Friday, October 28, 2011

Emphasizing Pigato.

Gorleri Pigato
Obtaining Italy’s rarest varietals were once met with a sense of obstruction only seen in FDA regulations, import laws and the doldrums of parkway traffic. As a rule, I intend only to go far as I need to equate my daily commute with wine, but I would like to emphasize something...It’s been one difficult ride. No, it’s not the kind of journey that resurges old misgivings about bad gas mileage and untended potholes, but the ability to try new things without the uncertainty of possible enjoyments. I’ve completed enough case studies for Pelaverga, Uva Rara, Freisa, Mantonico and Cococciola, to explain why Italian wine has been so difficult to comprehend at times. Though there’s more to my travails, it has been a war of availabilities, with the only thing stopping me, being an indirect wave of consumer interest.  Like an old Venetian smuggler trying to make good on foreign wares, I present to you, one of the finest fruits from a land that everybody knows, but where only some have traveled. 
Pigato,” a veritably misunderstood grape whose pronunciation conjures up the image of an opera clown who, by right, is less than comical. First of all,  there’s no makeup, no vibratos and especially, no juggling.Thought to have been named for its speckled exterior, the “Pighe” a.k.a. “spots,” arrive when the bunches mature. However, it’s a pretty common white wine from Liguria that exists among others hailing from its scattered, seaside terraces; whereby, the region itself rests just above the geographical knee-joint of Italy. Vineyard space is low and the winemaking is somewhat difficult due to steep, rugged hillsides that are, at times, only accessible by boat. Making the most sense out of this, the difficulty in harvesting is probably why the international market has been strained in attempt to bring it to us. 

Pigato Grapes
But it is available nonetheless...and good thing too, because the limestone soils and seaside climate pinpoints this complex white that does not overcompensate for say, a “Vermentino” that somehow, has garnered more popularity in North America. The “Riviera Ligure di Ponente” Denomination covers some reds, but the remarkable thing, is that the fuss could be better made for the ruddy little white varietal that for some time, I’ve been pretty excited about. Think saline, piney notes accompanied by citrusy drops of lime cordial and sauteed lemongrass. Nonetheless, a mid-weight profile is not uncommon, but ultimately the best part of most Pigato, which can finish with a subtle, feathery finish that suggests a hidden creaminess. Poggio De Gorleri makes one that has all the precedents for the cultivar, but adds that interesting touch of mineral. 

Seafood works exceptionally well, considering there’s a point to which Pinot Grigio, Greco, and Falanghina cannot be relied upon all the time; considerably so, even when the perfume of bivalves and swordfish can be flowing through the undertows of the nose. Those who suffer from Tilapia syndrome can instantly augment a meal that would, in other mindsets, seem boring and unjustified. I have had enough of mild sea-fare, but more so, I have disliked too many whites that are definitively puerile, or overly citric. I think I’ve actually found something other than a Rhone white that I can bring home without the threat of aggressive fruit, or acidic brightness. 
What an equilibrium to be had, what a burden to uphold. 

Brian Maniotis
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us @: westchesterwine.com

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Dudes' Faces


"Agh!" What sort of man was Fragonard?"


-William Carlos Williams


Clemente VII
Call me crazy, no, seriously...call me crazy, because there’s one thing that I have never understood about wine. Yes, believe it or not, I am in need of some sort of practical lesson in why so many artful miseries are created when a guy’s face becomes the inspiration for a label. Call it irrelevant, but I have witnessed enough silhouettes, cameos, profiles, self-portraits and ungainly mugshots to make my own ill-afforded scrapbook. Furthermore, I’m very aware of all the references made to all persons historic, or otherwise; oh, and I do not wish to undermine the accomplishments of explorers, countrymen, religious denizens, or anyone of pertinence. However, I’m curious about what the giggly customer has in store when they might, in all wonderment, look upon a picture of Christopher Columbus and figuratively guess as to whether or not there’s a Chianti that’s just as intrepid as he. Well, if you must know, he and his crew ate salt-lettuce as a preventative measure against scurvy. I never knew the man, but as an old adage can be reworked, “We are composed by what is consumed.”

