My Cosmopolitan-city-dwelling readers will find it amusing when I say I've been wine shopping in the city, when what I really mean is I've been to the liquor store in Barrie. Yes, I am hick enough that Barrie is the big city--and proud of it too! Give me Georgian Bay and windswept pines over skyscrapers and glossy restaurants any day! You're jealous, city dwellers; no use denying it. Every May long weekend you flock up here with your flip-flops and coolers and shoulders up to your ears, and leave dirty, relaxed and possibly a little hung over. This is paradise!
However, you city dwellers do have access to things I covet; things that make my mind slip towards thoughts of the city, and its dirty streets, traffic and the smell of hot dogs and feet. And one of those things is access to good wine.
Our liquor store, oh our tiny, understocked liquor store. I can't blame them really. Why would they stock oodles of the good stuff when the town is full of scruffy, grown men who can regularly be seen balancing entire 2-4's on the handlebars of their bicycles? It's not that there's nothing, mind you. There's a couple of shelves of the good stuff. On the plus side, their lean selection makes the wine-choosing process go much more quickly.
On the contrary, Karen and I could have spent an entire afternoon adrift in a constellation of wines during out field trip the LCBO in the 'city'. We had children with us, otherwise we might well have spent all day inspecting bottles in the huge, romantically lit Vintages room. I'm quite sure my expression mirrored Karen's as we floated towards the back of the store; dreamy, eyes soft and lit with the excitement of possibilities.
It's remarkable how much good wine is out there. I could have taken home one of everything, and I might one day--even the $585 bottle of Dom Perginon. But on this visit, I opt for a German Riesling, a Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon and a blended Tuscan wine. The Riesling comes first; it's a light-alcohol wine that promises to be nice with or without food. Tonight we're enjoying it with a Ginger and Apple Stir fry, followed by Trevor's lemon souffle. I'm trying it first because I suspect it might be the right wine for a friend's upcoming event; my girl Renee is having people over after a baptism, and asked my advice on which wine to serve. Apparantly she hasn't read my blog yet, otherwise she'd realize that I know nothing about wine, and might skip my opinion altogether. I promised Renee I'd find her a wine as supple and yielding as a choirboy (she good-naturedly tolerates my Catholic jokes), and I suspect the Riesling is it.
Until tomorrow!
Barb
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Put to the test...tasting (and drinking) Lento Cellar's 2004 Lamezia Riserva.
Yesterday my husband and his best friend went on one of their 'field trips' that usually ends in casino gambling. This field trip was to the jar factory, where they went to seek out the perfect size and shape vessel for their...no never mind, it might still be a secret, so I'll tell you later.
Anyway, their absence meant that I got to spend the evening with the lovely Karen M., who offered to pick up my children from school/daycare (I don't drive, never have). "Why not come over for dinner?" she suggested. We can order pizza and watch a movie. You had me at hello.
Karen M. is a lovely, petite creature with large blue eyes, long tresses and elegant, tapered fingers. If you met her in the woods on a misty night, you'd be forgiven if you thought she's part fairy. She is also part tease. "I picked up a wine for us" she texts me at work, "shall I start decanting it now?" Yes!
Karen brings out a crystal jug from the cabinet in her living room, apologising that it's not really a decanter. I remind her that at my house she drinks from a Mason jar. "Try it, I want to see what you say about it" she says, coyly handing me a glass. There's no information on the bottle as to what the wine tastes like, or suggestions on what food to pair it with; instead it has been printed on a little card, which Karen has read and is concealing from me.
I love this game! I am excited by the challenge and am not afraid to be wrong. I hold my nose to the bottle and whoo! I can't make anything out as the fragrance punches me in the nose. I stick my head in the jug when Karen isn't looking, and inhale. Oh. Cherry. The first taste confirms it for me: cherry, cherry, cherry. Not yucky sweet cherries either. Real cherries, not sweet. I make my cherry declaration and Karen smiles and gives me a verbal check mark.
There's something else there too. I think of burning twigs in the woods. "Charcoal. Smoke." are the words that fall out of my mouth. "Ahhh" Karen raises an eyebrow and says, "you're close." She reads the words on the little card aloud: "Cherry, cranberry, tobacco, earth."
We drank the wine with our artichoke heart, sun-dried tomato, mushroom and chicken pizza, and although it was a constellation of distinctive flavours, I have to say it really was very enjoyable. We were having a sensory evening, filled with conversation of Tuscany and chocolate and men and food. In the end I sent a very saucy text to our boys (who by then were in the local pub), insisting that my husband come home immediately, put the children to bed and ravage his wife. They came roaring up the driveway soon after. Viva lusty Italian wine!
