” ‘Cause if my eyes don’t deceive me, there’s something going wrong around here…”

Just one more post on this subject, and then I swear I won’t discuss it anymore—I may have my fingers crossed right now, but you’ll never know, will you? The week before last I was the host of Wine Blogging Wednesday, and the topic I chose for bloggers was music and how it affects our perceptions of wine. And much like the 2-party political system this country seems to be stuck in, bloggers wound up in 1 of 2 camps: The Wow-I-Can’t-Believe-How-Much-Music-Effects-Wine Camp, and The I-Don’t-Get-This-At-All Camp. In the end, I’m just glad so many were excited at the prospect of a rather off-beat topic, and what I took away from this is that apparently we’ve got a lot of fellow wine bloggers who are also fellow musicians! Here’s a quick round-up of the bloggers who participated, and what they had to say:

The Wow-I-Can’t-Believe-How-Much-Music-Effects-Wine Camp

Ribbie’s Weblog – Ribbie ran the gamut with musical choices, from Coltrane to Santana to Mos Def, and really noticed the way the wine changed personality with the music. In the end, Coltrane was the best bet. Post here

Wine Lover’s Journal – Diane really took something away as well, and ran a double-experiment by tasting 2 wines instead of 1. Great job with the descriptions of the musical nuances Diane! Post here

Wine Predator – Gwendolyn liked the experiment so much she plans on doing it again! She tasted 2 pinot noirs with a slew of music ranging from Frank Sinatra to Bruce Springsteen…even spoken word! Post here

BrixChicks – You gotta love it when all three Chicks get together for an experiment! Three times the music, three times the wine, three times the fun. And in the end, here was the final thought: “I was skeptical that music would influence taste. SO fun to learn something new!” Post here

The Wine Whore – One of our many wine blogger/musicians, Randy did an awesome job of focusing on his senses: “My senses are solely focused on my nose, tongue, and ears with no other distractions.” He narrowed his experiment to 1 wine and 1 song choice, but when the 1 choice is Primus, how can you go wrong? Post here

My Wine Education – Michelle is an old-school gal who also focused on the single artist/single wine pairing, but had a lot of fun doing it—gotta find me a bottle of that Some Young Punks wine! Post here

A Glass After Work – Alleigh is yet another musician we have on board, and she went to the extent of listing the 5 songs she paid attention to most, in the order of their pairing “success”. The winner? Santana/Rob Thomas. Post here

Under The Grape Tree – Much like me, Kevin is the uber music geek and wine geek, all in one. Apparently, he’s also a movie geek too! Check it out: Post here

Shizfactor – 2 bottles of white wine and plenty of surprises for Erica who took a very creative approach I hadn’t thought of: live music. Her future sister-in-law was kind enough to play songs on the piano for her! She was pretty sure she knew what to expect, but came away surprised: “it is important to be on the lookout for dissonance between the structure and flavors in your sippage and the structure and melody of your tune-age.” Post here

Chronic Negress – The ever-lovely Negress really took this to task, too. Her comparisons of musical elements and enological elements were sheer poetry. Post here

1 Wine Dude – Joe kinda took the easy way out of this one (it’s OK, we still love ya, Joe!) Another fellow musician, Joe had just finished posting a CD giveaway for readers that left wine/music pairing combo suggestions, so he’s forgiven for not running the experiment himself….this time! Post here

Wine Sense – Sasha managed to write about one of my favorite new CDs out there—Playing For Change. Again, he didn’t approach this so much as an experiment between cause and effect, but nonetheless his in-depth discussion about wine/music pairing talked about the most important aspect of this all: subjectivity. Post here

Cheap Wine Ratings – OK, I’ll admit, this was probably one of my favorite posts because, like a couple of others here, Tim noticed a musical impact he honestly didn’t expect: “I guess I have learned from this experiment that music can have a dramatic influence on your tasting experience with a wine.  More dramatic than I anticipated.” Yeah, baby! Post here

Wine Label Review – I’m actually giving you a link to what is, essentially, an apology! Nonetheless, I’m waiting with much anticipation for Richard to post his 2-part video on this experiment: “I had so much juicy and pertinent information that I just couldn’t stop sharing the knowledge.” Let this be a call to action, Richard…we’re waiting!!! Post here