Sorry if I scared you in the introduction, there is a lot of great Chianti to be had, regardless of who is profiled on the bottlefront; besides, it is your enjoyment that suffices. Plainly I state, that all of this is some kind of phenomenon that had existed, probably, since the creation of a worldwide wine market; but fortunately, the innate practice has not ceased altogether. I am perfectly open to the suggestion that a red, white, or rose, can be regal as the person represented on-cover, but the sensible quirkiness, or comedic value cannot be ignored. Laughs aside, the most puzzling thing, is that Italy has been continuing to imprint, recreate, or dredge-up old namesakes at a more steady rate than any other country. Now, I can’t say if this is could be a statistic reality, but I’ve come across quite a few gentleman idly gazing at me in manners that I don’t wish to examine. 
Cerro Vino Noble
Take Clemente VII for instance, an unflinching, relaxed fellow who might suggest that Chianti is from the Veneto, rather than Tuscany. Being religiously clueless at times, I probably would have mistook him for the Merchant of Venice. Dressed in the traditional garb of a pope at the time, this figure was actually a cardinal before his papal election in November of 1523. Giovanni de Medici as he was earlier known, was sighted for his prudence toward humanity and the arts, not politics. Good thing too, because we want to take the legislation out of wine. What better way to represent oneself than with fine leather, wild cherries, good smoke and a well-rounded personality. 
Another guy, is the late Composer, Carlo Gesualdo; who, despite a fairly controversial career and life, remains as one of the most innovative Renaissance men in the disciplines of erotic songwriting. Without shame, he chronicled his personal exploits of promiscuity and sadism within his works. Heh, maybe I’ve got the wrong dude, so-to-speak, but after some thought, Fattoria Del Cerro’s “Vino Noble De Montepulciano,” is racy enough to excuse the wine’s producer from highlighting a true radical on the label. Aged for two years in Slovenian and French oak, the blend is dense and rich, showing  notes of cherry, plum and vanilla without hesitation. K
K.W. Canary Hill
Notwithstanding, American producers also have their fun with less than discreet interpretations of characters that have, or do exist in the known world. They might not be entirely famous, but the depictions are somewhat amusing if not exact. Ken Wright has not been bashful in his attempt to portray the hoi-polloi of Oregon, but his dynastic vintages of Pinot Noir seem to make up for the cartoonish mishmosh of anyone closest to him. The 2009 vintages of the “Abbot Claim” and “Canary Hill” vineyard lots are the essence of handcrafted Pinot these days, but there’s no mistaking whose hands are actually doing the work. As the day comes to a close, the personalities are remembered whether or not you’re drinking the wine, or making it yourself. 
I am transfixed, curious and somewhat lacking in words for some pictures, but in totality, I think the portraitures should continue. They lend a certain sense of humanity to the wine produced, or if not, they can tend to be candidly funny. I don’t know whether to praise the artwork, the figureheads, or the winemakers, but I am very thankful there’s someone on the label.

At least some of the time...

Brian Maniotis 
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Being That It's Almost Hallowe'en

