Passerina’s “heartland”, if such a thing could be said to actually exist, is in southern Marche, but a fair number of patches and pockets of  the vine grow in vineyards scattered around northeastern Lazio, and northern Abruzzo as well. Despite the grape being fairly geographically diffuse, and apparently with roots reaching back into antiquity, Passerina cedes space to  bigger “birds” like Verdicchio in Marche and Trebbiano d’Abruzzo (A.K.A. Bombino Bianco) in Abruzzo, in terms of acreage, as well as in terms of size and flavor in the glass. So that once again brings us back to this grape’s apt and expressive name. A sparrow is indisputably a tiny bird, but it’s also a hardy, lively, quick creature, with a nimble grace that allows it to make a place for itself in the world…you can complete the analogy…

I’ll be honest with you, you’re not likely to turn up a Passerina at your local  Incomparable All-Wine Galaxy and Emporium, and because it doesn’t age particularly well, when bottles of Passerina do occasionally turn up, they’re often too long in the tooth because no one knew what a great little wine it was when it was a great little wine (drink them within 2 years of their vintage)…I’m very happy to report that this particular little sparrow really took flight.

As you might infer, this is a wine that is best introduced either earlier in the meal with appetizers or first courses (especially fish-based) or with an overall milder menu, so tonight that menu consisted of farfalle pasta with a seafood tomato cream sauce, and then a three cheese (ricotta salata, scamorza, and Parmigiano Reggiano) and broccoli frittata with some toasted bread.

La Murola Passerina Marche IGT 2010 

Slightly greenish, pale white gold color. Pretty but subtlely sassy nose of cooked grain, apricot jam, white pepper, citrus peel, hazelnut, and dried white flowers. The wine’s entry on the palate is fresh and lively, but with a clean, corpulent rich texture, and complex and evolving flavors of woody herbs, pear, yellow cherry nectar, minerals, and  quinine. Pretty, lingering flavors of peach pit and caramel flan on the finish. 

When it comes to  the local grapevine complement, there are few surprises: Grenache, Mourvedre, Carignan, Syrah, (and a few others) dominate. And while these varieties certainly qualify as “local” or “traditional” to the region, the first three grapes all are thought to originally hail from Spain, making their presence and use in this area all the more meaningful.

This particular cuvee` is a rather unusual-for-any-region blend of 50% Mourvedre, and 50% Syrah, though the A.O.C. regulations demand that only a minimum of 20%  of each of these two grapes be included in the overall blend. But it seems fitting that in a place like Nimes that is as much Spanish as it is French, that a wine made from Mourvedre (A.K.A. Mataro` and Monastrell) and the very Gallic king of the Northern Rhone, Syrah, arises and speaks with a bit of a Franco-Iberian patois…

The comestible foundation for this lovely little (pretty big actually!) wine was an appetizer of dates stuffed with Bleu d’Auvergne cheese and a blanched almond.  The main course Was (and still is) a southern French winter classic, and is  indeed a masterpiece of the Provencal kitchen: Daube – a long, slow, complex oven cooked beef stew with a bazillion ingredients (olives, mushrooms, anchovies, wine, salt pork, etc., etc.) that I ladled over some tagliatelle.

 Mas Carlot Costieres de Nimes “Les Enfants Terribles” 2010

Opaque blackish purple color. Elegant, slightly floral nose with clear notes of wet slate, smoke, and big fruit aromas of plum and mulberry, with a wonderful slightly animal funkiness underlying. The texture is rich, velvety, round, and weighty, but still quite nimble with a firm, full structure and a “salty” discrete acidity driving clean and fairly complex flavors of fig, black cherry, juniper, and touch of vanilla bean and spice. Clean, dry finish.

And sagging slightly sadly south and west of Saumur-Champigny geographically is just plain old Saumur. There’s always at least one good wine made in any appellation, and Saumur certainly makes well more than that, but clearly Saumur  is not the world’s “IT” appellation either. So here’s a little lesson to dig  just a little deeper, when considering Loire red wines, or any wine from anywhere – try to look beyond, or rather remember beyond nation or appellation to producer. A winemaker who really knows and has a passion for his or her terroir can produce wines of equal or even superior quality from supposedly “lesser” lands than his or her peers in regions more renowned. This is one. 

I matched this really expressive and well made wine with toasts spread with a puree` of cepe (porcini) mushrooms, potatoes, egg, parsley, marjoram, etc. and then served a main course of bone-in pork chops, browned and then braised in Savoy cabbage and onions with three wines, fresh savory and bay leaves.

