Yes, every third piece written on Georgian wine or food carries this title, but in light of the events of the last several weeks, it’s just the plain truth. I have had a love bordering on obsession with this unique and beautiful country since I visited in 1985, and seeing these sorts of setbacks is truly heartbreaking. 

Without getting into a recapitulation of either recent or ancient Georgian history, it’s enough to say that over the the last 2000 years or so, multiple Arab, Persian, and Turkish emirs, pashas, and princes have tried to eliminate the Georgians if for no other reason that they were just in the way. Tbilisi has been sacked no less than 19 times, and a few of these incursions caused nearly the entire city to be burned to its foundations.

But since about the year 1800 or so, Georgia has been very uncomfortably locked into “greater Russia”, and indeed it is Mr. Putin that now represents to Georgia what the perfumed and bejewelled royal warlords did a thousand years before. If you’ll allow me an elaborated anthropomorphic metaphor, to Georgia, Russia is a physically powerful, and very shrewd, but ultimately not very wise man for whom it works. This man has had some success in his life, but exaggerates and blusters about what he has accomplished, and is constantly reaching for things that have always eluded him, and that are likely to do so for the rest of his life. The sort of fellow that can even be alright guy provided that you’re properly deferential, laugh at all his jokes, and know your place. Those who can’t or don’t are chewed out, humiliated, browbeaten, shouted down, penalized, and even threatened until they fall in line, at which point the man has a hearty laugh, and buys everyone a drink, and thinks that everything is alright. Well it ain’t, and Georgia has had it, and it’s about time…’nuff said there…

Georgian dinners appear quite often in our eating rotation, but events there this week assured the concoction of a Georgian menu, and so it came to pass. We started with a classic Georgian dish conisisting of so called Japanese eggplants, trimmed and cut lengthwise and then “steam fried” (with just a few drops of oil on lowish heat, covered) cut side down. After cooking the fruits are allowed to cool and then get stuffed with a walnut and spice paste mixed with herbs and studded with pomegranate seeds. I served this as an appetizer with some very nice Turkish pide bread from the Turkuaz bakery in Paterson, N.J. The Georgians make a bevy of completely unique or very hard to find breads, and though pide is not a direct stand-in for any of them, it just “feels” more correct than Arab pita bread for example…

The main course was a pork stew aromatic with coriander, fenugreek, garlic, onions, marigold petals, basil, cilantro, etc. The classic accompanyment to this dish is either elarji or ghomi, both of which are nothing other than Georgian white corn meal polenta, the former with a mozzerella-like cheese melted in, and the latter without the curds. To provide “something completely different” as a foil to the warm, rich, and mellow spiciness of the stew and mush, I made a chilled stringbean, tomato, garlic, and dill salad which in getting the bread warmed, serving this and that, etc., I totally forgot to serve – the untouched leftover is a tresured rarity anywhere…

And so to the wine. Over at Wine Library’s Terroir I wrote a piece about Georgia being the likely birthplace of wine, and lots more about Georgian wine traditions, styles, etc., and I’ll likely get around to a reprise, if not an advancement on that topic here, but for now, and for those of you who don’t know, the Georgians are just as attached to their vineyards and the magical stuff it yields as any Italian or Frenchman or Portuguese, and perhaps even more so. This makes  the flap several years ago over Georgian wine being completely banned from sale in and by none other than Georgia’s old ”friend” Russia under the pretense that it much of it was fake, and some of it was tainted and unhealthy vary hard to swallow, but that’s the way it went down, and it hurt the fledgeling commercial wine sector badly. Admittedly the Georgian wine industry still has a long way to go to produce consistent, modern wines, but it was clear to the Georgians then, and should be clear to EVERYONE now, that this maneuver was just one of many deployed to keep Georgia (and Ukraine, Armenia, Belarus, Latvia, etc.) dependent on Mother Russia…

All that being said, it has always been possible to get real and GOOD Georgian wine outside Georgia, but neither with ease or any consistency, so I settled on a Langhe Rosso from Villadoria called “Red Pheasant” which is a 50/50 blend of Barbera and Dolcetto produced entire in stainless steel. I chose this wine mostly because I thought that it would have the stuffing to cope with the spicy food, without trying pick a fight with it, but also because pheasant is a great specialty of Georgian cooks, and is also one of the symbols of the city of Tbilisi…

And so we ate and drank this meal thinking of this wonderful place, their long struggle for independence, and toasts to what I think is its inevitable success. Long live a free, peaceful, and whole Georgia! The notes and the pix:

Villadoria Langhe Rosso “Red Pheasant” 2006

Very saturated crimson color. Nose of black cherry, toasted nuts, licorice, truffly earth, and a slight florality. The wine has a very easy-going balance, a silky texture, good weight, and a surprising elegance that revealed itself in the glass over time, neatly pulling forth flavors of plum, berries, and bittersweet chocolate. This is lot of wine for very little money.

