Why Tokaji ?

Royal Tokaji

Some consumers verbally address their issues with indigenous wine, but do not go beyond any of their unseemlier, one-sided predilections. This is wrong in some ways, and xenophobia appears to have muted any attempt for us to really understand our taste buds, or, just as likely, our human friends from across the way. Whether or not they’re making, distributing, or allowing their presentations to persist, even the imperialist soft drinks usually fall short of that good-old American fascination with beer, soda and eventually, more beer. Not only that, but for my defiant, but topical mention of  “CA-CA-CA-AB-ER-NET” as a singular beverage, increases the potential of having my nose sliced open by gangsters. Likely, if you’ve ever seen Jack Nicholson in the movie “Chinatown,” people along the Californian coast are not worth upsetting. As I fear, even the most lukewarm, or more snidely cynical reference to our most economically polarizing varietal is not worth nasal bloodletting. Not to say it’s bad, because it’s not; if anything, the wine is great, but it has to do with a sense of myopia that leads us only to Cab, or some of that dastardly impure sweet stuff. Here's your relief: 

I have a proposition though, if you want something acclaimed, then Tokaji might be the one thing providing an open forum to producers who are not in the Italian, French, or Spanish winemaking union. Forget pronouncing the letter “J” though, because the thing is, it’s from Hungary, and is often very ripe, with an eminent light amber color. Usually, there’s a whole feudalistic system to the grapes that can makeup the wine, but the “Azsu” dons the largest crown compared to the Muscat Lunel, Furmint, Harslevelu and Oremus varietals that act as blending agents. Though no matter what goes in, there are enough ways to compose a dry, or that traditionally sweet category that everyone loves. Yes, there’s an adoration for it, and there’s a sort of cultish obsession similarly seen in the annual mad dash for BBQ boneless rib sandwiches, but it’s not quite the same. I do happen to understand the appeal, as a counter-culture has found excellent productions for less than they would normally spend on highly-expensive artisan wines from everywhere else.             

Even UNESCO has an entire page dedicated to the wine, the region and just about all the information one would need to start thinking about planning vacations and excursions. The area in Hungary, where it’s made, is actually a world-heritage site and has it’s endorsements. France’s Louis XV was known to have a soft spot for the stuff as it sort of tickled him to think of the possibility of non-French winemaking as being somewhat culpable and worth placing to the royal lips. It is, I know, because “Royal Tokaji” is surely feudal as the name implies, and I follow in its servitude. It’s not always the most reasonable, but when thinking about the cost, the presence of peach cobbler, beeswax, honeycomb, spice-roasted hazelnuts, caramel candy, white truffle and tousled hay, are worth experiencing  again and again. Sure, there are others, but you don’t have to drink it all in the span of two nights, so the difference in this ultra-rich wine is that of non-fortification, which means no spirits are used in the ungainly proofing and endowing of the wine. Also, It will last, a re-capping is necessary, but you can enjoy it for much longer than the conventional white, which is even better news.  

Unperceived, most people think they’re getting a dessert wine, but that’s for the suitably corrected to figure out. It’s really an anytime sort of libation, but doesn’t mean it could not benefit from a properly filled ice bucket. The idea is to find a Tokaji that would not compel you think about being interned within a horse stable; however, that goes for just about everyone right? What I mean, is that most people will argue the point of having to deal with a little musk, or a bit of barnstable elements to enjoy it, but that’s not always the case. I think at most, you might experience a hit of chanterelle every so often, but nothing that would be too bucolic on the palate. If it is, then I would seriously recommend going to your local library and getting some Hungarian phone listings, and call the winemakers.  

Because if you don’t believe me, then you can always talk to them.

Brian Maniotis

Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us @: westchesterwine.com

Soju and other non-conformants.