Domaine Filliatreau Saumur Chateau Fouquet 2010

Blackish, purple/crimson color. Tidy and vivid nose of dried leaves, plum, blackberry, chalk, grated bitter-sweet chocolate, matzoh, fresh cut flowers, and soy sauce. The palate is quite big and rich but still very elegant and savory, with a broad, fresh acidity, a beautifully austere tannic structure, and crunchy, clean flavors of super ripe watermelon and sweet and sour cherry fruit, cardamom, cinnamon, and sarsparilla root. Long, dry, lip-smacking finish.

What an aversion to heavy oaking relegates you to in Spain unfortunately are either wines labelled “joven” (“young”), and the increasingly prevalent bottles marked “roble” (“oak”). The former are usually simple, fruity guzzling wines meant to be drunk yesterday, and though the latter wines see less wood than a even crianza, much less reserva wines, I still find many of them too oaky for my tastes. So when I spotted this Ribera del Duero with just 8 months aging in French oak barrels, I had to give it a try…

Ribera del Duero is situated geographically somewhat southwest of the very famous region of Rioja, but this region is further from the sea, and sits between 2,200-2,700 feet above sea level, so that means its climate is less sweet than Rioja’s, with hotter days, colder nights, and an overall shorter growing season. These factors of weather and the nature of the soil make for deeper, darker, denser, wines that are made exclusively from Tinto Fino (Rioja is always a blend)which is the name for the local sub-type of Tempranillo.

So how did it come out? Pretty darn well, I’d have to say. Initially there was a bit of sweet vanilla wafting out of the glass that had me a bit worried, but things levelled off nicely, but more about all that in the notes…

A wine such as this needs BIG, Iberian(ish) winter fare, so I had to oblige with a brown lentil, pimenton, and jamon et al. soup, and then grilled shell steaks topped with sauteed mushrooms and onions, with a side of roasted potatoes.

Cepa 21 Ribera del Duero “Hito” 2009

Deep, crimson/purple color. Broad and complex nose of mulberry and blackberry, brown butter, motor oil, asian spices, fine salami, and woodsy aromas. The wine has a medium full weight, an expansive, smooth texture, and dry, peppery tannins with layered flavors of black cherry, chunky strawberry preserves, sweet spices, sour plum, seashells, toasted wafer, and a touch of bittersweet chocolate, all nicely tied up with a tart acidity. Slightly malty, black licorice finish.

With the invention of some really ingenious early automated processes (like the girasol, which is a type of large hand operated rolling riddler that can do the work of a hand riddler and a pupitre in a fraction of the time), a better climate in which to grow the unfussy, productive, and often mechanically harvested  Macabeo, Xarel-lo, and Parellada grapes that make up the typical cava blend, an emphasis on non-vintage bottling, and constant improvement, Cava has quickly put a pretty fat cork in Champagne’s once unimpeded flow into the market.

But even here in the all-business, left brain capital of bubbly, there are still a few oddballs, and the Trepat grape is definitely one of them. Not much is known about the origins of this light-red skinned variety (which grows almost exclusively in the Conca de Barbera` and Costers del Segre regions) but the results of the Cava industry turning its juggernaut-self on this obscure but wonderfully quirky grape always yield results that are worth a try… Despite its lighter pigmentation, Trepat is a grape of real and unique personality: often spicy, lightly aromatic, earthy, and popping with every kind of small red and black fruit  that is usually bottled as Rose` Cava, but which can also make some fascinating still red wine (check out my post on a still, red Trepat here) too.

I whipped up a very Catalan spread to go with this very Catalan wine – a salad of frisee`, roasted squash, cubes of Garrotxa cheese, and home made croutons dressed with lemon, olive oil, and romesco sauce. The main course I put up was a platter of piquillo peppers stuffed with a pate`of chicken (this a dish usually made with duck, but I couldn’t lay my hands on any this evening) , chicken livers, leeks, Port, etc. and then baked with a bechamel sauce.

Poema Rose` Cava (Trepat) Non-Vintage

Deep, slightly brownish pink color, and quickly dissapating cotton candy-colored mousse. The nose is a clean bundle of strawberry, raspberry, blackberry, earthy minerality, wild rose, wood spice, black pepper, and toasted pine nuts. In the mouth the wine shows quite a fine bubble, a razor tartness that is nicely balanced by a smooth, “slick” texture, and clean expressive flavors of orange peel, tea, merengue, Cornelian cherries, and cassia. Surprisingly long and complex finish. Despite “brut” designation,  the wine has a certain generosity that I’d call  “extra dry”.