Come For the Wine – I wanna hang with Marcy…she’s obviously got some great music on her iPod! Final call? Aparently Italian pop and a rosé are a great match! Post here

The I-Don’t-Get-This-At-All Camp

Good Wine Under $20 – Deb asked me to forgive her “feeble efforts” but I certainly don’t think that was the case. She had a pretty good variety of music on hand, but in the end, she admitted to being too focused on the wine to let the music take control. Post here

Wannabe Wino – Unfortunately, the experiment was a semi-flop for Sonadora. She was rather tight on time, so Tori Amos was the only thing she had a chance to play. Hey, at least she made a great wine choice—Twisted Oak Murgatroyd! Post here

Ithacork – Tom did an awesome job of varying the styles of music but by his own admission, he was paying too much attention to the music to notice changes in his merlot. Putting too much thought into the process may have put up a barrier for him, but he did a hell of a job trying! Post here

Through the Walla Walla Grape Vine – Catie loves pairing wines and music but doesn’t really see direct links: “I haven’t exactly found that playing different types of music will change the experience of the wines, but what I have found there are certain wines that pair well with certain songs and musicians.” Post here

Drink What You Like – Frank has to be an OK dude because he has no idea who Michael Buble is…that’s aces in my book, as I’d rather not know either. He loves music, and loves wine, but didn’t notice the symbiotic relationship. Post here

I think I got them all, but if I missed you, please hollar and I’ll make amends. For those that took something away from this, I hope they continue to experiment. For those who didn’t really get a connection, I hope EVEN MORE that they continue to experiment. As I mentioned to a reader not too long ago, we need to understand that our brains receive several million messages through our 5 senses EVERY SECOND. Unfortunately, only about 18 of those messages get processed as thoughts, so there’s a whole lot getting lost in the process. My guess is that listening to certain musical structures may interpret the messages going from the mouth to the brain differently. The fun of it all, at the end of the day, is what really matters, though. Cheers, and thanks to all who participated!

 

“Qué viva España…”

Most readers here know that I come from a Cuban family. What most don’t know is that for obvious reasons (think Christopher Columbus) we’ve also got strong lineage in Spain, on both my mother and father’s sides. So when I heard that The Wine Academy of Spain (now holding courses across the US) was offering a scholarship (in conjunction with Catavino) to bloggers, so they could take their intensive 3-day Spanish Wine Course, I nearly peed my pants…nearly. Problem was, I was smack dab in the middle of Key West, preparing for my baby brother’s big wedding day, and nowhere near a computer (not that I had the time to type 2 words during the constant running around). But I’m not one to take adversity lying down, so rather than throw in the towel, I casually asked if I might be granted an extension until I returned to Jersey. OK, maybe it involved a little begging and pleading…and cyber crying…but I think I held on to my dignity.

Why, they asked, did I wanna learn more about Spanish wine? I could wax eloquent about my Spanish heritage, or go on and on about how Iberian wine is penetrating the US like an enological dagger, but the truth of the matter is that the first wine I ever had that actually brought me to near tears was a Rioja: R. Lopez de Heredia. I bought it on a recommendation from the store owner and eventually came back to personally thank her for having shifted my world. That rioja moved me. It slapped me across the face and said “Pay attention, wench, because it gets no better than this.” THAT is why I long to learn about the country that is capable of producing such a wine.

And beyond that, if we are truly as passionate about wine as we all claim to be, then an opportunity to learn anything more is imperative. The day I stop learning is the day I stop growing. And if I am not growing, I am most assuredly dying. The thought that anyone out there would hand me the opportunity to learn about the topic I love most is amazing—it’s a gift that can’t possibly be repaid.

 

“But all the things you try to hide, will be revealed on the other side…”

Things that are NOT usually found at the top of my “To Do” list:

1. Dining with a Bunch of Strangers – Cruise ships, hibachi restaurants and eateries with “communal” tables are great for those who love to hear about some poor slob’s amazing grandchildren, leeching ex-wife or recent trip to Aruba, but I tend to reserve bragging and griping rights for those who I actually…ya know…KNOW.