Jinro Fresh

Very often, I have this innate, or rather single-minded interest in talking about an elementary subject more than once. Not in the sense that it has to do with a particular kind of something-or-other, but within the murkiness of basic generality. You know; two posts about wine here, two posts about liquor there, and it all goes on without my own understanding of the basic formula. Really, I could be assuaging the boredom of many, or being cute if I may imply it, but I wonder about the presence of my wordy, but whimsical dialogue, and how it might betray others. Namely, anyone believing in the truth of extemporaneous self-expression, or the sort of informal gestures I make in trying to hatch a point. Long ago, I figured at best, I could win recognition from hipsters, minimalist comedians and so forth, but I try to keep the geeks out there somewhat settled-in, as I try to make this e-journal completely relevant to its type. Which is funny when I talk about this, because I have for you something simple, pure and doesn’t require too much nonchalance to absorb. Realistically, I can tell you it’s cool, up-tempo, reverberant and has enough bravado to ensure my interest and yours; if so, I hope to relieve you of categories this time. 

Jinro Original

I would sooner joke about having a wine cellar in my apartment than to say that Soju is wine. It’s not. Some think it is, but how can tapioca and sweet potatoes make wine exactly? In my opinion at least, they can’t. Is it liquor? Yes, according to many it is, and it has a proof, but it has all the nuance of the grapey stuff and all the power of the world’s vodkas, rums, tequilas and brandies. Now supposedly, I have a wine. It’s made from raspberries, but would I call it a wine? Again, that is a personal no. To elaborate, I do not like to think of them as anything but a good time, and I really don’t mind saying that I’m tired of having to extricate the facts behind their delicious simplicity. Often, I find myself enjoying them year-round and I feel silly saying something like: “Oh well, you know, it’s like a...summertime thing, or good with freshly un-canned beans and similar foods.” Positively not. 

Jinro Plum

What I will say is that they both come from Korea, they are made by “Jinro” and I tend to like their “Maehwashu” as well, considering it makes me feel like I’ve wandered into a plum grotto. Is it wine too? My recommendation is to just try it.  That’s three things now. Divulging a little, the raspberry is made from 100% fermented fruit and homeopathic herbs, while the plum variation is made by a special freeze-filtration system that makes it round, naturally sweet and very approachable. All have a pervasive richness, so I caution you not to drink them before a wine class, or a gargantuan meal. The Soju however, is distilled, clear, and offers a heaping bevy of nuances that I’ve been only able to describe as “masculine,” or “feminine” depending on whether you go with the “Original,” or “Fresh” edition. Just do the comparative matchup as indicated in the quoted material, you’ll be just fine; besides, I gave you pictures too! 

Any of these are an anytime product, and as some will say, people indigenous to Korea know these are traditionally for the end of dinner. There’s no mystery there, but what is interesting, is that Jinro’s products have only received partial recognition as mixers and nominal spiking agents in places where prodigal cocktails are found. They don’t have the fora that exists for semi-pretentious bourbons, or the deluge of constructive criticism that downgrades other spirits. I would like to think of them as having no scholarly acclaim, and for good reason, would like to keep it that way. There’s nothing worse than the déclassé products become monotonous band-wagon material for college students and the discriminators within the nouveau riche. 

What’s nice, is that they are available, ready to be experienced and worth your hard-earned money. The best thing about them is they’re inexpensive, practical, and I don’t have to go into a tirade of descriptors just to make interests prevail. They are items that are relevant, and may one day push Sake out of the way for a little while, but it nothing too powerful to knock everything down completely. Two are technically wines, but two others are both spirits with dissimilarly palatable functions. Notice how I didn’t try to raise a hopefulness, or better emotions when describing them, since the experience is limited to what I say, do, feel, or personally like. Categorically speaking, they’re really, really good! As an old doctor of journalism told me once: “Buy the ticket and take the ride.” I mean, there’s no fun in spoiling someone’s first impression, so I decided to blur some distinctions.

Sure, I might have been vague, but after all, your curiosity is king.

Brian Maniotis

Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us @: westchesterwine.com

Amaro? No, It can’t be.