TOM CIOCCO

 

 

For my currency, and as much as I love the place, Catalunya (as it’s spelled in Catalan) is one of the wine regions with potentially the greatest number of interesting things to say, but inexplicably, seems most willing to ape what others are saying despite it. And let’s call spades, spades shall we? – by “others”, I mean California and Australia.

The Catalans as a people have a long and illustrious history in the fields of both technological innovation (the first truly functioning submarine was designed and built by a Catalan) and business and trading matters in general, and the Catalans are also nothing if not pragmatic. So, knowing that their climate was not terribly dissimilar to either California or Australia, (in some way occupying a certain mid-point between the two), and with a full undertstanding how many Cali/Aussie bottles were easily fetching $50 a pop, much of the Catalan industry copied the model, and took it to the bank.

You know the routine -hell, you may even drink the routine: over-extracted, over-oaked, 14%+ alcohol wines, made from a confused knot of native and “international” grape varieties (blends including Garnacha, Cabernet, Carignan, Merlot, and Syrah are common), with an emphasis on the cellar work and the rock-star winemaker over the vineyard site and the work done therein. I’m not going to (continue) to bash these types of wine, but rather remove the bushel basket obscuring my own lamp, and praise a fun and authentic Catalan wine like the Espelt Saulo` Emporda` 2006.

The who? what?! Let me ’splain. This wine is actually made by a growers cooperative called the Viticultors de L’Emporda` not surprisingly located in the northeastern part of Catalunya (Catalonia in English) called Emporda`, hard by the French border…check the map . As a business, they likely make many lines of wine for a multitude of clients, and this particular group has been dubbed “Espelt”, but don’t quote me on that…What I am sure of is that ”Saulo`” is a Catalan word for the region’s sandy, gravelly soil…The Viticultors de L’Emporda` site is here for more info on what gets done there from the horses themselves…

Saulo` is a blend of 60% Garnacha (aka Grenache, and spelled “Garnatxa” in Catalan) and 40% Carignan (“Carinyena” in Catalan) that rests for just two short months in new French oak barrels. This little profile makes me happy. Why? First, it’s a wine made from 100% native varieties, which means, or at least helps to lend meaning to the notion of DISTINCTIVELY, in this case, CATALAN wine. Second, the wine is not shellacked with new oak, but rather caressed just enough by it to take the edge off – off of the savory and robust but often gruff Carinyena in particular. Third, it’s a wine that’s not trying to juggle cleavers blindfolded to impress you, or land a haymaker on your palate to make you pay it some attention…

…no sir, (or ma’am), this is nothing more nor less than a soild, anyday red with character. Now make no mistake, Saulo` is not a foot tread, unfiltered, biodynamic wine into which the farmer has wrung out his beard every thursday afternoon, (though those kinds of wines are good too), but neither is it a bland, lowest common denominator jug of plonk – thankfully. Way too much of that. This wine is a versatile, inexpensive, modern, but truly CATALAN number, and represents an approach that more Catalan producers need to adopt…Like I always say – make YOUR wine! 

I served this little lovely with a Catalan truita, which strangely literally means “trout” but is also used to denote omelette or frittata, with a mess of veggies – carrot, potato, bell pepper, onion, tomato, peas, turnip, et al. and ham - 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The second course was a modified recipe of pork loin in a pomegranate sauce, and the absolutely classic Catalan veggie side of sauteed spinach with pine nuts and raisins…

…all of these recipes were dug out of Colman Andrew’s excellent book Catalan Cuisine which for all intents and purposes is the only 100% Catalan cookbook readily available in English…In any event, the wine was light enough to not overwhelm the omelette (though the truita de pages is one tough mess of eggs) but it also had more than enough of everything to perfectly compliment the pork. The post comestibus:

Espelt Emporda` “Saulo`” 2006

Enticing and youthful blackish garnet color. The nose is a pleasantly complex bundle of mocha, light soy sauce, blackberry, lilac and cooked sap. The palate is full of round, chewy, and clean flavors of plum preserves and quince membrillo, but with a wonderfully stiff if basic structure to balance it all out. This is a very versatile, and easy-going wine that still speaks Catalan fluently.

TOM CIOCCO

Once upon a time, when Marsala was MARSALA!, and not just a component in the creation of the eponymously named chicken dish (good Marsala should STILL be in everyone’s fortified wine rotation, but that’s another post…) a big, characterful grape called Grillo (prononced GREE-LO, NOT GREE-YO) - our subject –  was the most important and noblest grape variety used in producing Marsala. Two other grape varieties called Inzolia and Catarrato completed the traditional Marsala trio…or maybe it’s a troika…triumverate? 

But as is the way with most fussy, low yielding varieties like Grillo, over time, growers began to gravitate toward Inzolia, which is more cooperative in the vineyard, and more effusively scented than Grillo, and to Catarrato, which is even easier to raise than Inzolia, but far less interesting than either of the other two. As the levels of Inzolia and Catarrato in Marsala rose, the fortunes of Marsala fell. Sadly, but for a few spectacular examples made by folks like Marco De Bartoli’s , Marsala has taken it’s place right between the Ripple and the Blackberry Schnapps. Damned shame too…but just a single sip of a good Marsala will give you a clear understanding why Marsala was once considered a “wine of kings”.

