I recently drank some pretty good Roussanne. Thus, a picture of Scott Howard "wolfing out" leads.

Here we go again. Hang on... let me explain.

During a gut-busting, teeth-staining wine dinner (paid my way... take that, disclaimers) featuring the luscious vittles of Atlanta hotspot Local Three- cozied up with a fierce lineup of juice from Central Coast California producer Qupé- I decided I wanted to write about Roussanne.

Why? Because it's the jam. And it needs some publicity (particularly Qupé's masterpiece: a prototype of the difficult balance between fruit, acid, oak, and alcohol).

Before I go completely off the rails, here are some basics: Roussanne is a wine grape that hails from the Rhône valley of France (which basically starts south of the city of Lyon, thus, the painfully-forced title). In its most-recognizable manipulation from vine to glass, Roussanne makes aromatic, medium-to-full-bodied whites that are somewhat akin to the slightly more-popular wines from Viognier (grape). When being as recognizable as it can be, Roussanne is found in bottles from the appellations of Hermitage (region), Crozes-Hermitage (region), and Saint-Joseph (region) in the Northern Rhône, and most notably in Châteauneuf-du-Pape (region) in the Southern Rhône (where it can be used in both white and red blends labeled as Châteauneuf-du-Pape). The grape is also found in the States, often either blended with Viognier, Marsanne (grape), and/or Grenache Blanc (grape), or sparsely varietally-bottled, as in the case with Qupé.

As I tasted the rich, oaked-but-not-over-oaked nectar, featuring a reasonable alcohol of about 13.5%, and good acidity and fruit, I thought, "Chardonnay lovers would really go for this bugger."

So, I set out on finding the perfect pop-culture metaphor. Due to Roussanne's relative obscurity among the palates of most folks, I had to go with a "diamond in the rough" angle. Maybe a rock band that was awesome but never quite made it?

No, I needed something with more T&A (perhaps I've been reading too much Samantha Sans Dosage). And is there anything more (or less) deceptive than the Hollywood typecast of the weird/artsy/misunderstood/nerdy chick who is actually super-hot under all that frumpy flannel and vision correction? With that, the haphazard search began...


Velma Dinkley from Scooby-Doo? Nah. Already used her once. But worth another gander. Perhaps the hottest/nerdiest of them all.


That girl who played the lead character in She's All That? No. Not even Roussanne is obscure enough to be compared currently to Rachel Leigh Cook. Plus, even a brief mention of the movie She's All That would imply that I've seen She's All That...


What about Lisa "Boof" Marconi, from Teen Wolf? Had some potential, extraordinarily frumpy, and not exactly the popular girl. I seemed to be on the right track, but in my chaotic brainstorm, the clouds parted, and I realized my sophomoric quest for sex appeal had shrouded the clearest metaphor of all:

Roussanne is a teenage werewolf. A teenage werewolf played by actor Michael J. Fox in a hit 1985 film. And here's why:

Roussanne is volatile: Scott Howard's father- Harold- learned to control the wolf. Scott himself was still a little off-the-handle. Any vineyard manager with a field full of Roussanne has to have a little Harold Howard in him/her as well. The grape is known to ripen unevenly, yield irregularly, and is susceptible to the ravages of wind and powdery mildew. However, for the intrepid souls who succeed in hedging these risks and wrangling the wolf, payoff is inevitable.

This unassuming grape has some serious game: Scott Howard- the basketball player- had heart, and was an adequate court general, yet lacked size and ability. When Scott unleashed the wolf, he because a human (canine?) highlight reel. Under the proper circumstances, Roussanne can also unleash some wolf, bringing incredible aromas, power, body, and acidic balance. There's a reason why Qupé's varietally-bottled Roussanne sells for $40.

Roussanne has always been "in" among the "out" crowd: Boof had undying love for Scott Howard, wolf or not. Intuitive guys like me just notice these things. She was like a wine nerd, going the distance to show affection for a soul outside the realm of widespread popularity. When I get together with my fellow geeks (we're talking some folks who have an unhealthy zeal for wine), a bottle of white Hermitage is greeted with extraordinary reverence. 'Tis often not the case in most other crowds...

Roussanne has some really stylish friends: when blended into "Rhône-style" blends, Roussanne is found mingling with other top-notch grapes like Viognier, Grenache Blanc, Marsanne, Picpoul, etc. At least a few of these deserve there own posts as well. Either that, or I really wanted an excuse to feature the picture to the left. Oh Styles, we hardly knew ye.

So, the next time some friends want to get together and have some booze, seek out a bottle of Roussanne. When your friends say, "what the hell is Roussanne?," you can reply, "Roussanne is the teenage werewolf of wines." Then, when they look at you like you're crazy, you can simply say, "what are you looking at, dicknose?"Get past the heated exchange, and I promise a well-made bottle will make them all happy. Even dicknose. But not happy about his nose. That seems like something that would make me pretty grumpy, too.

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.

"Soylent Green is made from PEOPLE!" -Charlton Heston from The Ten Commandments...

...oh, wait. That was Soylent Green.

With a heavy heart, I today say goodbye to another one of Atlanta's finest wine bloggers. It was almost a year today- literally within hours- that The Dirty's favorite son, Hardy Wallace, shipped off to Sonoma for what was to become the 6-month trip that never ended.

Now, Fast Eddie Thralls, the steady rudder behind the good ship Wine Tonite!, has departed for a 3-month apprenticeship at Holdredge Wines in Healdsburg, CA (the very town where Hardy/Dirty landed).

In the short time I've known Ed, we've built a strong friendship, one that even supersedes my venomous hatred for his alma mater, the University of Florida. As we subscribe to the profound notion that wine brings people together, then a mutual love for the grape by Ed and myself broke down these walls, and I was able to see past the jorts, the horrid orange-and-blue camo jerseys, and the acrid stench of North Florida crystal meth.

I kid, I kid. It's a testament to the sense of humor of the little fella. In all seriousness, Ed's been beyond generous with his wine, his hospitality, and his knowledge. And- knowing both how passionate he is about the wine biz and that he's on the prowl for a winery job- I fear my buddy's never coming back. Turn on the Led Zeppelin II; another of Atlanta's finest has rambled on. Selflessness aside, I hope Ed Thralls doesn't come back; that would only mean his quest to realize his dreams has been fulfilled.

So, with Irish wake music in the background, I toast both displaced Peach-staters the best way I can: with a bottle of 2003 Garretson Peach State Cuvée. I found this Paso Robles, CA wine discounted at Cost Plus World Market (one of those types of places I hated to go with my mom as a kid, but now...well, I guess I'm just pretty damn lame). It has to be one of the most random and interesting bottles I've ever seen. The winemaker- Mat Garretson, an Atlanta native- created this bottling to honor all his friends and family back in Georgia. Though the label was devoid of grapes, Garretson's reputation as a Rhône-lover, along with the meaty, berry, funky tar, smoke, pepper, and alcoholic heat aromas suggested to me that it was a blend of some percentage of Syrah, Mourvèdre, Grenache, Petite Sirah, and/or Zinfandel, for good measure. It still packed some tannins in the mouth for a 7-year-old Cali wine. Overall, for the bargain price of $14 I paid, it was a proper quaff to both drink and pour a little out for my homies who have moved on (without feeling guilty about it).

Alas (very sadly), Garretson Wine Company is no more. A faded memory of two states connected by wine. However, we wish Ed well, and we remain confident that his connection to the great state of Georgia will remain. I look forward to cracking a bottle with Ed and Hardy when they come back to visit, as I am firmly planted in Atlanta...

...well, at least until the next Exodus.