2. Letting a Stranger Choose My Meal – I’m not talking about a tasting menu at the French Laundry, mind you. I mean letting some weird, maybe/maybe not qualified “chef” sort of person I’ve never met before dictate what food I stick in my mouth, especially when I haven’t inspected their hygiene, their catering license or their Board of Health inspection.

3. Having Strangers Over for Dinner – Are you NUTS? What if they steal my private collection of Rolling Stone magazines, or use my toothbrush, or worse still, what if they smell?

4. Sky Diving – this has nothing to do with the previous three items, but…I’m just sayin’.

Despite the freakish paranoia, I’ve always been lured in by the idea of underground dining. The thought of someone out there being so passionate about food that they wanna cook for a bunch of strangers and eat in an abandoned warehouse, an open field or a chic townhouse is intriguing. Throw in the fact that it’s not exactly illegal, but not exactly legit, and that draws in my attention even more. It’s become a global sensation that’s not exactly so “underground” anymore, but the rogue cooks who are taking Gonzo Gastronomy to heart are making me rethink my list—hypocrite that I am.

Some of these rogue cooks are former professional chefs that got fed up with the shackles put on them by restaurants who care more about the bank account than creative cooking. Some of them are aspiring chefs who want an outlet for their talent while they spend years working their way up the line in a restaurant kitchen. And others are accountants, teachers and advertising executives who love to kick a little ass in the kitchen, and wanna share their food with a dozen or so strangers—aka, passionate foodie whackos. I say that with envy.

A few weeks before most of these secret suppers, those running the show send out an email to their fan base, announcing the upcoming date and any other info they deem fit, but seldom does it include the menu, and often doesn’t include the location, either. Reservations usually fill up fast despite the secrecy. Some will include wine pairings, while others are BYO, which must be like playing Pin The Tail on the Wino because you have no idea what food you’ll be pairing with. And if you’re talking big cities like Manhattan, some have secret entry passwords, $100 price tags, and dinners that start at 8PM and often see the last course being served at 1:30AM. For those, don’t bother to send an email requesting “dinner reservation for two” as that’s surely the one that will get relegated to the junk bin. Your best bet? A wildly creative email with a catchy header, like, “Willing To Bring Free Live Entertainment: Buxom Babes that Feed You Chocolate Bon Bons.”

What kind of stuff are they cranking out at these places? Truffle-Butter Scalloped Potatoes, Date-Stuffed Hanger Steak, Sweetbreads with Herb Gnocchi and Sage Cream Sauce, Black Mission Fig Frangipane Tart with Buttermilk Ice Cream, and possibly the ultimate indulgence: Bacon-Wrapped Bacon (pork belly simmered in Asian spices and then wrapped in bacon and baked).  Some are as simple as an heirloom tomato salad, but when those tomatoes were picked just to the left of the field where you’re dining, it’s pretty fucking cool and pretty fucking delicious, all at once.

Most of these places DON’T turn a profit, either—clue number 2 that they belong in the passionate foodie whacko category, which as I said, I’m envious of. They do it for the bump-and-grind sensation, the fever-pitch adrenaline rush, that only cooking for a crowd can bring you. They do it because the day-to-day bullshit of running a legitimate eating establishment is a song they can’t dance to. They say, “Give me a few bucks to cover expenses and I’ll serve you some seriously good food. And if you feel like lingering and having a few shots with me after the kitchen has had its way with me, well then let’s throw on some Bob Marley and blow the dust off the Jack Daniels bottle.”

Some not-so-unknown joints*:
• Cook With James  (San Francisco Area, CA) – site
• Caché (Seattle Area, WA) – site
• Whisk & Ladle (Brooklyn, NY) – site
• Hush (Washington DC) – Email only: hush.dcsupperclub (at) gmail.com
• Supper Underground (SUG) (Austin Area, TX) -  site
• Underground, Inc (Des Moines, IA) – site
• Outstanding In The Field (roving) – site
• Ghetto Gourmet (coast to coast) – site
• Plate and Pitchfork (Portland Area, OR) – site
• Coach Peaches (Brooklyn, NY) – Email only: dinner (at) coachpeaches.com

*Many of these were discussed in the book Secret Suppers by Jenn Garbee (find here).