Though Falanghina is now also fairly widely grown in Molise, as it likely was in antiquity, this variety’s heartland, as I mentioned above, is and always has been Campania: from the island of Procida in the bay of Naples to chilly, forested, pre-mountainous zones like Sannio (Falanghina ripens early enough to be grown in colder regions). This is a grape that despite the many really nice examples available in the market now, for me still has its best days ahead of it. It always yields a vivacious, spunky, and bright wine but with a reliable solid ballast of nutty, chewy fleshiness too, making it a great partner for pastas (especially with some marine element) and FISH, almost any kind, done almost any way…

Tonight’s “way” was a first course of penne rigate with cauliflower, golden raisins, pine nuts, anchovies, bread crumbs, oil, and garlic. The second was the potentially sublime (it’s all in the ingredients and the timing) and nearly unlimitedly varied zuppa di pesce, this one with a “sea” of tomatoes, white wine, olive oil, red pepper flakes, garlic and parsley, in which swam blackfish fillets, shrimp, and cockles, with toasted bread of course…

Rocca del Dragone Falanghina Campania IGT 2010

Bright, burnished medium gold color. Piercing nose of mixed tropical fruit, hay and dried flowers, minerals, brown rice, peanuts, and pears. The angular, medium-weight body is crisp, tart, and sassy, but with an underlying fatness and notes of brown butter and dark honey complimented by flavors of white spices, grape paste, apricot and quince. Slightly austere, bittersweet marzipan finish.   

If you didn’t already know, making wine costs a LOT of money on a lot of levels, so when foreign AND domestic market demand goes soft, and major banks and even whole governments start to drop down through the blue Agean to the murky bottom, making any wine at all wine approaches completing the 13th labor of Hercules. So if you see some decent looking Greek wine, throw noble Hellas some help.

What I bought was an effusive but fresh dry white from the Mantinia appellation in the central Peloponnese in southern Greece, that as a bonus also happened to be certified organic. This region’s signature grape is a pink to light red-skinned variety (like Pinot Gris/Grigio, but with no genetic relation) called Moscophilero (mosh-oh-FEE-leh-roh) that is used to make a very pretty but spunky, almost exclusively white wine that is typically just south of being fully “aromatic” like the Muscat grape group – maybe on the level of Riesling would best capture it - that obviously stands beautifully with bold Greek flavors, especially grilled seafood.  

Seafood wasn’t in the flow for us this evening, so I decided to struggle with some phyllo dough (and struggle I did, but practice makes perfect…) and make a tray of  baked leek, mint, and walnut rolls from the Macedonia region for the first course, and then a nationwide classic of little garlicky lamb meatballs with dill, parsley, and oregano with an agvolemono (lemon and egg) sauce, and some plain white rice.

Domaine Spiropoulos Mantinia 2010

Slightly coppery, pale gold color. Penetrating nose of yellow flowers, hay, yellow cherries, pear juice, hazelnut, and crytallized ginger. A clean, tart minerality provides the frame for fleshy but sprightly flavors of pineapple juice, toasted wheat and pine nuts, candied citron, mandarin orange, sage, and green apple. Wonderfully etched bittersweet quinine finish.

So we jump abruptly to northeastern Italy, and land in the Friuli region. This is a region that speaks its own Romance language (Friulano) and embodies a fascinating stew of Latin, Slavic, and Germanic culture, and a cuisine that cleverly combines these traditions to produce an exotic but earthy table. The 1990s brought mostly deserved fame to this very beautiful region via the broad praise for its clean and intense white wines made from both native and “international” varieties. But as strong as Friulian whites are, the red wines (made from Friulano and foreign grapes alike) equal if not better the region’s celebrated whites.

One of these fascinating Friulano red varieties is (on its way to “was’?) called Schioppettino (skyo-peh-TEE-no) - which now that I think of it, for a grape, might be as rough as Lifschitz – is also known as “Ribolla Nera”, and by other names as well. Schioppettino/Ribolla Nera’s white-skinned cousin Ribolla Gialla (gialla means “yellow”) is one of the lesser known of the aforementioned celebrated Friulano whites, and the two kindred vines share at least one family trait, and that is a certain vivacious, savory acidity, which make them both quite versatile at the table. Ribolla Nera’s beautifully balanced and complex spicy/berry medium-weight body is ultimately really tough to compare to any other single wine…and it’s one of Jen’s  all time favorite wines to top it all off…

As potentially versatile as this wine might be, to separate this special liquid from its solid, comestible countryfolk seems a shame, so I made a very traditional though exotic cherry, chive, and marjoram orzotto (essentially a barley risotto) with Montasio cheese, and then another odd though thoroughly traditional dish called persut col asedo which is “prosciutto with vinegar” in Friulano. The dish is little more than its name: thick slices of San Daniele (GOTTA be San Daniele ham from Friuli – Parma ham is too salty for this dish) very gently fried in butter and then cooked again a vinegar roux of sorts…The side dish was smothered red cabbage with garlic and cumin.

