Two things I just learned about Chardonnay:

1. You shouldn’t serve a good one too cold.
2. It isn’t just for desperate housewives.

Somewhere in the last 20 years or so, Chardonnay became the most popular white wine in the world. California became a Mecca of oaky, buttery, easy-drinking Chardonnays, which led to yuppie housewives calling it their “poison,” which led to the mass-production and homogenization of the varietal—which led to a backlash against the wine with the “ABC” (Anything But Chardonnay) movement by wine snobs. In 2002 there were 52 British babies named Chardonnay and another 14 named Chardonay; In 2003 there were 91 Chardonnays born in the UK. Like the character in Sideways who famously announced, “I’m NOT drinking any fucking merlot!”  I pretty much gave up on the Chardonnay after 2000. What a mistake.

Just because every wedding I ever attended featured tidal waves of Chardonnay and because half of Trader Joe’s wine section is dedicated to the style, didn’t mean that there weren’t great producers still meticulously crafting interesting Chardonnays. Case in point: The Stuhlmuller 2007 Estate Chardonnay.

One of the first things I noticed about the wine was the direction on the bottle that said not to serve it too cold. The only other person who served me white wine just south of room temperature was Kevin Kennedy, and I fired him an email to find out more. His response was enlightening:

“The 50-60 degree range is probably ideal for Chardonnay, with closer to 60 being the most common recommendation. Most of us will take it out of fridge/cellar, open and taste as the wine naturally rises in temperature over the course of the dinner/bottle. This is the most common way to experience the different aromas, bouquets and flavors of the wine.

When working or enjoying the heat of summer there is nothing like a cool, crisp glass of Chardonnay right out of the fridge and into the glass. It may not be proper wine etiquette, but it sure hits the spot (I am guessing, like a shot of  your favorite tequila right out the ice chest after your last wave of the day).”

Chardonnay like a shot of tequila after surfing? This definitely wasn’t the 1990s version of “mother’s little helper” I normally associated with “chards.”

So I popped the wine right out of the fridge, poured a glass, and settled into a playoff basketball game. The color in the glass was a wonderful light golden hue (almost matching the uniform of the team I was supporting), and although it had a familiar oakiness, there was something special there. The taste was definitely crisper than any other Chardonnay I’ve tasted, but it still had a richness that was both complex and slightly creamy. By halftime, that complexity had doubled, at least, as the temperature rose slightly. Damn. Kevin was right… as usual. I noticed some pear and honey undertones, as well as some refreshing citrus that went really well with the wasabi peas I was chomping on by the handful. I ran upstairs with a glass for my wife to see if she would like it (thinking that maybe Chardonnay had turned into a macho-man drink). She shot my theory down after her first sip and scolded me for drinking half the bottle without her.

The 2004 Icaria Cabernet Sauvignon is a special wine. Admiring the elegant label and cracking the wax seal (versus tearing sharp foil) sets the mood. Pouring, smelling, tasting confirms your first impressions. The flavor is powerful and memorable. A perfect balance of tanins and fruits. There are berries galore here, but it’s not overwhelmingly jammy. I swear, the flavor lasts on the palette forever, exiting back through your nose as you exhale. What is that taste? I’m closing my mouth after swallowing, and exhaling very slowly through my nose again. So pleasant.

If you’ve got this wine, or are familiar with it, or if my review inspires you to try it, please comment here and let me know what tastes it brings to mind. Searching for the answer is a wonderful experience.

Everybody knows that wine goes better with food. Wines and Makers founder Andrea Godard’s done a great job of suggesting food pairings and recipes from her personal “greatest hits” for specific offerings at WAM. But, almost as important as edibles is the atmosphere you enjoy wine in. When I lived with Andrea in San Francisco, her house was always filled with great wine, food, music and musicians and they all played off each other perfectly. If a band wasn’t playing in her back yard, music was constantly setting the mood in her warm dining room, which was filled with artwork, books, and exotic brick-a-brack from her travels.

It’s with that unforgettable ambiance in mind that I introduce my first “music paring” – a suggested album that goes incredibly well with a bottle available here at WAM.

When I opened the Banyan 2007 Gewurztraminer, I was a little nervous actually. Not only was I slightly wary of the elongated bottle (which, for some reason, I always associate with sweet wine), but I realized I had no experience with this varietal—I couldn’t even spell it!

The first sip was a nice surprise. It was bright, floral, and slightly spicy—not sweet, but certainly pleasant on the tongue. With my tastebuds dancing, I headed to my computer: I knew exactly what album matched it.

