Thursday Night Lights: Not a single soul was asking me for wine advice, and I was totally incognito; nary an adoring fan asking for an autograph. In that regard, it was exactly like every other day in my life. But the event- Thursday night football previewing a potential Super Bowl matchup- was far from ordinary. Throw in an emotional victory from the home team, a belly full of suds, a raucous crowd, an 8:20 PM kickoff, and a 7 AM meeting the next day, and this Falcons fan-turned-questionably-talented blogger wasn't doing any writing upon arrival in the 'burbs around 1 AM (I wasn't driving, FYI, per "belly full of suds"). Even if I had put fingers to keyboard, all I can imagine is some incoherent blather about how Alsatian whites are the "Atlanta Falcons" of wines, interspersed with lyrics from hometown Travis Tritt's forgettable 2004 anthem, "Falcons Fever". Trust me: you were better served with nothing this past Friday.

And now for something completely different:

District 9 Wine: After posting this crime against humanity designed to explain the origins of South Africa's notorious red grape, I realized I had very little experience with Pinotage. It'd never been a huge sell- lots of criticism, limited distribution, and descriptors of bananas, meat, paint, and burnt rubber. However, we can never know what we like or dislike based on commentary alone. I snagged two Pinotage bottlings last week: a 2009 Zafrika Western Cape ($4.99 at Trader Joe's) and a 2008 Fleur du Cap Coastal Region $12.99 at Total Wine; thanks for the tip, Matt Horbund). Call me snobby, but I couldn't make a sweeping generalization based on one bottle under five smacks.

As often happens with much-maligned wines, the situation turned out not as bleak as advertised. Okay, the Zafrika smelled like Beaujolais Nouveau (read: bananas and fruit punch) and tasted like cheap Chardonnay (seriously, if I had tasted it blindfolded, I don't know if I would say "red" or "white"). However, criticism aside, Beaujolais Nouveau usually retails for around $12, so if that's your digs, save $7 this Thanksgiving and try something different.

The Fleur du Cap, however, was very different. It immediately threw poop in my face, like some liquid form of a vengeful rhesus monkey. That may sound bad to those who are not fans of feces, primates, or funky wines, but I do like the latter (and I guess I like primates as well), so this barnyard bouquet preluded something interesting. Upon further investigation, the funk actually reminded me less of poop and more of two things: burnt rubber mixed with the smell of a freshly eviscerated deer. I can already see the marketing: "pour Fleur du Cap when you want to relive a deer-centric fender-bender in your glass." I'm for hire, guys, but I need to work in the States. Not as many leaping great white sharks here.

Seriously, though, it's not uncommon for wines to take on a gamey or meaty scent. And the burnt rubber could've been from the presence of mercaptans, a common byproduct in wine production (considered a fault). However, after a couple minutes in the glass, the tires took a hike, and I was left with a pretty complex nose of game, menthol, cranberries, cocoa, coffee, and a little bit of banana (which I can do without, but Pinotage is known to produce a good bit of isoamyl acetate during fermentation, the very ester that gives banana oil its scent). The wine had decent, very smooth tannin structure in the mouth, and offered a lot of fruit and spice. As I drank the bottle throughout the span of a few days, much of the funk fizzled off, and the darker fruits and coffee elements prevailed, harkening not only to one of Pinotage's parent grapes- Cinsault- but to many wines of its geographic ancestry: the Rhône.

All in all, Abraham Izak Pernold's freaky creation fared better than I had predicted. Yes, I understand the criticism. I can see why folks wouldn't like it, as I've never seen banana-crusted venison loin with garlic on the menus at restaurants- fine dining and otherwise. However, at $12, there was a lot going on that kept the nostrils working, and even if this wine had ended up terrible, I was only out twelve bucks, or about the amount of money someone could make in the time it takes to read a poorly-constructed blog post...

...but I'm glad you're here. And the check's in the mail.