But enough about intentionally oxidized, fortified wines like Marsala. Firriato’s Grillo Altavilla della Corte is a regular, old dry white wine…ah, bad choice of words…this wine is anything but an old or regular drink to be sure…For my ducats, Grillo produces THE most full-bodied, structured white wines this side of the scylla and charybdis- so much so that if served warm to a blindfolded imbiber, it could easily be construed to be a red wine – no joke! Grillo has an almost tannic, chewy texture, and an intensity in the mouth unmatched by any other white wine that I know of – not Chardonnay, not Chenin Blanc, not Fiano – nothing! you hear? NOTHING!;-)

I served this wine with an improvised batch of farfalle sauced with ricotta, pancetta, peas and roasted red peppers and a couple of pan-fried tranches of wolf fish (which is a salt water catfish species) and some braised carrots. The pasta dish was no push over flavor-wise; pancetta and roasted peppers are BIG flavors that might call for a light red, but this muscle-bound charmer handled it and the strongly-flavored fish with aplomb.

 

Firriato Grillo Altavilla della Corte 2006

Deep and shiny golden color. The nose is redolent of ground ginger, toasted hazelnuts, and lemon zest, while the palate hosts very intense, chunky, and warm (but in no way sweet) flavors of pears in syrup and the skins of green fruits. The finish shows itself in almost “bell curve” fashion, intensifying with time before ultimately trailing off with a notably fine and concentrated notes of marzipan.  

TOM CIOCCO

First things first, Freisa (which is a Piedmontese grape variety, by the way) is pronounced in two syllables thus: FRAY-za. So what’s with the handle “Freisa”? The name’s etymology is uncertain. The possible link with the French word for strawberry (fraise) surfaces often, but the standard Italian word for strawberry is fragola and the Piedmontese dialect word is something like frohla so maybe it’s just coincidental…However, by virtue of its long political and cultural ties with the Franco-Italian royal house of Savoy, “Old Piedmont” speaks with a slight French accent if you will, so perhaps there’s something to the whole fraise/freisa  thing after all…but that being said, Freisa is absolutely unknown in France to both vineyard and table…

But recent genetic gumshoeing has turned up another “French connection”… In the course of investigating the genes of Piedmont’s most famous grape variety – none other than than the noble Nebbiolo – it was discovered that Nebbiolo was closely related to Freisa, and – hold onto your stemware – VIOGNIER! Yes, the aromatic white grape from the northern Rhone, Viognier. There may have been subsequent clarifications made, but last I remember reading, it is not yet clear precisely how these three varieties are related i.e. are the relationships direct “parent - child” relations, or are all three  younger/older “cousins”, or something else again? No matter the precise shape of the family tree, these three varieties are incontrovertibly kin.

All this genetic mapping business will likely be fully fleshed out sooner than later, but in the end, no matter its origins or pedigree, Freisa is, and is likely to remain a Piedmontese spciality. Freisa’s a bit of a wild child, really: deep and densely colored with twangy, earthy wild berry flavors and a palate that is both notably to very tannic and acidic as well. Further, finished Freisas naturally retain a bit of a spritz, and this tendenency is often not discouraged but accepted, and in fact often encouraged to make wines don’t just hold onto a little prickle of CO2, but wines that are notably and quite intentionally bubbly.

Arguing wine and food pairing could blow out a thousand voices boxes at a thousand tables and bars, but when those who really know Freisa talk about Freisa, one pairing NEVER fails to surface, and that is our liquid subject, and SALUMI! This Italian word, as can be inferred, refers to salamis and many other types of preserved/dried (almost always) pork products that in addition to salame in include things like coppa, soppressata, capicolla, dried sausages, and even hams, pancetta, etc.

There’s likely some food science white paper on the PRECISE reason why Freisa and salty, greasy, dried pork products love each other so much, but if someone were to stop me on the street and pose the question to me, I’d say that Freisa’s saucy, even brash structure, and wild, gamey aromas enmesh wantonly with the luxurious, unctuous, and often FUNKY flavas of GOOD salumi . We all like to skewer a conventionally held “classic food and wine pairing” now and again, but for me, this one is unimpeachable. Try a big plate of the one and a bottle of the other and then come back and even TRY to tell me why it weren’t no good. Huh.

Among other dishes served with Francesco Boschis Freisa Bosco delle Cicale 2006, the salumi plate below was composed of salame, coppa, a salsiccia alla cacciatora, and in the center, mortadella. Check the notes:

 

 

 Francesco Boschis Freisa Bosco delle Cicale 2006

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deep violet color with a black caste. Extroverted nose of blackberry, mineral, loam, and blood orange juice. The slightly bubbly palate is clean and SUPER dry with “sweet and sour” flavors of mixed wild berries, black cherries, watermelon juice, with good depth, an elegant, satiny texture and medium-grained, scrubby tannins on the finish.

