Just a few shots from a recent burger grind. I simply bought a ribeye steak and made it into hamburger. Some would say this is a waste of a good steak, but I argue it's the makings of a tasty grind... if only I hadn't overcooked the damn thing. Luckily, it was only slightly, and the ample fat kept it moist.

Paired that sucker up with the 2008 Tribute to Grace Grenache. Yowza. Hard to get, but try to get some.

Do you get irritated by words with accents, umlauts, lines through the "o", "CCCP" standing for "The Soviet Union" somehow, tildes, backwards accents, the Greek alphabet as a whole, and those damn hieroglyphics? Maybe you don't. Perhaps you're more "worldly" than the rest of us jackasses. Okay, more worldly than me. Sorry I called most of you jackasses.

To me, if it's difficult to find on the keyboard; if I have to access the "character map", copy, then paste (making sure the font is consistent), well... it's irritating. Listen; I'm not language xenophobe, and I get and respect the need to accuracy. But that doesn't mean I can't bitch about it.

Compound the irritation when someone not only takes a word that requires a funky rooftop above the "o", but slings it around in his lexicon like a warm and familiar word that everyone will understand. "Here, we're pouring a classic Rhône blend. Mmm, it just smells like a Rhône blend, doesn't it? Oh, you don't know what a 'Rhône blend' is? Well, I guess I have the psychological upper-hand at this wine tasting, don't I, shit-for-brains?" (for the record, "shit-for-brains" is one of those very familiar terms I was talking about that everyone knows. )

My point- which absolutely required graphic cursing- is that wine folks all-too-often throw out obscure terms and industry-speak to the curious masses that are assumed to be commonplace. Blogs are probably the worst about this. I bet this blog is terrible about it. And sure, wine lovers are likely the ones reading wine blogs (actually, it's probably just other wine bloggers). But I think we get too comfortable speculating on what our audience already knows, without taking the time to explain what the terms mean. Coupled with the fact that many of those terms are foreign and contain weird slashes and dashes and flip-flaps only exasperates the problem.

When in doubt, a little education never hurts. Remember: it's okay to be geeky. People actively seeking wine blogs and articles are probably into that stuff. But assumptions can be very alienating. Subscribing to this proviso, I will probably lose all the super-knowledgeable folks with the rest of this post. But I'd rather hope one eager vinophile gets learned on some tight science. Some things just deserve a thorough explanation.

And such is the case with the Rhône. Ever heard the term "Rhône blend" and wondered what that meant? Much like "Bordeaux blend" or "Super Tuscan", a "Rhône blend" is something thrown around in the tasting rooms of California, Washington State, and Australia, among others. But what does it mean? First off, the Rhône basically refers to the Rhône river valley in southeastern France. It's a very famous wine region, containing some sub-regions that you may recognize: Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Côte-Rôtie, Hermitage, and Condrieu, to name a few. The region is basically broken into two geographic sections: the Northern Rhône and the Southern Rhône... I know; it's not very creative. Maybe they should've brought in Big Ten Conference big wigs to name the regions (tongue planted firmly in cheek).

Anyway, the Northern part focuses on dry red wines made primarily from the Syrah grape, and the most-notable whites made from Viognier (and some from Roussanne). In the Southern section (sorry, I just can't say "Rhône" anymore, and I'm sick of the extra keystroke to put that hat on the "o"), Grenache [Noir] is king of the reds, but you'll see tons of different grapes, including the aforementioned Syrah, along with Mourvèdre, Cinsault, and Carignan (among others). On the white side, there's Viognier and Roussanne, but there's also Marsanne, Grenache Blanc, Picpoul, Bourboulenc, and on and on. Confused yet? Me too.

So let's simplify: the phrase "Rhône style blend" is probably used by someone not in the Rhône. But when a winemaker in Santa Barbara County, California or Walla Walla, Washington says that, he/she means that it's a wine made from a blend of traditional Rhône grapes. That's it. Tasting a Syrah with a little Viognier blended in? You'll probably impress someone if you describe that as a "classic Northern Rhône" blend. Or irritate someone. Depends on the person.

In Australia, they grow a lot of Syrah, but it goes by a different name: Shiraz. Same grape, different name. Those wacky Aussies; don't let them trip you up. Down under, you'll see a lot of bottles labeled "GSM". That's short for "Grenache/Shiraz/Mourvèdre". That is a great example of a "Southern Rhône" blend. Or maybe you'll run into a white wine made from Roussanne, Marsanne, and some Grenache Blanc. Same deal.

Stateside, you'll see quite a few varietal bottlings. Blends just aren't as hip yet here. Syrah is the predominant variety I see (though sales are slipping). You'll also probably find some Grenache on its own, Viognier, Roussanne, maybe a Mourvèdre or two, and that odd Carignan. As for the 20+ other predominant grapes that grow in the Rhône... well, you shop at interesting places if you see many (or any) of them grown domestically and bottled by themselves.

Well, there you go. Pretty sure I scared 99% of folks off with all that technical mess. What a boring post. But I couldn't throw phrases out without an explanation. Hopefully, just one person was eager enough to learn something new. If that's the case, then all the "ô" typing, the hyperlinks, and the damn, damn italicizing was worth it.