Ronchi di Cialla Ribolla Nera Colli Orientali del Friuli 2009

Sultry, opaque crimson/purple color with rose at the rim. Ethereal but still “grounded” nose of wild blackberry, sweet brown spices, sun-baked earth, pretzel, aromatic wood, and wild sage. The medium body is lively, complex, and smooth, with a wonderfully austere tart/peppery spine, and elegant, feminine flavors of cranberry, strawberry and myrtle compote, black grape fruit leather, and a “charcoal” minerality. The finish is warm and nuanced with notes of mushroom and juniper.

The culinary fresco that runs from Morocco, across Algeria, and into Tunisia is one that reaches back to ancient Carthage, and more recently includes Arabic and European influences embedded into a deep, indiginous Berber impasto, as well as a notable lack of Ottoman influence, which ultimately makes this area a pretty peculiar and still underexplored corner of the food world.

That said, I’m but an acolyte in the foodways of the Maghreb, so I prepared what I knew that I could handle without devoting a couple of days to research and preparation (the first time I attempt a pigeon pastilla, you’ll be the last ot know…): a simple and fresh grated carrot and orange salad with cilantro as an appetizer and then a root vegetable – ‘taters, radishes, parsnips – stew with olives, dried tomatoes, chick peas, etc. with a bevy of Moroccan spices and fresh herbs. I also made some couscous that in the end was pretty good, though I still had wished better things for it somehow…I fear that my improvised couscoussiere (saucepan with lid, steamer insert, and perforated parchment paper) might have been part of the problem (?)

The wine was a blend of 60% Syrah, 30% Merlot, and 1o% Cabernet Sauvignon grown in the Tebourba region of Tunisia. It presented a delicious and uniquely darkly shaded glass of wine that is worth noting had the most viscous, glycerined mouthfeel, look, and even sound (think about how oil makes almost no splashing noises when it’s poured) I have ever come across…Jen INSISTED that it had a distinct smell of feta cheese, by the way, though I didn’t get it…

Les Celliers de Montfleury “La Vieille Cave” Coteaux de Tebourba Rouge, Tunisia

Slightly browned, just barely translucent crimson/garnet color. The wine pours with a visible and even audible (!) viscosity and presents a deep and dark but defined nose of black cherry, black currant, licorice, nori seaweed, dill and resinous wood smoke. The wine is rich in glycerin, making it very smooth, almosy oily in texture, but without any sort of heavy density. It’s beefy, sweet, and round, but with lightness at its core and a lively, peppery tannic structure, and big blackberry fruit with additional flavors of blueberry, black tea, juniper berries and olive tapenade. Finishes long with a dry minerality and a flavors of prune. 

Along with the more “conventional”  and highly celebrated central Italian red grape varieties like Sangiovese and Montepulciano, the special place that is the Lago di Bolsena region is also one of  the few homes (with the island of Elba being another) of the fantastically fragrant Aleatico (ah-leh-AH-tee-ko) grape.  Aleatico seems very likely to be an ancient and now red-skinned mutation of the typically white Muscat grape, and like Muscat itself, many if not most of the wines derived from Aleatico’s effusively-scented musts are vinified into dessert wines. A fair number of dry wines in the region sparingly blend in just a squirt of Aleatico with the aforementioned local red grapes to give the final wine a subtle, ethereal “lift”. Just a precious few producers however make fully dry wines from 100% Aleatico like this one. 

The sweetly pungent nose, round, soft, and smooth structure, and often elevated alcohol levels of dry Aleatico (this one’s 14%, but not hot in the slightest), make it a great match with punchy or boldly flavored dishes, especially poultry, so I served this particular example with the well known and regional pasta dish Bucatini all’ Amatriciana and the Italian (American) classic of Pollo alla Marsala, with a side of baby peas dressed with spoonful of really good, buttery sweet olive oil.

Azienda Agricola Occhipinti “Alea Viva” Lazio Rosso IGT 2009 

Slightly browned,  just translucent garnet color. Arrestingly perfumed nose of lilies, pink roses, super-ripe strawberries, fresh coconut milk, juniper, dill, and touch of wet clay. The wine is medium weight, with a very soft and smooth texture balanced by a discreet acidity and vivacious flavors of raspberry, sweet spiced tea, cherry, prune nectar, cracked black pepper, and red currant jam. The finish is warm and clean with a subtly bitter,complex minerality.