TOM CIOCCO

 

And indeed it is. If you’ve been spending inordinate amounts of time (and perhaps money) exploring whites from other parts, I’d like to throw a rock in Campania’s direction hoping that maybe you’ll look over there for a drink. If you’re already drinking Falanghina, read on and feel vindicated. 

As the title implies, the subtley exotic, and marked vivacious Falanghina (fah-lan-GHEE-na), is probably the least famous vine in the Campanian “big three” triumverate of white grapes, which also includes the structured and (sometimes austerely) elegant Greco, and the full-bodied and fragrant Fiano. These two varieties are thought by many to have the ability to produce more “serious” dry white wines than Falanghina is usually thought to be capable of (though the one below drank with more dimentionality than any other I’d previously drunk). All in all this assertion is more true than not, but I’d counter-argue that of the three grapes, Falanghina is the one that has the fewest comparables or substitutes – that it gives the most distinctive performances, while duly noting that neither Greco nor Fiano wines are anything to be sneezed at in terms of new or uncommon flavor profiles!    

And I think as I write this that wines made from wonderful but admittedly “challenged” grape varieties like Falanghina are no longer available in only a handful of big-city Italian restaurants, but in little shops and trattorie  worldwide. No, it’s not Pinot Grigio (thankfully) or even Gavi or Tocai in terms of notoriety much less pronounceability, but to me the ability to overcome some pretty stiff odds from within Italy as well as from without is a direct testament to the grape’s great charms…

I knew that Falanghina had finally nosed its way into curious drinkers’ greater “rotation” of white wines when it was mentioned in an episode of THE SOPRANOS (the one in which Furio Giunta is buying a house…Speaking –  if I remember correctly – to Carmella Soprano, Furio motions to a spot behind a proscective new abode and says something like “…and back there is a place for the Falanghina”) What better way to cement a wine’s reputation than to put its name in the mouth of a fictional camorrista , right?

Anyway, Falanghina is an exceedingly ancient variety whose cultivation can fairly clearly be traced back to Rome’s earliest days, and is thought to be the variety that was the principal, if not the sole grape in the Roman-era appellation called Falernum, which was the most highly valued  wine region in all of Roman Italy. Falernum was, and still is located, under the modern name Falerno del Massico, in the northwestern-most part of modern-day Campania, hard by the border with Lazio. Falerno del Massico is just one of the Campanian appelations that can be made from 100% Falanghina; others include DOCs like Galluccio, Sannio, and Solopaca. Tenuta Ponte’s Falanghina is not even classified as a DOC wine, but rather in the less stringent, in terms of permissable grape varieties, vineyard sites, and yields, IGT (Indicazione Geografica Tipica) classifcation. This makes the great succes of this wine all the more amazing.

I served this wine with a frittata made with some leftover pepper and cream sauced penne. In my culinary “travels” I have found that Falanghina, like Sauvignon Blanc, pairs very well with the often difficult to match egg dish (and that is almost all of them), and indeed if pressed to liken Falanghina to a better known grape, it would be Sauvignon Blanc, but think Sancerre rather than Marlborough, but better still just think Falanghina…The notes:

Tenuta Ponte Falanghina Beneventana IGT 2007 (? – no vintage on label) 

Somewhat uncharacteristically golden color…Piercing nose of candied citron and ginger, sawn aromatic wood, and a drop of brown butter. The body is fairly big but still fresh with flavors of pear, beeswax, lemon zest and apricot jam, with a very long finish.

Some of the descriptors above might lead one to think that this wine may have seen some barrel-aging, but this is NOT the case – rather I think that is the result of a decidedly POSITIVE development of the wine in the bottle, but one that with further advancement might lead to less than positive, oxidized future. That said, this wine showed more complexity than almost any other Falanghina I’ve yet come across, and this is a great development for the variety, but the spector of bottle variation looms in wings nonetheless.

TOM CIOCCO

Those of you have read what I’ve written over the last couple of years, will definitely remember reading about Basque food, wine, and culture. I am a tried and convicted Basque-o-phile. Both the Basque land and the Basque people are a fascinating and seemingly contradictory braid of warmth and dourness; of sincerity and directness twisted together with a confounding inscrutability; a calmness and reliability fused with a real ferocity that roils like a fumerole just underneath smooth seas…

And those of you who have travelled in The Basque Country know about the almost religious attachment the Basques have to their land and its products – unique strains of peppers, superb anchovies (and fish of all kinds), sweet asparagus and leeks. But to be perfectly frank, anything but “newest” of New Basque Cuisine is not the last word in diversity  – either in terms of preparation or in the breadth of its palette of ingredients. Much of the Basque country is cool and damp – it’s not Ireland mind you, but it’s closer to that than the climate of most of France or Italy. But what the Basques do perhaps better than any other cooks in the world is to demand the very finest quality ingredients, and pair that stickling tendency with an almost alchemical technique and knowledge of how to get these beautiful raw materials to give truly inspiring performances. Basque cooks’ extremely skillful and delicate seafood preparations are legendary, and those of you who cook know that serving truly transcendent seafood is MUCH harder than it looks, and indeed is said by many to closer to an art than a science…