 

“I hope you know this will all go down on your permanent record…”

I was sitting at the kitchen table with a black sleeping mask over my eyes, a set of bright blue Skull Candy headphones with a screaming face on them over my ears, and 3 glasses of wine in front of me, when my son and his friend came bounding up the steps. The friend must’ve done a double-take because my son, ever the developing wino, said “Oh, that’s just my mom. She’s doing a wine tasting to see how music effects how you taste wine.” Next thing I knew, my son was pulling one end of the headphones off my ear and yelling into my ear, “Ma, I want my headphones back when you’re done with them, OK?”

So what? So I borrow my kid’s A/V equipment…be happy I’m not waxing eloquent about my 8-track player or my reel-to-reel.

I had purchased a malbec, an aglianico and a monastrell, but I had no idea which dark inky wine was in each of the numbered glasses. I tasted all 3 in silence (the headphones do a nice job of blocking noise!) and took some tasting notes. Here were my initial, silent thoughts on the wines:

#1 – Very tight. Not offering much in aromatics other than some bitter chocolate. A little bit hot. Some gameyness to it. (Juan Gil 2007 Jumilla – Monastrell)

#2 – Berries and lovely earth on the nose. Spice & tobacco. Tart finish. (Gascón 2007 – Malbec)

#3 – Lighter berries than #2 and some smoke. Also a little bit tight. (Ars Poetica 2003 – Aglianico del Vulture)

Then I hit the “shuffle” mode on my iPod and essentially let the lions out of their cages. I listened to no less than 14 songs from completely different genres of music, and tasted all 3 wines with each song to see what paired well (or poorly) with what. The reason for the blindfold was so that I could focus strictly on taste/aroma and sound. By the time I was done, I felt like a wet noodle that had been slapped up against the wall—and I mean that in the best way possible. I’m still recovering from the sensory overload. This is all kinda new to me, so I wasn’t sure how to approach the data once I had it. In the absence of any sane ideas, I decided to do what I usually do—make it up as I go. Here, for starters, are the songs I listened to in my enological cocoon:

“Skin and Bones” (Foo Fighters) – Live and unplugged, it’s an eerie sort of rock song with a marching drum pattern.

“Little Drop of Poison” (Tom Waits) – A tango-like arrangement with a piano. Tom’s voice is ever gruffy and raspy, and there’s a high falsetto in the background.

“Do Me Good” (Amy Winehouse) – Sexy R&B groove, sultry voice.

“Fake Plastic Trees” (Radiohead) – Ethereal male voice, slow tempo, string accompaniment.

“Aces High” (Iron Maiden) – Fast tempo, heavy metal, harmonious electric guitars

“Mosh” (Eminem) – Rap, slow marching tempo

“New York Mining Disaster” (Bee Gees) – Mostly a cappella vocal harmonies

“Nature Boy” (Jon Hassell) – Trumpet/flute jazz with 2 melodies that are counterpoint rather than harmonious

“Game Plan” (Bob Schneider) – Hard rock with electric guitars and repetitive patterns

“No Hay Cama Pa‘ Tanta Gente” (El Gran Combo) – Salsa with horns and lots of percussion

“Radio Radio” (Elvis Costello) – Punk-influenced new wave/rock with keyboards

“Sex on Fire” (Kings of Leon) – Syncopated rhythm, strained rock voice

“Concerto #3” (Sergei Rachmaninoff) – Intense piano piece

“Sir Duke” (Stevie Wonder) – Swinging funk with lots of horns

No, I didn’t include any country music. You can find that wine pairing over at the “My Girl Left Me, My Dog Died, My Boss is a Jerk and I Love My Country” website. Other than some Johnny Cash, I don’t listen to much country, though I guess I probably should have in the interest of science. Shit. Oh well.

Rather than give you my notes on how each wine changed with the music (and in the interest of keeping this from becoming a doctoral dissertation instead of a blog post) I’ll see if I can summarize what I found to be some amazing observations:

1.    Apparently Tom Waits, Radiohead, Jazz, Salsa and Classical music are VERY temperamental with your wines. None of the 3 wines tasted pleasurable with these pieces and my guess (though I’d have to experiment more) is that they need extremely heavy-handed wines that have been allowed to open up for some time, because everything tasted weak, or tart, or tight, or bland or thin while listening to them.