Poizin Zinfandel 

It could be I’m a bit jaded about Hallows’ Eve and its ensuing holiday. I have been wanting to make up for the lack of lukewarm nights of certain trickery and indulgent treating by painting my prodigiously black-bearded self, a light tinge of periwinkle blue; covering intently, my whole body. In tandem, I would hold a glittering silver lightning bolt in one hand, while the sea-dripping carcass of a purple octopus limply resides in the other. A faux, navy-colored ort cloud being the only piece to cover my abject nakedness while I emphatically recite, line-for-line, the entire scope of Hesiod’s “Theogeny.” Heh, though It seems that we celebrate this kind of smut and kitschiness when Halloween is coming around, it’s the one holiday that bodes well for pop-pagans, remedial occultists and readied children. For me, the definitive perks were the annual expectation that the Garfield and Charlie Brown re-runs would reappear, or, the chance to present myself as that brash, azure character I previously mentioned. Gorging myself till all the chocolate ran out was fun, but behold! Amidst the re-edits of comprehensive horror films and that same old lukewarm effect of office parties without costume, remembrances of keeping up with Jones’ decorations and delinquents’ creativities, it all resonates with the usual ho-hum effect. 
Schwarze Black Cat
Let’s not forget the parents who mischeviously prate-on with heads-of-household to quell their own lack of social and confectionary amusements, while pre-adolescents pray to be involved in the intramural, yet painful variety of “tag sports;” represented bluntly, in teenagers’ flour-filled gym socks, torrents of spoiled eggs and irritant shaving creams. Traditions though, are quite funny, because you never see wine brought into the foreground of Halloween’s localized spectacles. There are certain parallels to the idea that good juice is a symbol of the holiday’s allowance for one night’s worth of debauch and self-gratification. ‘It’s all supposed to be harmless fun’ one could remark, but there’s nothing less spooky than a night without twisted perceptions and googly-eyed knick-knacks. I don’t mean to sound like a doctor, but the common ailments suffered during this one particular day, may call for significant doses of riesling, or red zinfandels. 
Laugh as you will, but I’m being serious enough to help you see the connection here. Although I have two thematically charged items that will make any Jack-O-Lantern’s smile seem a bit more wide, the best thing about a riesling may be, if you choose a more fruit-forward one, the experience of something sweet without the gut-rot semblances of milk balls and petrified toffees. It’s something that the cool, fall weather has brought about in order to quench those desires for something a little sweeter, maybe a bit lighter than usual, and can still make those heavy autumnal foods seem like spring hors d’oeuvres. Do you need that quintessential Black Cat as a foyer centerpiece? Zeller Schwarze has a bottle that’s shaped like the one feline that foreshadows superstitious mystery. No, there’s no pictures here, it’s a bottle molded to represent the contours of the creature itself. Perhaps, the one morbid curiosity here, is that a liquor-rich white wine with notes of apricot and vanilla pour directly from the top of its inanimate head...I’m just saying, don't you think it’s a bit weird? That’s all... 
If Americans still have a crush on “Jolly Roger” there’s more to his clichéd likeness than just dry bones. “Poizin” is not only another hackneyed item in the marketing of Red Zinfandel, but the communication of its worth, like most bottles, rests in its liquid content. I digress thoughtfully, because if it weren’t for the ominous labeling and the poem on back, the red would have never made it past my word processor...it would be a tasty something that would have been ill-forgotten until next October. Almost hallowed on its own, the Zin boasts of a traditional array of ripe black and blue fruits, bordering on that eerie, mouth-filling richness seen only in such a varietal. I shudder, wondering about the lack of it during feasts of roast duck and root vegetables; unlike some people, the challenge in seeing if one can survive its bounty may be equally as frightening.      
I can do all the exhorting that’s required to show you the proper Halloween bottle, but there were some in which eligibility was present, but altogether they missed the mark when effusing the holiday spirit. I thought of talking about Erna Schein again, but would “The Cemetery” be a practical entry ? Its caricature is somewhat depressing, if not baleful enough; but, it’s a symbol of artisanal talent at a price that does not always meet the demands of household costume parties. A lot of wine is lurking, you have to take a long journey through those long, dark, recesses of the mind. Something which if ever, may enable you to be a little more provocative than you already are. 
Toil, or trouble, I hear the cauldron a-bubblin.  
Happy Halloween !
Brian Maniotis
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team 
Visit us and view our holiday selections @: westchesterwine.com