And the quintessential Basque wine – Txakoli (cha-co-LEE) -not surpsingly perfectly follows the form of the land that give birth to it, as well as to the people who make it. At first meeting, Txakoli can seem a bit tight and sour, but its citrusy spritziness (traditional Txakoli is bottled with a frothing, tiny-bubbled carbonation, though THIS one, and many more “contemporary” Txakolis, is bottle completely still), and stalwart, briney flavors, and the perfectly harmonious way that these traits buttress the bold, clean, elegant flavors of Basque food is nothing short of magical. 

In a previous post, I had written about a REAL Basque oenological rarity – a RED Txakoli – made from the THOROUGHLY Basque Hondarribi Beltza grape variety (“beltza” means “black” in Basque). Hondarribibi Beltza is the dark-skinned twin of the far more common Hondarribi Zuri (“zuri” means “white”), and indeed the Berroia Bizkaiko Txakolina 2007 is made from 90% Hondarribi Zuri with the addition of 6% Folle Blanche (a minor white grape from the greater Bay of Biscay area) and 4% Riesling, believe it or not.

For all of their ancient history (the Basques are arguably the oldest ethnic group still extant – they can dig their roots IN THAT PLACE over 6,000 years deep!), the Basques are not a quaint or old fashioned folk – just the opposite really –  the Basques take almost as much pride in embracing new or foreign ideas as they do in preserving their extremely ancient language, festivals, games, etc., and this unique blend succinctly illustrates this character.

The dinner that was the subject of my first Basque post here at EXALTED RATIONS  included among other things, a dish of Hake in Biscayne Sauce. Being ever the frugal cook, the sauce recipe yielded FAR more than I could use in one meal, so I froze it, and just gave an encore performance for this white Txakoli. We started with a tuna/lettuce/tomato/white asparagus salad, and a side of peas and carrots rice with the fish)…

One puzzling thing, and a question to anyone out there who might have an answer…This wine is classified as a Bizkaiko Txakolina  - that is Txakoli from the northwesternmost Basque region of Bizcaya. But, within the explanatory/tasting notes on the reverse label, the vineyard from which the grapes are harvested is said to be “…just west of San Sebastian city.” Those familiar with Basque geography know that San Sebastian resides comfortably and proudly in the Guipuzcoa region, not in Bizcaya (where Bilbao can be found)…what’s up with that? If anyone can explain, please post here post haste. Eskerrik Asko ! (Thank you!)The notes:

Berroia Bizkaiko Txakolina 2007

Very pale straw color. Fresh, spritzy nose of lime juice and lemon zest, white flowers, dried hay, and a touch of kerosene. The wine in the mouth is a medium-light affair with tangy and refreshing pear, grapefruit and cool notes of boiled peanuts and “twiggy” flavors. Finishes with a longish and elegant bitterness. 

  

It’s not as obscure as Sablet or Cotes du Vivarais to be sure, but the Cotes du Ventoux is not Chateauneuf-du-Pape or Gigondas or even Vacqueyras. What certainly is common knowledge is the fact that all of these appellations (and lots more) are all located in the absolutely HUGE wine growing uber-region known as the Southern Rhone in France’s perhaps too well documented Provence region.

At over 7,700 hectares (over 19,000 acres), much of which is in the hands of co-operative associated growers and cellars, Ventoux is LARGE (CdP is less than half that size, and Vacqueyras barely makes it to 1,000 hectares) so even just within this appellation there are readliy identifiable microclimates, but one element – the mountain that bears the appellation’s namesake, Mount Ventoux – makes Cotes du Ventoux what it is.

Mount Ventoux tops out at over 6,500 feet, and though no vineyards are cultivated even CLOSE to that altitude, much of CdV is a bit to a lot higher than many of the flat, sun-lashed and FAR better known Rhone appellations like Chateauneuf-du-Pape. The higher altitudes (as well as all of the other elements that conspire to make a region’s wines what they are) bring more breezes and cooler evenings to Ventoux’s vineyards, lending Ventoux wines a lighter, fresher character than its lower altitude neighbors.

The other critical factor in accurately sketching out Ventoux’s nature is the allowance of up to 30% of the earthy, smokey, brambly Carignan grape in the blend in addition to the Rhone’s usual viney suspects of Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre, and Cinsault (for the reds of course – the permissable white varieties are Bourbelenc, Clairette, Grenache Blanc, and Roussanne). Just to illustrate the point, Chateauneuf-du-Pape, Vacqueyras, and Gigondas do not permit ANY Carignan at all in their blends.