2.    On the contrary, R&B, Funk, Rock and New Wave are much more forgiving. Overall, the 3 wines had positive notes across the board with these types of music.

3.    Best combos according to the tasting notes were: “Game Plan” with wine #1, “Radio Radio” with #2 and “Do Me Good” with #3.

OK, must go nap now. Whew.

 

“I smell sex and candy here…”

This one falls into both the “give me a fucking break” and “you can’t possibly be serious” categories, but WordPress doesn’t seem to have those listed as blogging tag options, so I filed it under “insultingly stupid marketing schemes.”

I realize that chocolate has always had a sexual allure to it. Montezuma believed it to be an aphrodisiac, and handing your woman a box of good chocolate will almost assuredly get you laid. But as a general rule, I get nauseous when a new product tries to market itself to me simply because I’m a woman—probably the ONLY thing I share in common with the likes of Paris Hilton, Margaret Thatcher and Joan Rivers (she’s still a woman, right?). I regrettably introduce to you the schmucks trying to do just that, Fling™ Chocolate.

According to their sexually loaded (and yet banal) innuendo, they “broke the rules” when they created this Twix wannabe—chocolate truffle atop a cookie, coated in chocolate—that they say looks as glamorous as the women it speaks to. Who exactly are these women it speaks to, and where can I run them over with a Hummer…twice? Each serving…no, wait, I forgot. It’s not called a serving, it’s called a “finger.” Each “finger” has 85 calories, half of those from fat. And oh, did I mention that they “shimmer”? Yeah, each of the 3 flavors (milk chocolate, dark chocolate and hazelnut) has a different color “shimmer” to it, which of course will make you want to “tear it open and sneak a quickie.”

Apparently, the marketing gurus there are under the impression that the fact that you have a vagina between your legs supposes that you don’t have a brain between your ears. Where exactly was I supposed to stick that finger of chocolatey goodness, anyway? Oh come on, that’s what they want you to giggle about, after all. If nothing else, at least you can rest easy knowing that the fingers are Kosher. It’s a given that this product is the brainchild of Californians, but I thought I’d mention it anyway, in case you’re living in Fargo and wondering why you can’t yet have a Fling™ or two while standing at the checkout line in your supermarket.

 

“We’re a happy family, we’re a happy family…”

Anyone who has a kid…aww, hell, anyone who even knows a kid…has heard, at one point or another, the “but everyone else is allowed to” defense. We roll our eyes, shake our heads and fall back on the well-seasoned retort about jumping off a building or bridge, as if it were the most sound piece of logic ever bestowed upon us when we turned 25 and became adults—yes, I do mean 25. My son, for instance, is always bugging me to let him to bring his iTouch with him to school. That’s answered with an immediate “no” which is then supported by, “someone might steal it because they want one, or it might fall out of you bag and get lost.” He’s already waiting with the “yeah, but so-and-so’s mom lets him bring his to school” bit, but I cut him off at the pass and respond with something to the effect of, “well then so-and-so’s mom must have money coming out her asshole if she doesn’t mind that a gadget with a $230 price tag gets scooped up by some conniving juvie!” or something to that effect—I’m hazy on dialog details.

Something similar is now happening in Europe. No, no, no…I don’t mean between European mothers and their kids. France’s winemakers (a.k.a the kids) are having tantrums and the EU government (a.k.a. the moms) is caught between a rock and a fucking concrete boulder. Why? Because of how rosé wines are traditionally made and the proposed legislation that would toss that winemaking method to the lions. A couple of years ago, many European winemakers started whining that their “value brands” couldn’t compete with similar wines coming from the New World (mainly the southern hemisphere) because European laws forbid cost-saving (a.k.a. corner-cutting) techniques like using oak chips instead of aging in oak barrels. They complained that, in order to successfully compete with the competition, they needed to be able to use similar techniques—the old, “but everyone else is allowed to” defense, in action. So, in 2007, the EU’s Agriculture and Rural Development Commission developed amendments to existing winemaking laws, essentially loosening the regulations, and the 27 member states of the EU, including France, gave their initial nods of approval.