Lento Cellars 2004 Lamezia Riserva, $18.95, purchased at the LCBO.
The movie was Enchanted April, highly recommended if you have Tuscan ambitions.
Til next time,
Barb
Anyway, their absence meant that I got to spend the evening with the lovely Karen M., who offered to pick up my children from school/daycare (I don't drive, never have). "Why not come over for dinner?" she suggested. We can order pizza and watch a movie. You had me at hello.
Karen M. is a lovely, petite creature with large blue eyes, long tresses and elegant, tapered fingers. If you met her in the woods on a misty night, you'd be forgiven if you thought she's part fairy. She is also part tease. "I picked up a wine for us" she texts me at work, "shall I start decanting it now?" Yes!
Karen brings out a crystal jug from the cabinet in her living room, apologising that it's not really a decanter. I remind her that at my house she drinks from a Mason jar. "Try it, I want to see what you say about it" she says, coyly handing me a glass. There's no information on the bottle as to what the wine tastes like, or suggestions on what food to pair it with; instead it has been printed on a little card, which Karen has read and is concealing from me.
I love this game! I am excited by the challenge and am not afraid to be wrong. I hold my nose to the bottle and whoo! I can't make anything out as the fragrance punches me in the nose. I stick my head in the jug when Karen isn't looking, and inhale. Oh. Cherry. The first taste confirms it for me: cherry, cherry, cherry. Not yucky sweet cherries either. Real cherries, not sweet. I make my cherry declaration and Karen smiles and gives me a verbal check mark.
There's something else there too. I think of burning twigs in the woods. "Charcoal. Smoke." are the words that fall out of my mouth. "Ahhh" Karen raises an eyebrow and says, "you're close." She reads the words on the little card aloud: "Cherry, cranberry, tobacco, earth."
We drank the wine with our artichoke heart, sun-dried tomato, mushroom and chicken pizza, and although it was a constellation of distinctive flavours, I have to say it really was very enjoyable. We were having a sensory evening, filled with conversation of Tuscany and chocolate and men and food. In the end I sent a very saucy text to our boys (who by then were in the local pub), insisting that my husband come home immediately, put the children to bed and ravage his wife. They came roaring up the driveway soon after. Viva lusty Italian wine!
Lento Cellars 2004 Lamezia Riserva, $18.95, purchased at the LCBO.
The movie was Enchanted April, highly recommended if you have Tuscan ambitions.
Til next time,
Barb
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Dinner with Karen and Beringer Vineyard's 2006 Napa Valley Chardonnay.
Tonight I had one of my besties--Karen M.--over for dinner. We do this frequently, as we adore each other, and our children are the same age and they adore each other. Even our husbands adore each other in their manly-man 'lets go lift weights and talk about girls' kind of way. Weird, really, because both families are so similar. Eventually we'll just give in and buy that run-down gift shop on the edge of town--the one that looks like a castle-- renovate, build a moat and declare the lands around the castle to be our own country. Inevitable, really. But I digress.
I spent the day avoiding real work by preparing for the evening's meal. The menu: roasted chicken on the bbq with lemon and Herbes de Provence; oven-roasted sweet potato wedges in olive oil and rosemary; blanched and sauteed brussel sprouts with loads of butter and nutmeg. But it was the roasted chicken that stuck in my mind as I wandered down to the liquor store. Roasted chicken, roasted chicken, what to pair with the roasted chicken?
I'm certain this dilemma is familiar to many of you. The menu is planned, and we wander into the shop hoping that perfect wine will magically reveal itself to us. It's rather like decorating a room in the wrong order; painting the walls with a colour you just love on the sample chip, only to find later it's a colour that's impossible to accessorize. Chicken you'd think wouldn't be so difficult to pair with wine, and it's not really. My mistake: not thinking of the meal as a whole. The wine I chose was just fine with chicken, but brussel sprouts and sweet potato? Ooops. In the end I yearned for something spicy and comforting. What I chose was lemony and sweet. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.
