our Picpoul.

Jaded as always, I found two of my favorite appellations cradling the varietal in the Rhone Valley and

T.C. Beaucastel Blanc

Languedoc-Roussillon region a while ago. The big problem here, is deciding if I want a straight Picpoul from Côteaux De Languedoc, or let the permissible little fruit expertly temper a worthy Châteneuf-Du-Pape Blanc. Go forth with a Picpoul because of it’s accessibility, go with the Pape Blanc if you really just want to prove something. Routinely, I still return to Gaujal de Saint Bon as a producer of fine Pic because they harbor notes and nuances ranging from orange blossom, to briny toffee.Citric, but palatably dewy elements surround a particularly light frame; suggesting lightly, that I won’t be falling prey to dehydration anytime soon.

Gently vibrant and oddly savory, the hypotheses of Languedoc winemakers proves to be correct when they aim for practical wine. Considering that, domestic production takes root for Tablas Creek, with their Beaucastel Blanc nominally sprinkled with the grape’s oncoming popularity. It’s not the most reasonably priced, or highly esteemed American tribute to Picpoul, but it will do for now.

I guess I’ll steam my clams in something else for the time being… 
 
-Brian K. Maniotis
 
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us online @: westchesterwine.com

The Presence Of Red Bubbles...

PRS Sparkling Shiraz

I don’t necessarily question the allure of good Champagne. White or pink, there are some immediate benefactions surrounding the creaton, consumption and overall production. Either way, I think its presence in wine culture may be too highly regarded. Sometimes, bottles of white bubbly tend to resemble nothing but upturned pontoons floating in translucent buckets filled with ice and frozen walnuts. Yes, walnuts…If you ever happen to reach “Les Deux Magots” in Paris, you may catch a glimpse of such useless spectacles. Honest, the food is stellar, but I always prefer carnal modes of indulgence. Objectively speaking, there’s too little emphasis on good vodka when it comes to fish eggs. There’s nothing like a clear, artesian spirit to pair with those salty little nodules. I would rather spin round’ the Lazy Susan to reveal unto me, a bunch-full of Belgian frites bound in Logan Wrap, accompanied by a reasonably-priced bottle of bubbles. I’m probably going to be pelted with stale baguettes, or beluga tins for the sheer mention, but I think the fizzy stuff is much better off with grilled steak, or fried snacks. No need for digging deep into our beer pockets when we want our flute glasses filled, because there’s plenty of good stuff to wash away the six-pack blues. I warn you though…its not my intent to be sneaky, but our hopes for effervescently economic enjoyment may not rest in Chardonnay and Pinot Meunier anymore.Red grapes are revitalizing our understanding of the ceremonial pop and pour.

Though I wouldn’t go so far as saying that sparkling reds are well employed in their pairings with fries or

burgers, they are one hell of a go-to product if you’re looking to skim-off the doldrums of early spring. You know, it’s a little warmer outside and rain has depressed most of what’s secreted in your adrenal glands; come on, you owe it to yourself to have a slightly chilled red for once without appearing squeamish. Ok, if you really want a food pairing, you're actually better off finishing a Tiramisu before unleasing a zippy red.Summer is slowly on its way, and you can’t quite find reasons to drink bubbly white wine just yet. We’ve seen the monotony betimes, in a pearled rosé that hasn’t quenched the need for something different; namely, a full-on, head-first plunge into red wine that tickles the palate while providing the usual succor. This time, the skins are remaining intact during the first round of fermentation and you’re going to have bubbles after the second; that is, yeast and sugar are added again to execute the process. Interesting…our basic idea of  “Charmat,” or something close to it, with red grapes that are not going to be harvested from the Champagne region this time. 

Though Australia, Italy and are practically spearheading the market, Everything from Shiraz, Brachetto,

Di Corlo Lambrusco

Lambrusco and various forms of rosé are now reaching outward. The confusion is properly gauged only in being too indecisive at this very moment. I enjoy richer, lusty reds, so I mused upon myself to go with a Shiraz of some sort. Princess Royal Station did well, mostly because I was expecting something with gobs of plum and Tellicherry pepper notes. Yes, these elements were pretty salient, but not overwhelming. Amiably surprised, I noticed traces of mineral and a hidden juiciness that led to a somewhat crisper edge not typically seen in the varietal. Categorically, most of the reds I’ve encountered border on the candied side, but are certainly not upsetting. A Lambrusco from Villa Di Corlo was frothy and fruit-driven, but not cloying. Italians proudly make wine and jam from the grape, so the connections are tastefully intermittent. Brachetto is another novel choice for me. Some would say it’s the closely regarded kin to Lambrusco, but I veer in a different direction. I like Brachetto because of it’s floral character and the innermost presence of red fruits. I would go far as to say that strawberries collectively owe a great debt to winemakers who seem to have harnessed the essecence of "fragole" season in Italy. Red, but enrobed somewhere between rosy, or rouge, Marenco is my favorite producer thus far. However, I have expectant hopes for bubbles in Malbec; more so now, considering that I see it as a burgeoning piece of popular interest. I know sparkling Pinot Noir is available in its garnet-colored ensemble, but that seems a bit too predictable for me at this moment. 

