Showing posts with label wolf shirt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wolf shirt. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2011
The Champagne Diet
Once again, I'm on some sort of diet. "Don't call it a 'diet'," my in-shape friend said, cramming another chicken wing into his gaping maw, pieces of poultry flotsam flecking my anemic plate of vegetables. "It's 'eating right'."
Have another wing, you rabbit-metabolism SOB.
But, he's right. I can't call eating better a diet. It really is a matter of making better choices, and doing them regularly; not as a quick fix.
And usually, "eating right" consists of cutting out all the things a Southerner with Irish roots who loves Italian food thrives upon: fried vittles, pork fat, pasta, bread, cheese, potatoes, and...
Alcoholic beverages. Beer and wine. The good stuff, packed with calories. Diet cola and Bacardi rum are given no quarter in my household, and the combination of the two is about as appealing as Lindsay Lohan + Playboy ("hey mac, don't forget to airbrush out the crack pipe and 99¢ Jack-in-the-Box tacos").
Therein lies the rub. Tomorrow (well, today) is International #ChampagneDay. Wine lovers around the world will pop corks and celebrate the hallowed home of sparkling wine. Then, they'll get on Twitter to discuss, share, and enjoy with hundreds of others in the nerdiest way possible: on Twitter; marking their tweets with the 'hashtag' #ChampagneDay, creating a searchable, consistent thread connecting all the myraid conversation.
But, despite the ribbing, these Twitter tastings do create a community around a common theme: drinking, then posting regrettable comments online. It's the American way!
Never being one to thumb my nose at America, I think I'll be taking a temporary break from carbohydrate purgatory to indulge in perhaps my favorite beverage. Maybe this one?
Schramsberg furthermore makes all it's wines in the "traditional method" (or Méthode Champenoise, if you don't mind irking at least one Frenchman). Basically, this means that the grape juice is fermented into a still (non-sparkling) wine, and then added to the bottle with a mixture of yeast and some sugar, creating a second fermentation in the bottle, resulting in the fizz. This is the most classical (and most expensive) way to make a sparkling wine, and it results in a product of superior quality, taste, and complexity.
Alas, if I were to consume the jewel of Napa's sparkling crown, I would not be properly celebrating Champagne. See, Champagne is a region of France, to the East-Northeast of Paris. The name "Champagne", although so often used to describe a style of wine (and Champagne and other sparklers are most certainly wine), technically has nothing to do with the fact that the wine has bubbles.
Wines from Champagne are called "Champagne" because it is believed they express the place itself. The French call the concept terroir. Certain specific places have the climate, the soil, the orientation to the sun, the... je ne sais quoi to create great wine, and those very places are felt to be much more important than the grapes themselves.
In the States, we've been conditioned to buy wine based on the grape variety on the label. Not a problem, but it has rendered the concept of terroir difficult to us. However, just like "San Francisco Sourdough" from Albuquerque is not really San Francisco Sourdough, sparkling wines from anywhere other than Champagne, France, are not "Champagne".
Granted, some readers may know me as a bit of a Champagne-elitist, avoiding the heavily marketed stuff in favor of lesser-known "farmer fizz". While true, I've also been known to wear wolf shirts. And anyone who runs with the wolf shirt pack is most likely an indiscriminate drinker. Like this guy:
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| (photo credit: kotaku.com) |
As am I. In my wolf shirt. With bottle in hand. Wanna fight about it?
Sorry, sorry. That was the wolf shirt talking. I love you all, and hope you'll pop a bottle as well tomorrow (today). Happy #ChampagneDay!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The Dirtiest Wine Ever.
It's a given that if you run with my wolf pack (a rather lethargic, purple-toothed pack at that), then this guy is sort of a celebrity:
Alright. It's not technically a wolf pack. Just a bunch of people, and there are zero wolves (but there is at least one sweet wolf shirt, belonging- not surprisingly- to yours truly). The folks I'm talking about are Atlanta wine drinkers, and beyond that, the online community of wine bloggers, social media [insert hackneyed descriptor, like "mavens", "ninjas", "gurus", etc.], and industry chaps.