And with that little blab about Carignan and Ventoux, in this case I think that you can forget it because I’m not sure that this bottle had any Carignan in it at all – I can’t seem to locate the producer’s website (those responsible are none other than one of the aforemntioned cooperative organizations, in this case one called Vignerons de Beaumes de Venise who as best as I can tell makes this wine for this guest chateau), the back label only mentions Grenache and Syrah, and my own notes don’t include any of Carignan’s common descriptors, but it’s as likely as not that I’m mistaken, so if you can set me straight, have at it… 

The main course with which I paired this little charmer was an improvised Provencal-style pork stew (cubed shoulder, tomatoes, red and yellow peppers, garlic, onions, thyme, rosemary, bay leaf, a little glass of brandy, and other things that I can’t recall…) sloshed over orzo pasta. Had the meat been beef or lamb, I think the wine might have come out worse for the meeting, but the sweeter, more delicate flavor of the pork allowed the wine to speak, if not to the pork itself, to me and my Jenny. The notes and the pics:

Chateau Juvenal (Vignerons de Beaumes de Venise) Cotes du Ventoux 2005

Pretty bright purple/garnet color. Tidy nose of kirsch, black soil, dried flowers, and minerals. In the mouth the wine is velvety, chewy,and fairly rich with educated flavors of cocoa, brown spices, and plum. Despite the fair fullness of the wine, it still shows fresh, crunchy fruit, good grip, and it remains remarkably quaffable overall, this despite its 14 percent alcohol .

                      A Rhone again    

 

The Palstic Oeno Band

I reject the accusation that I am a Luddite. That said, I travel as many miles with my own feet as with any other mode of transportation (and I think this SHOULD be the case for a LARGE slice of the total population too). I do not use a cell phone, and I have no plans to start. The genie is likely too far out of the bottle at this point in the slog of human history, but I still believe the notion that ANYONE can buy ANY car simply because he or she’s got the money to do so is just ass backwards. For me, things like the cell phone and the automobile are examples of the foist, that is fundamentally specialty, “need to use” products marketed and sold with such force and/or lack of alternatives to them, that they come to be understood as necessities. The telephone? A truly revolutionary and useful invention. A telephone that actually attaches to the side of your head, and that remains in use for 10-12 hours a day? If I had told you that this would be you 25 years ago, what would you have said…I thought so. And with that, enough said there…

Let me give you an example of real (but not necessarily life-changing) progress with wine as the subject…It’s already happening, and it’s likely to continue, but REAL, HONEST wine is going to start showing up in ever increasing volumes in plastic bottles, obviously with a screw cap, like so many double liters of Tab, and this is no joke.

We’ve been conditioned to understand as a GIVEN that (“good”) wine comes in GLASS bottles that are this color or that shape depending on the kind of wine, and that are closed with plugs made of spongy Iberian Oak bark, and then in turn covered with colorful lead metal hoods (I’ve actually had customers reject bottles of wine that I’ve recommended simply because they had something other than a metal capsule! – Now THAT is snobbery rooted in ignorance!). When you think the concept “wine”, one of the likely images to emerge in your brain is the silhouette of that bottle. But if this were the year 1208 and not 2008, the image would have been a wooken cask, or keg, or MAYBE a demijohn…

To cut a short explication long, I’m making the case not to shoot the messenger, or in this case the vessel. As long as the plastic in which these wines are shipped is as ABSOLUTELY inert as glass, and imparts no unwanted flavors or aromas to the wine, why get hung up on what the damned thing is made of, or what shape it holds? Plastic (the RIGHT plastic - and this is another issue…) is just as recyclable as glass, is cheaper to produce (less $$$ out of your pocket) and lighter as well (less $$$ again, AND less pollution too!), and is (nearly) unbreakable, so what’s not to like?! THIS to me is an example of PROGRESS: a clear step forward with little to no “side effects” to contend with as a result…

Listen, the loss of the “romance” of an emerald-glassed bottle of wine with a thick, dense, pliable capsule, a smooth, crest-embossed cork, and an elegant, colorful label is not lost on me, but a new conveyance for our favorite drink also gives lots of clever and creative folks lots of opportunities to be clever and create, and perhaps get the great gift of wine to more kinds of folks everywhere, more cheaply, and with less environmental degradation in the process. - To me, that scenario is the very ANTITHESIS of a foist – or not? Your thoughts?

TOM CIOCCO 

I carry a bit of a torch for Liguria, it’s true (see my previous post, also including the same Piagto wine, called TAKING DELIGHT IN THE LOCAL). Jen and I spent part of our honeymoon there, and if absolutely FORCED to make the ridiculous choice of which of which Italian region has the best food, I’d (probably) choose Liguria.