My only gripe seems to be, that there’s not enough inspiration to make reds that qualify as sparkling, fizzy,

Marenco Brachetto

bubbly, frizzante, or just plain carbonated. Why only are we being obliged now to the availability of ruby effervescence? Imagine glasses filled copiously from grapes native to the Priorat region. I would not dispute how lucrative a Monastrell would be if it had a little gas. No, I don’t mean rosé, I would expect the integrity of the noble grape to be played upon. I’ve heard there’s a lot of brighter, more homespun reds— internationally speaking— but nothing that has anymore status than a festive pop-up. In that sense, thumbs eagerly pointed up again for Uva Rara and now, Australian Merlot, but like all enthusiastic drinkers, I want to see some more bustling from our producers here and there.





Like children on the Fourth of July, we’re demanding our sparklers.

-Brian K. Maniotis
 
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us online @: westchesterwine.com

Trying to soil a good name. . .

Andes Bonarda Rsv

I often believe in the personification of wine, or any varietal in question. Not to say this idea hasn’t fled through the minds of many geeks, but I do think fermentation has an unavoidable human quality to it. Sometimes, the dimensions of this cult aesthetic are at best, the sociable brick-a-brack you might have heard at your local haunt. I save myself the indignity of huffing for every time I hear someone loosely spouting out the same garbled mess; how wine itself, ‘is like child rearing.’ Wait ! It gets better...I have also partook in hearing from my peers, the conceptual anecdote: 'Fine wine is like revisiting something primordial.’ Okay, I have enough leftover textbooks to say, that bacteria isn’t viticulture’s prime name on the pages of our social registry. Rather, since I appear to be permissive in my critiques, all this plain talk about humanizing wine allows me to characterize it. Let‘s call her, “Malbecky,” a fourth-year grad student at Vassar, who studies chemistry only because of her sole intent to land an introverted husband. Sure, she has the potential to be much more ripe, focused, or approachable, but even positive mentoring won’t help her. The human traits are gone, and were never binding. She has a name, but no true and definite personality. Too bad that she’s all frills and the only thing that stands in her complementary view, are glazed flank steaks. I know what you’re thinking, I’m outwardly trashing Malbec...no, this is not so. I love Malbec, but what is the signal purpose of it’s name ? I think for at least one minute a day, that like Malbecky, it’s afforded the wrong brand of popularity.                                                 

I have a new epigram for us: “Bonarda !” Just like the author, Garcia Lorca, shouting, “Duende!” I call forth anyone to achieve, or partake in something artful. Why? Because we practically misunderstand the naming of
 Malbec and its due inertia within the terms of human vocabulary; so much in fact, that we never seem to

Uva Rara

understand what we’re really getting. What I’m conveying here, is our presence in fostering the appeal of certain grapes, but our tendency to realize their worth based on a single name, is inconclusive. Argentina’s Bonarda, which is actually the equivalent to Italy’s “Uva Rara,” may as well be two paternal twins vying for attention in a gene pool filled with yeast and malic acid. Though, the Italian Bonarda grape itself, is not exactly the most welcome guest at the next family romp. It’s actually the one referred to as, “Croatina,” or in full scope, “Bonarda Oltrepo Palvese.” Lombardy enjoys the appeal of the latter names, while Piedmont’s inhabitants seem to share in the delectability of “Uva Rara” with South American vintners. Ready? It gets even more confusing, concerning the fact that “Bonarda Novarese” is just another comical hitch in the naming of a fruit that goes by “Charbono” in California.Withstanding, France also has its cross-section of similar surnames usually labeled as: "Charbonneau, Corbeau, or Douce Noir."                                                    

Tofanelli Charbono

See ? You would need some sort of viticultural obstetrician to determine things. However, for posterity’s sake, let’s stick to Uva Rara, Charbono and the Argentine contrasts. We all know that formidable producers are the real zealots behind the good stuff, so here’s my take on it:  The 2008 “Sur De Los Andes Reserva...” showy blueberry, cocoa bean and ripe black fruit leading to notes of sweet espresso. Okay, that means a whole lot to me. Second, My 2008 “Frecciarossa Uva Rara” was for me, livelier, showing more brightness, with scintillating red fruit, underbrush and milled spices. Whereas, the 2004 "Tofanelli Charbono" is, with the lack of serious expletives, a damn-fine execution from California that pelted me with everything from cranberries-to-cardamom and butterscotch.