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Blossoming Gin

Citadelle Gin
It’s not an anomaly, although you have probably witnessed a few stately gentleman bearing the pink badge of courage every so often. No, not it’s not “rosacea,” or something imparted from an "Old Boy" attitude that would remark on all the torpedo liquor that one could have imbibed sometime during World War II. Nope, I’m talking about the roseate sign that anyone would see on their nose after a night of heavy “Ginification” as I call it...a condition represented by sour faces and bubbly hiccups; two of many symptoms, which have endured all other fables and comedic interpretations of common boozing. I am surprised by the overwhelming lack of adulteration that a good bottle of gin is custom to, but I always find myself going back to a fatherly favorite, telling my bartender to whisk up some new, deconstructed version of a “G-and-T.” Addressing him, I implore that “A little bit of lime cordial can go a long way.” Resulting, he looks at me with that rare, half-cocked, upward gaze and smiles...”You know, you’re a rare bird my friend, maybe you should join the other squawkers in the sanctuary,” he says. My reply is simple...“Yeah, you think?” 
Wow, for all the times that man has been downtrodden, disrespected and left as wolfbait, gin has always been there. Oh how it has been the inclusive sign of impure nights and lavish hob-nobbing; well, that depends on what brand you spend your hard-earned money to obtain. Now, most would say, that in the trials of youth, a chase of orange juice could be all that one would need; yes, that is, if experiencing the inebriate state not offered by dad’s hideaway of six-packs and cheap scotch. There’s new sense to it after all, considering more so than ever, it has become a study of how many botanicals and spices you can count in a glass. We’re not talking about the essence of paint-thinners, turpentines, or varnishes found in garages or sculleries, but the distiller’s divine technique to caress and manipulate their palate and ours, with hints of juniper. 
The first thing you learn in the AP class of Gin-making, outlines the use of pine berries to create something recognizable. Usually found in the 90th percentile of primary ingredients, the purity of the juniper is the aim and focus of the trade. Most of what you can buy in an Indian grocery, is probably worth considering if you want to bolster your product. The copper “Carterhead Still,” or “Moonshine Doubler,” are the more difficult items to come across; so in lieu, your homestead hooch barons have some interesting tasks ahead of them. Some will practice the indefinite art of infusions while using other spirits, but I’m sticking with artisanal savoir-faire. You don’t need to cash-in federal bonds to afford it, because there’s some producers who have forgotten low-brow pretension and focused on the benefits of their own precocity. 
Averell Damson Gin
Take “Citadelle”...think of cardamom, coriander, orange peel, eucalyptus, heather and so on...It’s undoubtedly something that I can drink straight-off the pour, when single-malts, or nut-brown bourbons aren’t working. It’s something that only a cube of ice can cross by, without disturbing the overall sense of the nuance. Did I mention it was French? Though many exclamations of “Pourquoi-Pas?” would make sense, it’s better just to try it... twenty bucks will sum-up that future sense of enjoyment as collateral. If you’re game for some nationalism, “Distillery No. 209” is a Californian entry that operates like a swarthy Earl Grey at a temperance-era meetinghouse. Notes of cassia bark, bergamot and angelica root have me wondering if there’s any truth to the idea that our grandfathers‘ simply pharmacists operating out of a wooden shack; that is, with the aid of red long-johns to stave-off the winter chills. 
Before, I made some mild remarks about the state of fusion gins, but there’s one thing I cannot overlook. Apparently, someone had the ingenious idea to use the damson plum to burnish the effectiveness of the noble spirit. It’s much more of a liqueur actually, but I’m not worried, it’s still a unique prize-product from “Averell.” That’s ok, because the cocktails are a many, and the appeal only increases from then on. Visions of tenderloins tossed from side-to-side, in a marinade augmented by shallots, garlic and green onion prove fascinating. See? there’s that confidence again, but it’s from a culinary point-of-view. Trust me, all the pork in the world seems good when you have something plummy on hand. Might as well bring the old chaps over for some pig, political discussion and a salute to the future of this handy truth serum.   
I don’t know what gin will do next, but its capacity is very clear. 
Brian Maniotis
Westchester Wine Warehouse Team
Visit us online @: westchesterwine.com