Ravioli are Ligurian. Foccaccia is Ligurian. Liguria is the source for everything from the simplest plates of grilled fresh anchiovies flavored with nothing more than salt, to some of the most complicated dishes to be found anywhere in the Italy, such as Cappon Magro or Cima alla Genovese  

But one Ligurian dish – one SAUCE to be most precise – is known and eaten by gastronomes and “gavons” worldwide, and that is none other than the magical verdant paste known as PESTO, or most accurately, pesto alla genovese.  My use of the word “paste” in the previous in the previous sentence is not a haphazard one. The word “pesto” is derived from the Italian verb “pestare” which means to beat or pound. And indeed pesto should be- and I’m a stickler about this (and so should you be!) - has GOTTA be made in a mortar and pestle – SEE?! “pesto”, “pestare”, “pestle”…

And with these words, I hear mouses clicking off in search of less involving pursuits, but that’s OK…Listen, I’m not going to tell you that I haven’t made pesto in a food processor or a blender, or that if you do that you’ll grow hair on your palms, but I promise you that once you get that hang of making pesto by hand, you may never go back to your dark, Satanic mills…

When we discuss “pesto” it is far better to discuss “pesti” (plural, that is). As is so common in Italian foodways regarding culinary parochialism, there are nearly as many pestos as there are steep and sunny little fishing villages along the Ligurian coast itself. Recipes revered in this town are roundly reviled just a few clicks up the coast. The most fascinating part of all of this variability is the almost scriptural adherence to a fixed number of ingredients. The variations in pestos are ones of PROPORTIONS. For example, pestos from western Liguria (called the ”ponente”, meaning ”setting sun”) tend to be more garlicky, while those from eastern Liguria (the “levante”, or ”rising sun”) tend to be cheesier. Some towns very close to the Tuscan border include walnuts. Other areas use a bit of ricotta or a sprig or two of parsely, but pesto is predominately made from seven (7) and seven (7) ingredients alone, and they are: basil, salt, garlic, pine nuts, parmigiano reggiano, pecorino, and olive oil. 

Making a great pesto is INFINTELY more closely tied to the cook’s TECHNIQUE and the QUALITY/AUTHENTICITY of his or her ingredients, than WHAT is going into the maul…On the technique side of the ledger, a perfect pesto requires that, a few leaves at a time, and with a generous pinch of coarse salt, that the basil leaves be circulated and crushed against the mortar’s wall. The (coarsely chopped) garlic is next. This should be first pressed or “expressed” with a firm hand on the mortar floor and then heavily ground in the “corners” until fully mashed…The nuts are all about POUNDING! They can go in all at once, and they’re boken down by raising the pestle and striking the mixture until the nuts are reduced to a grainless, unctuous paste. The grated cheeses are “creamed in” in a sort of brisk, circular motion, and the oil drizzled in a bit at a time accompanied by a wide, but gentle stirring action…

Yes, this is  A LOT more work than dumping all seven ingredients into a mixy, and BLASTING it, but I don’t think it’s hard to see why the mortar and pestle method is going to yield a sauce with a finer consistency, and superior flavor…

And so to the ingredients. Here’s one that going to get some folks steamed: REAL pesto can only be had in Liguria. Can you make an extremely satistifying, yea, even transcendent pesto in Portland or Pakistan? Yes. But THE most important element in pesto – the basil – is the first (high) hurdle…

The very type of basil native to Liguria, though perhaps not strictly impossible to find outside its borders, to my knowledge is not readliy available anywhere but there. Further, the sweet climate that Liguria provides to the plants also significantly contributes to the perfumey sweetness of its basil.

The other essential ingredient in making authentic pesto is good LIGURIAN olive olive, and preferably oil made from the Tiaggiasca variety. What goes for the basil, goes triple for the olive oil. Tiaggiasca olives grown in Liguria (almost the only place they can be found) produce very light, lime-colored, fragrant, and buttery-sweet oils. The difference in the use of this oil versus a big, fat Apulian oil, or even worse, a twangy, peppery Tuscan oil for me is the differnece between a sauce that is just OK to one that is nearly sublime…Fortunately, Taggiasca/Ligurian olive oil IS available at good specialty stores, and if you can put your hands on it (unfortunately it tends to be pricey too), take the plunge, and see what a HUGE difference it makes in the final product.

And one could even argue that the particlar types of local, hard sheeps’ milk cheeses made in Liguria’s steep and rugged upland valleys are never available her either, though to be fair, the Ligurians are as likely to be using a good Pecorino Sardo  (Sardinian sheeps’ milk cheese) than anything else, and these cheeses are readily available at good cheese shops…

Yes, the pesto in Liguria is indeed SUBLIME, but if you’re willing to use up a little time, elbow grease, and a pick up few special ingredients, I GUARANTEE that you’ll fall even more deeply in love with this saucy little sauce…