I’ve been digging The Clientele for a while, since I borrowed their second LP, Strange Geometry, from a friend and left it in my player for a month or so. But 2007’s God Save the Clientele is as close as you can get to the sonic equivalent of the Banyan Gewurtz. It’s bright, light, crisp and unpretentious. It makes you feel like it’s springtime, even while frost is on the pumpkin; it makes you nostalgic for the past; it makes you feel clean-shaven and buttoned up.  The first track, “Here Comes the Phantom” fits right in with the world’s greatest jangle-pop. When you hear that “happiness just comes and goes” you think about hits by the Monkees, the Beatles, or even the Beach Boys… And, much like the wine, the album just gets better from the first taste on. By the time you reach “Somebody Changed,” you’ll be reaching for your second glass and reminiscing about high school crushes the first time you heard the Byrds. It’s warm feelings like those that wine and good music have a certain knack at summoning.

The Clientele’s God Save the Clientele is available from emusic or iTunes, and the 2007 Banyan Gewurz is a steal for $12 here at Wines and Makers.

After my last wine-tasting fest—where I opened three bottles on the same evening—I was left with three half-full bottles of wine. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but the next night I came down with a cold. I reached for one of the Zins anyway, but my wife quickly ran interference, putting a glass of orange juice in my hand instead. This made me worry that my delicious wines might go bad by the time I could enjoy them, so I contacted Kevin on the red phone at WAM’s headquarters.

“What’s the shelf-life for an opened bottle of red wine?” I asked.

“Heck, you can drink them three or four days later and they’ll be fine,” he said. “But if you’re worried about it, just cork them and stick ‘em in the fridge. Some red wines hold their flavor for over a week that way.”

My jaw dropped. “Red wine? In the refrigerator? Isn’t there a law against that in California? Don’t tell me you drink them cold…”

“Oh, no,” Kevin answered. “Just pull it out a few minutes before you want to drink it, pour it and let it warm up in the glass. It doesn’t take long.”

With that, I grabbed my Zins and stuck them on a shelf in the fridge next to the orange juice and chicken broth.  Five days later, when the cold was almost gone, I pulled them back out and tasted each. They were as good as the first day. Too bad I didn’t have anything left to test after a week!

Okay, sorry to punish you with yet another Zinfandel pun, but it’s not often that I get to open three wines on the same night—at the same time… so … you know … forgive my zins.

Tonight we played a little game I call “Wine Taster Shout-out” where everybody at the table takes a mouthful of the same wine, swishes it around, swallows, and then has to quickly state the first flavor, or flavors, that come to mind. The three Zinfandels that we popped were the 2005 St. Amant (Old Vine), the 2005 Martin (Old Vine), and the 2006 MoniClaire. The participants were my mom, dad, wife and best friend.

And without further ado, here are our shout-outs:

ST. AMANT
“Vanilla!”
“Black cherry.”
“Caramel!”
“Chocolate!”
“Tobacco.”
“Grape Jolly Rancher.”
“A giant pomegranate seed, squeezed into my mouth.”

(more…)

I recently had the chance to taste two tempranillos side by side, and enjoyed them with my 90-year-old Italian Grammie’s famous spicy meatballs. The first one I opened was the Obra 2006 Joven, a lovely rioja from the Ribera del Duero region of Spain. It’s a very smooth-drinking wine that brought to mind the flavor of berries when it first crossed my tastebuds. I would take a bite of a meatball, soaked in spicy red sauce, then follow it with a sip of the wine, which complimented the tomato and garlic-y ground beef nicely. I asked my grandmother (who doesn’t drink) to smell the wine and tell me what she thought it reminded her of, and after taking a big whiff, she deadpanned, “Smells like wine.”

In contrast, the second bottle I popped, the Bodegas Luis Gurpegui Muga 2005 Tinto Primi, tasted slightly more peppery. The flavor of fruit was still there, but it was veiled delicately in a spiciness that precluded the black cherry finish. This wine is darker in color and more oaky, with more obvious and defined “legs” running in streaks down the inside of the glass. Again, I put this one in front of my red-headed Grammie and asked her what it smelled like. Upon inhaling deeply from the glass, she looked up and announced: “Winey!”

I really enjoyed both wines for different reasons. Where the Obra was rounder and easier to get right into, the Muga prickled the palate, playing off the red peppers buried in the meat. As the Muga sat on the table over the course of an hour, it opened up more, mellowing out and revealing a softer side.

The wines seemed to have very distinctive personalities and I ventured to compare them to women — perhaps two redheads at a bar. The Obra was voluptuous, curvy and quite friendly from the first taste. One could go as far as calling her “easy.” The Muga, on the other hand, started out a little sassy, almost playing hard to get. The complexity was enjoyable and memorable because of the way it changed throughout the meal, finally giving way to a mouthwatering roundness. When I mentioned this to my family as we finished our Sunday dinner, I joked, “Look, they even both have nice legs!” To that, my grandmother just rolled her eyes.