But here’s the rub…now, many traditional rosé-making wine regions are protesting the proposed amendments. Historically, French rosé has always been made by crushing red grapes, allowing the juice to extract a little color and flavor from the skins, and then straining the juice into another tank for fermentation. The amendments now on the table would allow winemakers to take already-fermented white wine and add some red wine to create the rosy-colored wine. Problem is, this stuff tastes as much like traditional rosé as grape soda tastes like grapes. Not to say that it tastes bad…it just doesn’t taste like a true rosé. When the rosé-making regions of France flipped out, the EU proposed a compromise that, true to government, pleased no one: Rosés must be labeled either “traditional” or “blended.” The retort? True to tradition-entrenched Frenchness, France’s Agriculture Minister flipped them the bird and said France would simply outlaw blended rosés if the EU proceeded with the changes. Unsurprisingly, the EU has now announced delays—my guess is, in order to decide whether to use the “don’t cause a scene or I swear I’ll…” threat, or capitulate like an exhausted mother that winds up handing her kid the blasted iTouch and wishing him “bon chance.”

 

“Baby we can do it, take the time, do it right…”

Meson Madrid. Villa of Spain. Casa Sevilla. El Cid. It doesn’t really matter what the hell the name is, does it? I sit at the bar with my best friend, waiting for the others to arrive. The room that wraps us is dressed in thick burgundy velvet with framed nostalgia of valiant matadors, sultry flamenco dancers and plated paellas. Music is being piped through small inconspicuous speakers in the corners, I think maybe it’s “Viva España” or no, maybe it’s some Placido Domingo aria. Whatever. Patrons’ lively chatter floats over the bar while I peruse the wine list. She signals the waiter with a slight nod and says, “A glass of sangria, please,” then proceeds to tell me that this joint is known for their amazing sangria. She loves it. I should order it. The bartender is, I think, winking at me—or he has something in his eye. He turns his back to us, pulls a wine glass from the racks that line the bar’s ceiling, and proceeds to pour her a glass of their famous sangria…from a jug of (I’m now biting my bottom lip so hard I think it’s going to bleed) commercially made “sangria.” He returns to take my order as he hands her that glass of prized juice, and in my infinite wisdom I decide to ask for something safe, something he can’t possibly screw up—a beer. She rolls her eyes, shakes her head and tells me I don’t know what I’m missing. I humor her, take a sip of hers, tell her it’s yummy, and go back to my cerveza.

A couple of years go by, and some random celebration finds her at my house, dipping into a big-ass bowl of my homemade sangria. “My god, Katie,” she exclaims, “this is the best sangria I’ve ever had!” I’m not much flattered by her compliment given what she’s deemed “amazing” in the past, but graciously thank her anyway. Sangria, is not something you pour out of a jug and add sliced fruit to. It’s not made—it’s prepared. There are a million variations, but none of them should ever include dumping something called “sangria” out of a bottle. That Chateau de Factory concoction is to sangria what Beefaroni is to Italian cuisine. Honestly, the most time-consuming part of the project is slicing the damned fruit anyway…what the hell are another 3 minutes gonna keep you from? Watching Paula Deen for christ’s sake? Red wine, juice, carbonation and fortifier (brandy, triple sec, etc). Throw in some fruit, let it sit, and you have yourself a serious beverage. Not exactly rocket science, and yet seldom done properly, much less done well. My go-to recipe always includes mediocre-quality wine (fruity Beaujolais, spicy shiraz, whatever) but good-quality spirits (Grand Marnier, brandy, etc). To that I add fruit juices (oj, citrus, mango, you name it) and last-minute carbonation (i.e. Sprite, 7-Up, fruit-flavored seltzers, etc.). Sangria was designed to be a “use up whatever you have in the fruit basket that’s about to go bad” device, so there’s no right or wrong, but I’m thinking that using mango juice and apple slices may not be the best combo. Other than that, some sugar, some cinammon/cloves…go to town. I even make a white sangria with chunks of watermelon, slices of lime and fresh chopped mint and basil—not classic, but certainly REAL. That’s something the stuff in a jug can never lay claim to.