Okay, perhaps I was going for sassy marketing to soften the blow of consuming red wine. However, I thought this one might fit the bill. Here's my half-witted reasoning:

1) Grenache is a grape that is medium-bodied, generally lower in tannin, and high in strawberry flavors.

2) Australian wines- since they are so reliant on export- need to be marketable. For this reason, many are more fruit-forward and low in tannin.

The verdict: Ashley didn't like it as much as white wine, wouldn't pay the $12 for it, but also wouldn't be upset if it was served to her. When told she could pour it out to try the second wine, she said, "c'mon. It's not THAT bad." Regardless, I think I failed with this one. Frankly, either I didn't like it at all or the bottle was bad. It had that rubber ball smell I've been getting lately in many wines, suggesting there many have been an issue with sulfuric compounds in the wine.

2007 Joseph Drouhin Beaujolais-Villages:

My first instinct was to go with Beaujolais, but I didn't think it'd be very original, so I got myself in that "bitch" of a situation above. Why Beaujolais? Well, this French wine is made from the Gamay grape, often employing a fermentation technique known as "carbonic maceration" (I won't get into the science...link if you'd like), which essentially preserves fresh fruit flavors and keeps tannins low. These wines also do well with a bit of a chill on them, have nice acidity, and make perfect picnic wines (sorta sounds like a white wine, huh?).

The verdict: my subject found this one to be "much better", but then she "had to leave because her kid was getting tired and it was time for dinner" (a classic "I'm going to get a McRib but I'm too embarrassed to admit it" excuse). Luckily, one of our other companions said, "if you closed your eyes and tasted this, you could definitely mistake it for a white wine." Boom. I'm chalking that up as full success.

I feel bad the "Bitch" didn't work out, because I think lush Aussie Grenache would've been a more interesting victory. However, if you are a white wine-loyalist reading this post, I highly encourage you give some Beaujolais-Villages (or Beaujolais) a try. Put it in the fridge for 30 minutes, and enjoy it with whatever you'd usually have with your standard white, whether that be grilled chicken, flaky fish, or- of course- your weekly rib-flavored crap sandwich. Just please don't be hesitant to try something new. You may never know what you're missing.

And to that, I'll bring back the toast (with a new Russian one I learned): Cheers, Sláinte, L'Chaim, Salud, Prost, Skål, Konbe, Kampai, Nostrovia, and Laissez les bon temps rouler!

So, horrid visualizations aside, let's talk a little vino. I've been mad silly about Spanish wine lately. This country grows TONS of grapes...2.9 million acres under vine (source: wikipedia.org). You guessed it: Spain has more vineyard acreage than ANY other country out there. Behind France and Italy in wine production, Spain is #3, and it is the #1 exporter of wine in the world (source: my brain, fool! You wanna step to this, cool breeze?). Alright, I'm doubting myself on the exporting thing. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

Big time producer, right? But Spain's clearly not flossing the notoriety of its neighbors. Look at it from a comedic perspective (it's about time we had some comedy on this stinkin' blog): France is the Eddie Murphy...ruled the world back in the day, incredibly talented, a pricey ticket, but a real pretentious ass when interviewed. Italy is the Andrew Dice Clay: old school, rough-around-the-edges, but will always command a high dollar, because no one gets sick of Barolo, Brunello, or dirty nursery rhymes. Spain...ah, Spain is the Rodney Dangerfield. Tons of talent, no respect.

But people are noticing. Big time. Sort of like after Caddyshack, or- in my humble opinion- after Back to School...Dangerfield and Oingo Boingo together in one movie? 'Zounds. That's all I can say. 'Zounds.

And when people start noticing, the price goes up. So go out and find some Spanish values while you can!

The latest Iberian grape getting me bug-eyed and sweaty is Garnacha (aka "Grenache" most everywhere else in the world). I'm a huge fan of wines from France's Rhône Valley, particularly Syrah-based gems, but as the weather (c'mon weather) starts to warm into Spring, I'm jonesin' for something a little lighter than the war-hammer-to-the-temple power and structure of Syrah. This is where Garnacha comes in. It manifests in wines that are much lighter, less-extracted, and lower in tannin than its more-notable Rhône bedfellow. That being said, Garnacha is no pillow-pusher. The wines are almost always characterized by two thumbprints: intense aromas and flavors of strawberries, and substantial alcohol that makes you want to start shouting things en Español. ¡Dios Mio!

So, if you're gonna give Spain some respect, give its Garnacha some love, too. One well-worth the under-$15 price tag is the 2007 Atteca Old Vines Garnacha. Pretty, but subtle (an "old world" attribute) bouquet of a bowl of fresh berries: strawberries, blackberries, raspberries on the nose. In the mouth, more blackberries, pepper, spice, and a hefty, but not offensive, kick of heat on the back end from the 14.5% alcohol. Tart (but not really acidic), jammy, easy-drinking delight. I think I paid $13.99, and I've drank a LOT worse for that scratch.

2007 Atteca? Garnacha? Spanish Wine? Easy money, my friends. Easy money. How's that for respect, Rod?

...and, yes, I'm completely ruining my tidy wrap-up of this post, but I just got to thinking, what with all the Oingo Boingo-talk: why are parties in 80's movies so much better than any party...ever? I'm just sayin'...