But I was actually a bit surprised when a few local friends of mine did not know the name "Hardy Wallace". The guy- affectionately known as "Dirty"- rose through the blogging ranks, evangelizing about the crunker aspects of the fermented grape on Atlanta's own Dirty South Wine. For brevity's sake, here's the condensed story: Dirty got laid off, won a little contest in 2009, moved to California, and now helps make and sell wine. The guy's been a huge boon for the Atlanta (and beyond) wine scene and its bloggers, and he's also a particularly appreciated supporter of this little opus here. Dirty's also a super bouncy ball of energy, a man of more comical facial expressions than a young Rip Taylor, and as absurdly humble and genuine a fella around. Hardy- I pop an obscure, overly-aged-and-oxidized white wine and pour a little out for you, buddy.
While "Dirty South Wine" has perhaps become secondary to Hardy, the stuff he's got going on at Santa Rosa's Natural Process Alliance is worth the focus. The cat went to work for Kevin Kelley (known as the winemaker behind the tasty and easy-to-find Lioco, as well as tasty and rather elusive Salinia juice), and they're primed to make the "klean kanteen" and The NPA household names...at least within a 100 mile radius of the wine's origin, as it's not sold beyond, despite my efforts, ranging from unappealing bribery to weak-armed coercion.
Why the Pat Buchanan-like isolationism? The juice is good; word should be spread. However, this is perhaps the most natural wine commercially made. Little to no sulphur dioxide is used (an addition in traditional winemaking so common, it's often listed as a critical step in the process). Wild yeasts- contrary to more common inoculated yeasts- are allowed to create spontaneous fermentation in the crushed juice. The NPA wines are also not filtered or fined. Ever drank cloudy wine? The crystal-clear stuff you're probably accustomed to gets that way by using a protein to precipitate out suspended solids. Such proteins can include egg whites, stuff made from fish fins, and even bull's blood in the seemingly bull-slaughter-happy ancient times.
What is left in the kanteen is a fragile wine: evolving, terribly susceptible to heat and travel, and fly paper for oxidation (as sulfites are a preservative). However, the product Kelley's making in that Santa Rosa warehouse, and that Dirty's filling your keg or kanteen (via draught, no less), is spectacular. Honestly, like nothing I've ever tasted. I think we've been conditioned to a way wine is "supposed" to be made, is supposed to look, is supposed to taste. This juice farts in the general direction of those edicts, and the payoff is a totally unique wine experience.
Pinot Gris that looks like ruby-red grapefruit juice and smells like sweet tea and peaches. Chardonnay that kicks both the "unoaked" and "butterscotch bomb" camps in the genitals (that's about the best I can describe it. My tasting notes simply said, "Chard: mention genitals, but in a good way"). But I think the Sauvignon Blanc from the NPA is the star. Sauv B's generally never been a wine that I'd put on my wish list (unless it's blended with botrytized Sémillon and labeled "Sauternes"). But I literally crave this one. It looks like grapefruit juice. It smells like grapefruit juice. And grass. And every other descriptor given in the world of Sauvignon Blanc, including the elusive gooseberry, and I've never even seen or tasted a stupid gooseberry. There's just tons of wacky stuff going on in this one, and its big flavors and acidity rip down your tongue when knocking it back for breakfast. I'm serious: have some for breakfast. Your job's not that secure anyway.
I'm not just writing this article because I know and like some of the folks at the NPA. Hopefully, it's been established in over two years that I'm neither a jaded critic nor a pandering buffoon (operative word = "pandering". I could very well be a buffoon). However, I think when something interesting is going on, it's worth a mention. Are these the best wines I've ever tasted? I'm not prepared to say that. But are they absolutely unique? Definitely. Kevin Kelley's doing something really special, and the wacky kid from Atlanta and putting it on the map.
So, if you find your way to Northern California, make a track to Santa Rosa. Stop by Rancho Mendoza Super Mercado for an incredible torta. Maybe buy an extra one or two for the winemaking crew. Next, throw out all your preconceived notions of what a winery visit should be. Then, hit up the NPA. You'll be glad you did.
And, yes. I really do own that wolf shirt.
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