Gleaning what I will from names, products, or overall profiles, I think vacating North America for Mendoza is the best idea right now. Despite being launched into a series of personal initiatives and fact-checking, I would sooner place myself in a deluge of  inexpensive Bonarda from the place that brought us the best of Churrasco. Though the Malbec grape is the more influential cohort, the sexiest culprit is the one grape I’ve been making all the fuss about. The need to absorb knowledge about any varietal naming is somewhat skewed by enjoyment; but for the time being, everything I consume must in some way, gauge itself in the parallels between taste and research.

Heh, I wonder what would happen If  I referred to "Pedro Ximenez" as: “Gramps.” 

-Brian K. Maniotis
 
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us online @: westchesterwine.com

All ports be thy safer haven . . .

Tawny Port

Oh! To what mud dost we regard sweeter wine ? Nosed in elements finite, so contrite the aroma’s being...we look’d upon it as the drone’s liquidities; hence, as we have mired upon it still. . . Ergo, the knowing winesman doth regard its own being as smutty indeed; though, I beckon to tell of something seen enjoyed across mine own lips. Revel in, if willingness prevail, the scheme of Port; but do not believe, if insofar as one may do, to believe the drink itself is scheming. The potable saint to the Portuguese, has been whatsoever novel to riches understood and progenies so kindred. Evermore, a fine science there is to its determinate chance at the table’s firmament; when all is clear and dusted away, and the meal in posthume does not fill us in parody, the portwine would plainly exist in the din exact. I harbor yon feelings, to whom however clear, the notes are justly salient to the tongue in rhapsody. Alone, to say of things picked from the tree, bush, or peddler’s sachet, is not rhetoric’s façade, but items hitherto scribbled in books; the notes, which parlay my belief. We know palates colored incuriously, but I knoweth mine justly. To whither, whither in haste do we see our Rubicon of Ruby, or genial Tawny endorsed ? For this, I am lost within a game. . .

Only helpings lead to indecisiveness as I have supposed, surely when uncommented, redeem the qualities of two wines. One, the tawny with so much of the Hazel Tree’s falling nut, do we bespeak its color. Two, the wine transfigured from the will of the ruby grape, is always nigh to the outlook upon thy compatriot cherry. Basking as in such, the working art of the tawny porto; the candied nut, an addition to thy nightly Spanish custard is for tandem, as what nuance can currently feed to my own tongue. Hither! what do I view from reddened curtains and robes enfolded ? The imitable ruby where scarlet confections would see themselves living; promotions sheer as the Fakir’s spicebowl. Relinquish all qualities for the contented Ruby portwine ! The tiny thief who robs the plum! The scapegrace cress-seller who meddles in advice given to Mediterranean fruits inbibed! Lest, the bourbon pod not be last in mention, let the taste maketh my face reel happily in this,

Fonseca Ruby

and the imitable flavors in hind ! Procure me a vintage for yearly reds, while only proclaim the agéd tawny in the human year, both tend to suffice, not if laziness and pelf stop me.                                                
Whereupon do I seek to imbibe such glory ? For the easiest questions are answers scaled in pictures; for this, I will no doubt show thee mine honorary drink so ceaselessly poured. Vacant fortnights abroad, as I may say, the ‘House of Fonseca’ may share with me the same reprieves in drinking and in the creation thusly . . . Envoy to carnal pleasure remain! The Bin 27 as numbered, truly the sum of vindicated fortification. The plum recalling its undertow to the flattened berry for which they both would not cease; if not by their juice, then by the tantamount to Moorish fruits, acting as if acquaintances duly courted.

We sacrifice in need, for once, the couchant henchman who so readily donned the able grape and released so much content; as if to have it alone, only to pour it into the ungainly bowls of hounds ? No, not for we the consummate, who so keenly dwell and delve for the nectar incarnate, to be ere, and not err in scope of glasses cordially well-filled. Bah ! For him who deals me threadbare sweets ! Oh Fie ! For he who remarks that the best harvest is procrastinating sugars in due form ! See the barrel overfilled with the compensates of man and grape ! Far flung from the technique is its sole being . . .but not the plushy few of the tawniest, and our carmine red. Call others Muscat, Apple and Honey, all which have enflamed paths, but preference throughout, I would seek even mulled Claret instead.

Port wine brings out mine own mischief in the premiere of things . . .

(* * *April Fools! * * *)

-Brian K. Maniotis
 
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us online @: westchesterwine.com