Big wines, big story.
.Secui unus.
Nothing beats a big red wine on a dusty and subdued autumnal afternoon. Your prime rib absolutely demands a big wine. Even that buttered scallop dish needs something big to keep it in its place. Don’t be fooled, as love is often blind in the wine-meets-chocolate fairytale: It takes a big wine to stand up to most sugary treats.
We’ve all heard it, and we’ve all said it. I even used the descriptor in my very first blog post, talking about when I started getting serious about “big reds.” But what does it mean, exactly, for a wine to be ‘big?’
Wine descriptors are a funny thing. The concrete, scientific terms, ‘acidic’ for example, come easily enough to the majority of people, but most of the time, it’s a vocab test. What’s the nose on that chardonnay? Just say ‘apple’—it never fails. At a total loss trying to describe that Merlot? ‘Chocolate-covered cherries’ will usually do the trick. Having these go-to terms in your back pocket to describe general varietal characteristics makes impressing people with savvy tasting commentary duck soup. Just when you think you’ve got the wine dictionary memorized and you’re ready to taste with the big dogs, however, you’ll find that those people with the most ‘sophisticated’ palates, those people who should be throwing out specific sensory references like ‘coriander and hibiscus powdered macadamia nuts,’ have suddenly dropped the vocab entirely and are speaking in vague, esoteric terms like ‘tight,’ ‘bright,’ and my favorite, ‘BIG.’
Last night, in a selfless display of duty to my new readers and this fabulous online community that is TheWhole9, I ventured out to my favorite neighborhood wine bar, Friends of the Vine, located on Avenida Del Norte in Redondo Beach, to further scrutinize this question of what it takes for a wine to be BIG. With me, I brought my tasting journal, my favorite wine pen, and my constant companion and beloved boyfriend, Thomas. Tom, although a Sonoma native like myself, is relatively new to this wine tasting thing, yet has a nose that is at times much keener than mine, which simultaneously fills me with both pride and indignation. My theory is that he has not been indoctrinated by professional tasters the way I have, and so he trusts his instincts rather than subconsciously reaching into his aforementioned back pocket for those go-to tasting terms. As an artist, he also has the benefit of a highly creative mind when smelling and tasting things. His often bizarre scent perceptions are consistently on point. (There is a very persistent and very large weed that grows in our backyard, which Tom described upon first sniff as smelling like movie theater popcorn and wet cat food. After laughing at what I presumed to be a joke, I took a big whiff of the long, sticky, green leaves. Needless to say, we keep trying to kill the damn thing.)
Having Tom in tow when I’m tasting is beneficial to me for several reasons, good company and good looks notwithstanding: I get to learn in the way that only teachers can, by seeing things in a new light through the eyes of their students, all while gloating in my opportunity to be the expert yet secretly borrowing his nose. For this quest to define ‘big,’ I needed someone who wouldn’t just nod in understanding, a seasoned taster who knows intuitively what ‘big’ means. I needed a fresh palate and an untainted mind. Voilà! Done.
We explained our mission upon arrival and gave the decision making over to the folks on the other side of the bar, which I find to always be the best bet in any neighborhood anything, particularly a wine shop. Rather than doing the expected and going straight for the reds, we started out with a classic and, might I say, quite robust white wine.
The Rombauer Vineyards Carneros Chardonnay 2008 falls nicely into the ‘classic California Chardonnay’ category, meaning it has seen plenty of oak as well as having undergone malolactic fermentation (the process in which tart-tasting malic acid is converted to creamy-tasting lactic acid). The wine, therefore, is much heavier on the palate than many newer styles of Chardonnay that tend to mimic the lean crispness of its French counterpart, white Burgundy. The Rombauer was a clear daffodil yellow, and I may as well have been eating lemon curd spread on a slightly burnt piece of toast, taking bites of a caramel apple on the side. The alcohol, at a soaring 14.4%, threw me off a bit, giving my cheeks an instant pink hue. Now, whether or not lemon curd on burnt toast sounds appealing to you, this is what I would call a ‘winter white.’ This is one of the few white wines that ask to be drunk while laying on a white bearskin rug next to a fireplace in a dark cabin, with a rustic cheeseboard piled high with semi-firm cow’s milk cheese and—yes, I’m going to say it—a big bowl of buttered, unsalted popcorn. Feel the warmth, smell the burning wood, taste the creaminess, and luxuriate in the utter richness of the moment. If I were back in Vermont, where the first crystalline snowflakes are already falling this time of year, a wine like this might appeal. Here in Los Angeles, I spent my morning in flip-flops, and thus it is time to move on, but not before the main point: If a wine description includes the words ‘bearskin’ and ‘fireplace,’ it classifies as a BIG white wine.
Next, we were poured the DARE Napa Valley Cabernet Franc 2005, from Viader. The wine is thick and dark in my glass, rims dusty red, earth and slightly turned black fruits rising from the glass and—
Suddenly, something phenomenal and completely characteristic of Friends of the Vine happens. A small group of gents enter the shop, and Fred (the owner), introduces them as old friends and fellow industry folk. One of them produces 3 bottles of wine and sets them on the counter. “Let’s open them up!” he says, asking Fred and co. to distribute fresh glasses to everyone at the bar, Tom and I included. This generous man is Brent Broza, and the wines are a Châteauneuf du Pape Rouge La Crau, Domaine du Vieux Télégraphe, Côtes du Rhône, France 1999; a Falesco Montiano, Montefiascone, Lazio, Italy 2001; and a Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars ‘Fay’ Cabernet Sauvignon, Napa Valley 1999.
Those little neighborhood places never let you down, I’m telling you.
All 3 bottles are opened and poured at the same time, and with 4 glasses now in front of me with such thrilling contents, I admit, I got a little overexcited. I allowed myself a few minutes of self-indulgent wine jabber with my new friends, then took a big sip of water and returned to my notebook. Let’s start with the Falesco Montiano 2001.
‘Big’ doesn’t quite fit the bill with this bad boy…
TO BE CONTINUED.