I decanted the wine into my very glamorous old spagetti-sauce Mason jar--'cause we're just that fancy--and took a good whiff. Don't ask; it's a mystery to me why I immediately thought of the first day of school, and the mixed nuts they serve in the bar at L.A.'s famous Biltmore Hotel. Not a peanut in site, just all of those lovely, salty, expensive nuts I'm too cheap to buy myself, served up in a silver dish that's probably as old as the hotel. Gah, I could go for some of those right about now! Sorry, off topic. Fast forwarding a bit, Karen and I took our first gulp and swish, and we both exclaimed "Lemony!" Lemony, lemony, with a fresh taste that kind of whooshed over your palate. Wha? I found this extremely confusing. I have no experience with Chardonnay; I've tried two in the last month, the only white wine I've drunk in years. The first was spicy and wonderful; the next was so heavy and oakey, you practically had to chew it. This Beringer Chardonnay was so light and citrusy, I wished it were a hot summer day so I could chug the whole bottle. I find it remarkable that one grape can be interpreted so differently.
The lemony notes faded away and was replaced by a decidely pralines & cream flavour that made me suddenly wish for gobs and gobs of whipped cream (I say that as if I don't wish for gobs and gobs of whipped cream all the time!). This new desserty flavour actually wasn't bad with sweet yam wedges and buttery brussel sprouts, but turned me off the lemony chicken. The meal and the wine just didn't quite co-ordinate for me. If I buy this wine again, I'll enjoy it on a hot summer day with a nice big bowl of trifle.
Funny observation: the dinner conversation was a lot like the wine. Karen and I giggled lots, and mused gaily about serious subjects: marriage, love, children, happiness, dreams and ambitions. Serious talk in an un-serious manner. Like the wine: light and bright with underlying substance. I'll have to see if this is a trend.
Beringer's 2006 Napa Valley Chardonnay was purchased at the LCBO for $24.95.
Til next time,
B.
I spent the day avoiding real work by preparing for the evening's meal. The menu: roasted chicken on the bbq with lemon and Herbes de Provence; oven-roasted sweet potato wedges in olive oil and rosemary; blanched and sauteed brussel sprouts with loads of butter and nutmeg. But it was the roasted chicken that stuck in my mind as I wandered down to the liquor store. Roasted chicken, roasted chicken, what to pair with the roasted chicken?
I had hoped to find a French Chardonnay to go with our meal, thinking I'd be very clever to serve French wine with Herbes de Provence chicken. But alas, our tiny LCBO offered nothing suitable, and so I was lured in by the Beringer 2006 Napa Valley Chardonnay. Sounds like a reasonable substitute, right? No really, I'm asking, am I right? I know nothing about wine, remember?
I'm certain this dilemma is familiar to many of you. The menu is planned, and we wander into the shop hoping that perfect wine will magically reveal itself to us. It's rather like decorating a room in the wrong order; painting the walls with a colour you just love on the sample chip, only to find later it's a colour that's impossible to accessorize. Chicken you'd think wouldn't be so difficult to pair with wine, and it's not really. My mistake: not thinking of the meal as a whole. The wine I chose was just fine with chicken, but brussel sprouts and sweet potato? Ooops. In the end I yearned for something spicy and comforting. What I chose was lemony and sweet. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.
I decanted the wine into my very glamorous old spagetti-sauce Mason jar--'cause we're just that fancy--and took a good whiff. Don't ask; it's a mystery to me why I immediately thought of the first day of school, and the mixed nuts they serve in the bar at L.A.'s famous Biltmore Hotel. Not a peanut in site, just all of those lovely, salty, expensive nuts I'm too cheap to buy myself, served up in a silver dish that's probably as old as the hotel. Gah, I could go for some of those right about now! Sorry, off topic. Fast forwarding a bit, Karen and I took our first gulp and swish, and we both exclaimed "Lemony!" Lemony, lemony, with a fresh taste that kind of whooshed over your palate. Wha? I found this extremely confusing. I have no experience with Chardonnay; I've tried two in the last month, the only white wine I've drunk in years. The first was spicy and wonderful; the next was so heavy and oakey, you practically had to chew it. This Beringer Chardonnay was so light and citrusy, I wished it were a hot summer day so I could chug the whole bottle. I find it remarkable that one grape can be interpreted so differently.
The lemony notes faded away and was replaced by a decidely pralines & cream flavour that made me suddenly wish for gobs and gobs of whipped cream (I say that as if I don't wish for gobs and gobs of whipped cream all the time!). This new desserty flavour actually wasn't bad with sweet yam wedges and buttery brussel sprouts, but turned me off the lemony chicken. The meal and the wine just didn't quite co-ordinate for me. If I buy this wine again, I'll enjoy it on a hot summer day with a nice big bowl of trifle.