And saucy it is! Pesto (best served over linguine, trenette [like narrower egg tagliatelle], or most traditionally with the hand-rolled pasta called trofie [TRO-fee-eh]) is a BEAR of a dish to match with wine: it contains enough basil to choke a mule, ripe with RAW garlic, and three full-flavors fats to boot…Most whites shrink from this onslaught, and most reds clash badly, but there is one local Ligurian white grape variety – Pigato – that for me is better than any other with this pungent sauce. Pigato in this role plays the enveloper, the absorber if you will. The pesto is the Costello to Pigato’s Abbott, if you’ll allow…Pigato has a big, soft, round body with understated,yet somehow completely immovable flavors and aromas. Pigato’s great success in pairing with pesto is due to its ability to bend but never break under the brazen advances of the great grass-green paste. Not surprisingly, it goes well with fattier white fish as well. The notes:

Colle dei Bardellini Pigato Riviera di Liguria Ponente 2007 

Colle de Bardellini Pigato

   

Yellow-gold color. Slighly chalky nose of yellow cherries, herbs, and almond milk. Fresh flavors of mango and sweet grapefruit with briney undertones hung in a medium-full, slightly “oily” frame. Finishes with a long and delicate bitter-sweetness. This is the sort of wine that only reveals its great charm by paying it a bit of attention (and letting it warm up just a bit).

TOM CIOCCO

I, and wine writers more gray of head, and more famous of name than I, have been extolling the virtues of Italian whites since the heyday of the “buttered bat” Chardonnay. And now that Pinot Grigio is EVERYWHERE (“slice and a soda” pizzerias, gas station mini marts, etc.) and wines made from grapes like Verdicchio, Fiano, and  Tocai (now officially called “Friulano” due to law suits from Hungarian Tokaji producers [same pronunciation despite the spelling difference]) have really made a nice circle of friends, it seems that the Italian (and not just Italian) philosophy of whites (fresh, un-oaked, lower in alcohol) has really taken hold.

So to the long and ever-lengthening list of exciting Italian wines, you can officially add Lugana – go ahead, I’ll wait…

Lugana is the name of the zone as well as the wine emanating therefrom. This verdant appellation slopes down to, and embraces Lake Garda, and the growing zone, like the whole lake itself, straddles the northern Italian regions of Veneto and Lombardia. This region so embodies the archetypically stunning image of pre-Alpine scenery, it almost seems cliched or fake…Like this for example…

Though not a physically large zone, there are well over 50 producers of Lugana, some of whom also make red wines under the name of Garda Rosso  which is made from a blend of Gropello, Marzemino, Sangiovese, and Barbera. But back to Lugana…

So what the heck is it? Well, the Lugana disciplinare requires the use of 90%-100% of a grape variety that is officially, and somewhat unfortunately named Trebbiano di Lugana (the other possible 10% is a kitchen sink of highly obscure local as well as “international” grape varieties). I say “unfortunately” for a couple of reasons…First, the word “Trebbiano” refers to no less than 3 COMPLETELY UNRELATED GROUPS of grape varieties, so right out of the box, Lugana has an identity problem. Second, what drinkers DO know about “Trebbiano”, if they know anything at all, is more negative than positive. One “branch” of vines that carry the name Trebbiano are none other than a vine that the French call Ugni Blanc. In France the variety is only deemed suitable to make Cognac. Similarly in Italy, Trebbiano (Bianco, Giallo, di Chianti, etc.) is used  to bring some acidity, and to be completely honest, to “pad” the blends of wines like Orvieto.

After the requisite DNA testing, it turns out that what Trebbiano di Lugana REALLY is is a cousin of none other than…(drumroll) Marche’s Verdicchio (as is Soave’s “Trebbiano di Soave” variety by the way)! And indeed if one holds this relationship in mind while sipping a glass of Lugana, it’s fairly easy to note. In my experience, Luganas tend to be a bit “brighter” or “sunnier” than most Verdicchios, especially when compared with those from the Castello di Jesi sub-zone.

Lugana is most classically and correctly paired with fresh water critters, especially trout, a fish for which Garda is well known. So, I decided not to rock the boat (sorry) and I served the Azienda Agricola Pilandro Lugana 2007 with  a couple of dried herb and corn meal-crusted, pan-fried Rainbow Trout (if the boat were floating on Lake Garda they would have been Brown Trout) with a side of EXCELLENT steamed and sauteed swiss chard with toasted pine nuts from the Hoboken farmer’s market (the greens not the seeds). The appetizer were crostini topped with a compund butter of sauteed porcini mushrooms, garlic, onion and parsley with lemon juice and zest, capped with a slice of hard-boiled egg…

This was one of those meals that came out just right – so much so that I said to my wife Jen that I enjoyed it as much as if someone else had cooked it…Add to this the fact that the wine was very nice, and that it also made fast friends with the food, and you’ve got all of the elements that went on to make for a memorable meal, and the promise of a repeat performance of it…The notes:

Azienda Agricola Pilandro Lugana 2007  

Pale-ish, bright, “white gold” color. Very fresh nose of citrus zest, grass, mineral, honeydew melon and a splash of fresh cream. The medium body shows whistle-clean and focused flavors of pear juice, powdered ginger, and marzipan, and a broad, deep, and well-tuned acidity. The length and clarity of the finish is remarkable. 

TOM CIOCCO