Amaro Nonino

Ok, i don’t know exactly why, but in this terrestrial mindset, there’s no reasonable threshold for anything less than sweet, or suggestively ripe. That goes for pretty much anything right? Altogether, if you have to choose between something sappy, or rightly similar, you’re probably going to choose the former...correct? Maybe. What makes the difference is pure taste, and that accounts for just about every majority vote for what is good in this country. Why yes, of course I’ll take the one with frosting on it! You there, I need more syrup for these moist pancakes that seem to have gone unriddled with fresh fruit! Does it make sense? It doesn’t for me, because I make really good pancakes. Is any of this sinking-in? If not, then let me be more specific in saying that everything in this world is not better-off being sweet, as supposed to dry, or bitter. There’s potential relief in the fact that an object which sounds like it has a disregard for our appetite, can actually be quite delicious. Think about how many times you’ve been to an ethnic restaurant and the easiest entree to pronounce is usually the one thing you order without question. So much of what we eat, drink and regularly enjoy, has to do with that blurry area which concedes to how good it sounds. 

Some of us eat a banana which, in appearance, seems rotten, does it mean it is really so? Leave that to the person who thinks about the expiration date of sour cream. However, there’s one thing that is a wonderful contradiction and and a definitive luxury all at the same time. It’s called “Amaro” which in the popular Italian, means: “Bitter.” Hmmm...that doesn’t sound like something you would like, or I would like, but it makes sense to me, since I’ve been to-and-fro with the calumniated birthname of this important digestivi. This merits description, so firstly, not all of them are bitter so to speak, and they come from parts of Lombardy, Calabria, Puglia, Tuscanny and Florence, where a brandy, or neutral spirit, becomes infused with the exotic and indigenous herbs, roots, flowers and spices that make the liquor itself. Usually, you can find everything from saffron, cardamom, cinchona, orange peel and rhubarb, occur in the makeup. Also, there are some highly-guarded methods of production and some dredged-up fantasies as to who created the first one, or what the necessity was. Though history has maintained a strong desire to accept its uses as a tonic, or an elixir to prevent indigestion and arguably, the nastier effects of embarrassing colics. I think It’s palate-cleansing at most, and if anything, it’s magic falls unto the bartender who, with potential, recalls its potency for curing the tedious boredom associated with the mixed drinks of yore. Amaro has a history too, dating recipes as far back to the mid-eighteenth century and probably longer, if this struggle to keep company secrets has endured for so long.     

Amaro Montenegro

Back to taste. Yes, it can be bitter, but also sappy at times, but there is breathing room for those who enjoy a bittersweet halfway point more often found in certain producers like “Nonino,” who deliver on the circumspection needed to make well-balanced Amaro. Imagine notes of toasted pignoli and almonds, set to the forefront of warm, freshly baked bread crust, cinnamon, clove and cherrywood nuances, with a delicate introduction of honeyed blood orange and torched golden raisin elements. All of which, coarse nicely within a long, pure finish where a blanket of malt gathers on the back-palate. That’s where the “bitter” effect escapes me, but it is all too good for passing it as such. However, if you want the traditional version of artisan bitters, then “Amaro-Montenegro” has one that comes through with a little hyssop, dried ginger, sassafras, and candied violets, implying a tremendous tribute towards something much more pine-driven, with an accentuation of caramel candy, wildflowers, tarragon, meyer lemon and honeycomb. 

I like them both, but as truth can be in the taste, there’s really no accounting for it. More personally, people will like either one, pending on their individual opinions, wants and expectations. I don’t have to describe something as less than it actually is, or rather, imply that something isn’t based definitively on what a label indicates, but I’m kinda doing that in some way aren’t I? The whole idea here, is to sort of peel-away the human expectation of need, when something printed on a label doesn’t completely advertise itself as having a singular presence on the palate. I think everything, limited to alcohol or not, is categorically insensitive and will not always represent an emerging theme in flavor. In some way, we fall prey to ubiquity of adjectives when it comes to popular drinking, and it confuses the hell out of us. How is “bitter” not bitter? I can’t answer that exactly, but why would someone refer to a large, spherical object with a citric interior, as a grape-fruit?

Three more misrepresentations include Jack, Bread, and Dragon varieties.

Brian Maniotis

Wine Warehouse Team

Visit us@: westchesterwine.com