Funny observation: the dinner conversation was a lot like the wine. Karen and I giggled lots, and mused gaily about serious subjects: marriage, love, children, happiness, dreams and ambitions. Serious talk in an un-serious manner. Like the wine: light and bright with underlying substance. I'll have to see if this is a trend.
Beringer's 2006 Napa Valley Chardonnay was purchased at the LCBO for $24.95.
Til next time,
B.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Inaugural Post
I am not an authority on wine. Far from it.
In fact, I'm not an authority on anything. Jack of all trades, master of none, I think is how the saying goes. I like to be good at things. Really good, if I can. But I'm so fickle, you see. I have diverse interests, I am distracted by shiny things, and I love having a good time. It's so hard, you see, to settle down on any one thing for any length of time. I probably have adult-ADD, but please don't cure me; it's my enthusiastic flakiness that keeps my husband interested in me.
And yet, something is changing in my pie-crust persona. Perhaps it's that I'm getting older (40 is only a few years away) and have less energy to throw myself into various pursuits (although I think this can be as much attributed to my nocturnally-active children and dogs, who all find their way to mummy's bed at some point or another during the course of a night). Maybe it's because I was very stern with myself, and forced myself to stick with my photography project, ultimately turning it into a business. Lord knows there's been many times I've wanted to throw in the towel there, but I made a vow to see it through, and as a result I get to enjoy--perhaps for the first time in my life--the satisfaction of being thoroughly good and successful at something I love to do.
"What on earth does this have to do with wine?" you wonder. Perhaps a lengthy investigation into the world of wine isn't a suitable pursuit for a scatterbrain like me (alcohol and a single-minded-pursuit-of-knowledge-and-excellence don't seem like a well-matched pair). But I can't help it; once the bug is in my ear, I have to play it out to the fullest, or I'll never be satisfied. And I have definately caught the wine bug.
Why wine? I have no experience with it. Dad liked good beer rather than wine. My husband drinks rarely. Mom drinks never. Lately my sister and Dad have been interested in better wines, but on the whole wine at family occasions was never something to get excited about; just a vinegary little glass of something you were served with turkey and mashed potatoes. Somewhere along the line I developed a preference for two red wines--both merlot--and stoutly declared that I hated all white wine. This has been my stance for years.
I found myself in the LCBO a while ago, looking for wine to serve company at dinner. Our small-town liquor store is nothing special and in dire need of an expansion/makeover; even so, I found myself amongst the shiny bottles and glossy advertising and found that I just wanted more. I was bored of my regular picks. I wanted something else. It was as simple as that, really. I just yearned for something different and exciting. So I reached for a bottle of Pinot Noir from the same winery that made my 'favourite' merlot--and a bottle of the old standby as well--and away I went.
Well, from me to you, that Pinot Noir was yuck. Seriously yuck. The half full bottle is still sitting on my cabinet. I felt a bit vexed with myself for putting absolutely no effort into selecting a wine. The very least I could have done was gone to the Vintages section of the store and selected something there. The LCBO Vintages wines are supposed to be the best the store has to offer. Perhaps I'd better have a do-over and start there. The next week I went back and picked two bottles, both from Louis Jadot: the Beaujolais-Villages 2008 and the Chardonnay 2008. I had a friend over and we cracked the Beaujolais first. Good Lord! It was like a glass of sex! I couldn't believe that wine could be that wonderful! Sadly unlike good sex, we finished in no time. On to the Chardonnay. I was skeptical. Not only did I 'not like white wine', I couldn't believe anything could be better than the wine we'd just had. But knock me over with a feather, it was. I didn't like it--I loved it. It was totally unlike those vinegary wines of my past. It was like a summer day in a glass.
The following week I enthusiastically bought another bottle of the same Beaujolais and brought it to a friend's house. I was barely in the door before I ripped it open. We greedily poured our glasses and sipped and...Harumph. This wasn't the same. I mean, it was the same wine, it just wasn't the same experience. How can that be? I sulkily nursed my glass, feeling let down like the girl at prom no one will dance with. And an hour later, as I tasted the remaining half of the same glass, there wasn't something different again. It didn't taste the same as the first time. I didn't taste the same as the first sip of the glass. It was altogether different again, and in a good way. I got to dance after all.
Since then I've tried a few other wines, all of which came highly recommended (some of which disappointed). They've all been a sensory experience that evokes the strangest descriptions. I've tried wine that reminds me of a barn! Wine that tastes gassy! Wine that made me think of my grandparent's house when I was growing up! I don't know why, I don't know how, but I think it bears investigating, don't you?