 

“Now I’m waiting for Wednesday, waiting for Wednesday…”

WINE BLOGGING WEDNESDAY – JUNE 10, 2009

It’s obvious to most who know me that I’m as passionate about music as I am about wine. I can barely remember all my in-laws’ birthdays, but I have no problem recalling the various lead singers for Rainbow or which Beatles album Lady Madonna is on. But what most people don’t realize is that wine and music share a symbiotic relationship much more intertwined than ever imagined. I had written a post a while back about how music influences how a wine tastes to us. I was dubious when I first heard the theory, but after taking part in a tasting experiment, I had no doubt in my mind (and my palate) that Billie Holliday could simultaneously make a flabby, over-oaked, buttery California chardonnay actually potable, and a beautiful crisp Chablis appear a bit flaccid.

Since that day, I’ve been very careful when drinking wine to take notice of the music I’ve got on in the background (because I always do). If at first I don’t like a wine much, I try changing the genre of music just in case that’s the culprit. On the flip side, if I’m nuts about a wine, I’ll often stop the music altogether and taste again, to make sure I’m enjoying it because of its own merits, and not because the tunes are swaying me. What’s more likely to pair well with a spicy syrah—Led Zeppelin, Miles Davis, Barry Manilow or Shakira? You tell me.

The challenge I put forth to the wine bloggers out there for this month’s Wine Blogging Wednesday (#58) will involve a little more than just finding a nice wine, a lesser-known varietal or an emerging region to write about—it will involve sitting with a wine or two, tasting them, playing different types of music, and taking note of how your experiences change. This is NOT about sipping and spitting. It is NOT about a few scribbled tasting notes. And it is most definitely NOT about objectivity. And please, for the love of all that is holy, if all you have in your music collection is Michael Buble, go borrow some CDs from your head-banging neighbor, your hip-hop-loving relative, and your stuck-in-80s-alternative college buddy.

 

“I’m just a soul whose intentions are good…”

It’s been WAY too long since we’ve done an Angel vs. Demon face off, so let’s get to bustin’ heads and takin’ names. I recently had a bottle of wine from the Languedoc region of France that I ordered from one of my favorite wine hunters— Garagiste. Because the wines that I buy from them are wines I’ve never actually tasted, I usually only buy 2 bottles. That way, if I hate it, I’m not stuck with a case of it. On the other hand, if I love it, I know to order plenty more next year. In this case, the wine had such an effect on me that I didn’t have the patience to wait another year for the next vintage to be released…I wanted more, and I wanted it now. But let’s get down and dirty about the Languedoc region first, and the ongoing battle there between the angels and the demons of winemaking.

The Languedoc-Roussillon has long been the largest wine-producing region in the world, not that you could tell by your average wine consumer’s purchases. It’s responsible for more than one third of France’s total wine production (more than the entire US) and yet talking about the area to the guy standing next to you in a wine shop will usually meet you with a shrug, a shaking head and a glazed look. Unfortunately, most people were introduced to the region in the worst way possible: mass-produced, crap-quality Vin de Pays d’Oc. Though there may be a lot of great juice carrying the Vin de Pays regional designation now, much of what is promoted and widely available in the U.S. comes from huge co-ops, where quantity, not quality, is king. The rabbit-like mass production has contributed to several decades of surplus wine in France, and to what they not-so-lovingly call the European “wine lake.” Now, a lot of folks there are focusing on making quality wine and the Languedoc is stuck between the old and new worlds of wine production—kinda like the Luke Skywalker of wine regions. It’s been around forever, but is only recently starting to make its mark with serious wine, so bargains are o’plenty, much like in Portugal, Argentina, Chile and South Africa. Problem is, that guy standing next to you in the wine shop is way more likely to have a $12 bottle of Argentinian Malbec in his basket than he is a $14 Minervois—and it’ll be his loss.

Welcome to the ring, the “angel” wine that had me begging Garagiste for the rest of their inventory, emailing the wine maker in search of US importers, and hunting down local distribution at 11:30PM—2005 Mas des Dames Coteaux du Languedoc. Coming from an all-women winery, this red blend is my equivalent of truly soulful wine. If you dig Chateaneuf du Pape, Priorat or any of the old-vine Grenache, Carignan and Syrah wines, this will no doubt turn you on. It’s elegantly restrained instead of throwing an over-oaked mess in your face (there’s no oak), and it’s deep and meaty and earthy. With alcohol levels at about 13%, it’s also what the CdPs used to be a couple of decades ago—food friendly. To quote Garagiste, “The wine is an obvious expression of feminine winemaking and a tender hand—it stands out among so many rustic examples that almost achieve their goal but never quite get there. This wine races past the finish line with much in reserve for a rainy day and keeps getting better every time I try it (scary, considering I was so enamored with it last year).”