There are hundreds of varieties of vitis vinifera in existence. Save the geek set, most are only familiar with about 8-10 of them (usual suspects Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, etc.). The rest- at least the majority- find pockets of the world where they thrive, yet never achieve commercial success as world travelers. However, many- like Zinfandel in California, Carménère in Chile, or Malbec in Argentina- find a home and become the "signature" grape of certain regions.

One such case is the little mad science experiment known as Pinotage. See, those hundreds of varieties of grape species have not all existed for ages. Some are mutations (Pinot Gris/Grigio and Pinot Blanc from Pinot Noir), others naturally-occuring crosses (Cabernet Sauvignon from Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc; Syrah from Dureza and Mondeuse Blanche). Furthermore, most "signature" grapes came from somewhere else (Zinfandel's origins point to Croatia, Carménère and Malbec come from Bordeaux). In both cases, Pinotage is pretty unique. It was created on purpose, and created in South Africa. A 100% native example of vitis vinifera, all thanks to the guys in the white lab coats.

The idea came about in 1925 at the University of Stellenbosch by viticulturist Abraham Izak Perold. Perhaps attempting to play God (or Dr. Bunson Honeydew), Perold planted the seeds of Pinot Noir and the Rhône's Cinsault (called "Hermitage" in South Africa) together, hoping to make something new.

Now, as is commonplace on this blog, I'm going to employ a completely random tangent to explain these two grapes. Imagine the world of vitis vinifera (that is to say, "wine grapes") as an ice rink. Ultimately, everything on that rink ends up as wine. However, just as there are hundreds of different grapes, there are many different types of skaters on the rink. Cinsault- for example- is a workhorse grape of the Southern Rhône, found in haughty blends like Châteauneuf-du-Pape, but never taking the spotlight like Grenache, Syrah, or Mourvèdre. It's a workhorse. Hearty, productive, and understated. If you put Cinsault on an ice rink, it'd definitely be defenseman Ray Bourque. He was productive: the NHL's highest goal-scoring defensive player, ever. However, defensemen are grinders, survivors; lacking the flash of wingers or the flair of goalies.

On the flip side, when I think of elegant, graceful, refined, and polished, I think of Burgundy's greatest grape: Pinot Noir. I also think of figure-skating legend Brian Boitano. What? You don't also think of Brian Boitano? Man, that's odd. And a little embarrassing.

So, we've got these two grapes, ready to cross. I can get a good idea of what Perold was after: he wanted all the incredible aromas, flavors, and velvety textures of Pinot Noir, but didn't want to fuss with all the inconvenient T.L.C. required of the tempermental, thin-skinned grape. "Throw in some Cinsault," he surely thought. "I'll still get all those triple axles, but I'll get them with a wicked slap shot and playoff beard instead of bedazzled lycra bellbottoms." Yep, I'm sure that's how it went.

However, things don't always go as planned. Instead of low-maintenance Pinot Noir, the hands of science were left with this:

A weirdo. A grape that- indeed- was vigorous, grew easily, and ripened early, yet displayed little of the characteristics of Pinot Noir. Sure, it fared well early in its youth, spurring tons of planting, but the grape has since earned quite a reputation among critics. Often marked by aromas of bananas and paint, flavors of meat and smoke, as well as flab from low acidity, Pinotage rarely plays the darling. I wish I could give a more personal account, but I- like many in the States- have little experience with these wines. I've tasted it before, but wouldn't dare try to recollect my thoughts. I know I at least got one bottle- years back from a former customer who loved the stuff. Of course, he was from South Africa. I think. Maybe it was England. All I know is that he used words like "practise" and "flavour".

To this end (if nothing more than to remedy my ignorance), I sought out a bottle of Pinotage. I'll be giving it a taste soon, and I'll attempt to give this weirdo a fair shake.

In the meantime, if you have any experiences or strong opinions about the grape, the wine, or if you just want to sound off on the ridiculous and incongruent metaphors perpetrated in this post, I anxiously await your comments (there's a story behind the latter).