Until next time,
B.
P.s. My photography site, if you're interested: www.wordstockphoto.com
In fact, I'm not an authority on anything. Jack of all trades, master of none, I think is how the saying goes. I like to be good at things. Really good, if I can. But I'm so fickle, you see. I have diverse interests, I am distracted by shiny things, and I love having a good time. It's so hard, you see, to settle down on any one thing for any length of time. I probably have adult-ADD, but please don't cure me; it's my enthusiastic flakiness that keeps my husband interested in me.
And yet, something is changing in my pie-crust persona. Perhaps it's that I'm getting older (40 is only a few years away) and have less energy to throw myself into various pursuits (although I think this can be as much attributed to my nocturnally-active children and dogs, who all find their way to mummy's bed at some point or another during the course of a night). Maybe it's because I was very stern with myself, and forced myself to stick with my photography project, ultimately turning it into a business. Lord knows there's been many times I've wanted to throw in the towel there, but I made a vow to see it through, and as a result I get to enjoy--perhaps for the first time in my life--the satisfaction of being thoroughly good and successful at something I love to do.
"What on earth does this have to do with wine?" you wonder. Perhaps a lengthy investigation into the world of wine isn't a suitable pursuit for a scatterbrain like me (alcohol and a single-minded-pursuit-of-knowledge-and-excellence don't seem like a well-matched pair). But I can't help it; once the bug is in my ear, I have to play it out to the fullest, or I'll never be satisfied. And I have definately caught the wine bug.
Why wine? I have no experience with it. Dad liked good beer rather than wine. My husband drinks rarely. Mom drinks never. Lately my sister and Dad have been interested in better wines, but on the whole wine at family occasions was never something to get excited about; just a vinegary little glass of something you were served with turkey and mashed potatoes. Somewhere along the line I developed a preference for two red wines--both merlot--and stoutly declared that I hated all white wine. This has been my stance for years.
I found myself in the LCBO a while ago, looking for wine to serve company at dinner. Our small-town liquor store is nothing special and in dire need of an expansion/makeover; even so, I found myself amongst the shiny bottles and glossy advertising and found that I just wanted more. I was bored of my regular picks. I wanted something else. It was as simple as that, really. I just yearned for something different and exciting. So I reached for a bottle of Pinot Noir from the same winery that made my 'favourite' merlot--and a bottle of the old standby as well--and away I went.
Well, from me to you, that Pinot Noir was yuck. Seriously yuck. The half full bottle is still sitting on my cabinet. I felt a bit vexed with myself for putting absolutely no effort into selecting a wine. The very least I could have done was gone to the Vintages section of the store and selected something there. The LCBO Vintages wines are supposed to be the best the store has to offer. Perhaps I'd better have a do-over and start there. The next week I went back and picked two bottles, both from Louis Jadot: the Beaujolais-Villages 2008 and the Chardonnay 2008. I had a friend over and we cracked the Beaujolais first. Good Lord! It was like a glass of sex! I couldn't believe that wine could be that wonderful! Sadly unlike good sex, we finished in no time. On to the Chardonnay. I was skeptical. Not only did I 'not like white wine', I couldn't believe anything could be better than the wine we'd just had. But knock me over with a feather, it was. I didn't like it--I loved it. It was totally unlike those vinegary wines of my past. It was like a summer day in a glass.
The following week I enthusiastically bought another bottle of the same Beaujolais and brought it to a friend's house. I was barely in the door before I ripped it open. We greedily poured our glasses and sipped and...Harumph. This wasn't the same. I mean, it was the same wine, it just wasn't the same experience. How can that be? I sulkily nursed my glass, feeling let down like the girl at prom no one will dance with. And an hour later, as I tasted the remaining half of the same glass, there wasn't something different again. It didn't taste the same as the first time. I didn't taste the same as the first sip of the glass. It was altogether different again, and in a good way. I got to dance after all.
Since then I've tried a few other wines, all of which came highly recommended (some of which disappointed). They've all been a sensory experience that evokes the strangest descriptions. I've tried wine that reminds me of a barn! Wine that tastes gassy! Wine that made me think of my grandparent's house when I was growing up! I don't know why, I don't know how, but I think it bears investigating, don't you?
Until next time,
B.
P.s. My photography site, if you're interested: www.wordstockphoto.com
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