In the other corner is the “plonk in a bottle” demon of the round—2005 Fat Bastard Merlot. This is one of those times when I reiterate just how much I must love you people for purposely drinking a wine like this, just so I can tell you how bad it is. Fat Bastard is one of those French attempts to make the obscure more plebian. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a valiant worthwhile effort, but it certainly ain’t helping the Languedoc get out of it’s plonk funk. I thought of a long litany of descriptors for this loosely-termed wine, but the one that kept coming to mind (and was probably the least sophisticated but most accurate) was “ewww.” That was closely followed by “gross,” “yuck”…oh…and “I want my money back.” OK, fine, if you want winespeak, I think it was bitter, bland, had no finish at all, and to call it simple is to be generous. This is not about snobbery, folks, it’s basics. The two wines have maybe a $5 – $8 difference, but the two are worlds apart not only in value but also in personality.

 

“Smokin, smokin. We’re cookin’ tonight…”

When your day begins with a glass (oh, OK, a couple of glasses) of a sparkling rosé from Alsace, there’s not a whole lot to complain about. See that baby right there on the right? That was my Mother’s Day gift. Appropriately enough, I set the smoker up next to the grill that was also a Mother’s Day gift about 5 years back. Subtlety is not exactly one of my stronger virtues, so whenever I start talking about something I’d really love to have, I usually do one of those “That would make a really nice gift…” comments with eyebrows raised and head exaggeratedly nodding. A turntable is still somewhere on that list, but the smoker seemed to have overtaken the lead since everyone around me would benefit from that gift, and the only thing they’d get from buying me a turntable would be several hours’ worth of me singing loudly and passionately to the likes of the Sex Pistols, Etta James and Frank Zappa.

They were generous enough with their gift giving to make sure that I would have the whole thing set up in anticipation of Mother’s Day. That way I could have everyone up to my house for the festivities…how thoughtful. I decided on ribs and chicken, and had everyone else contribute a side dish—that way, I wouldn’t have to do much other than tend to the smoker and…well…drink my wine. But why tend to the smoker on your special day, Katie? Why not let the men handle it? Are you nucking futs?!? NOBODY goes near my grilling and smoking other than to make themselves a hamburger or hotdog at 9pm, long after I’ve declared that I’m done cooking for the day. And as for the peekers—you know, the ones who wanna open the doors just to see how everything’s coming along—well, they were flogged.

Prep for both the chicken and ribs began the night before. The ribs got a nice dose of my homemade rub after I removed the membranes on them, and the chicken went into my jerk marinade. Mother’s Day morning found me at the smoker at about 9:30am, getting it to temperature and putting the ribs in, all while sipping away at my first glass of the lovely sparkling rosé. I realize there are purists out there who don’t think any bbq sauce belongs on ribs at all, but I usually brush them with some towards the end of their cooking time. Since this was my first go at the smoker and the ribs were sitting sideways in a rack, basting would’ve been not only messy but nearly impossible, so I waited ‘til they had about an hour left and moved them to the high warming rack of my grill where I could lay them flat and baste them a couple of times. As you can see by the 2 little lonely ribs that were left, I don’t think anyone was complaining about the sauce.

The chicken, however, wasn’t such a smashing success. The flavor that the smoke infused left the jerk flavors in the dust. All I got was smoke. I was pissed. I was disappointed. I was deflated. But I was also somewhere between 1 and 2 sheets to the wind, so I raised a glass to everyone seated at my table, thanked them for being my guinea pigs, apologized for the smoky/unjerkified chicken, and simply told them to eat more of the beans. The leftover chicken, methinks, will make a MEAN chicken salad.

PS – Recipes for the rub, bbq sauce and jerk marinade will be posted to the “Recipes” section tomorrow!