Making Up With Sancerre

SANCERRE is the word on the lips of nearly every young woman that strikes a pose in front of the wine fridges. Sancerre sells itself.

It’s easy to spell and retain. Even if it’s dead simple to pronounce and flows from the tongue like a short sibilant song, one feels a tiny sense of pride in pronouncing it, as if one knows it’s coming out properly. ¹.

Along with shitty industrial Pinot Grigio, boring inexpensive Malbec, and that last refuge of shaky-handed, broken souls that is vodka, Sauvignon Blanc is one of the major drivers of a wine and spirit shop’s sales that gradually evokes a deep hatred in salespersons. With each request, a stake is further driven into an angry heart that’s grown tired of ushering folks to a selection of beverages which evoke the opposite of excitement.

Having to taste through oceans of mediocre Sauvignon Blanc with sales reps proves the first breaking point.

Not unlike a smelly cat reappearing at one’s door, nearly every single day, a Sauvignon Blanc makes an appearance. And the telltale signature of feral pyrazines or perhaps thiols — let’s call it ‘Sauv Blanc stank’ — makes its indelible little mark. You can smell it from 5 feet away, and it’s going to cling to your palate as you try to move forward and taste other wines.

The smelly cat. — That smelly cat is back.

What I have always had a hard time grasping is just how Sauvignon Blanc conquered the world, particularly given (Click to Read more)

The Magical French Salad that Pairs with Red Wine: the Salade Landaise

I moved to New York City from France. After living in Paris for two years and Bordeaux for seven years, there are some French things that I can’t even find in the consumer paradise that is New York City. Maybe New York City’s French wine selection can outstrip that of Paris ¹, but …

The perfect baguette and accompanying pâtisserie? Maison Kayser has me covered, and merely basking in the dining room’s din of native French conversations whisks me straight back to France.

Truffles and scrambled eggs? Not happening here, to my knowledge; I may try to make that at home someday to accompany a stellar white Burgundy.

The thing I miss most is the salade landaise, and sadly, that’s not happening anywhere in New York City. (Click to Read more)

The Valle d’Aosta, Italy’s Beautiful Secret, Part 2

This is the second article on Italy’s stunning Valle d’Aosta region. Here is the previous article on the La Kiuva co-op. This article explores the opposite of the co-op model: independent vigneron Vincent Grosjean.

The Grosjean Brothers’ wines are like dark, knotted oaks; reticent with their charms, slow to grow, open, and reveal themselves. But once they are forthcoming, they count among the most compelling wines ever — and for prices that belie their quality.

Thanks to Vincent’s brother Eraldo Grosjean who is responsible for the upkeep of the vines, the house has been certified organic since 2010 — and Vincent has been using indigenous yeast to vinify for even longer, since 2004. Even if the La Kiuva co-op and Vincent Grosjean exploit the same varietals, the Grosjean wines are far more challenging wines which often prove severely reductive upon uncorking and insist on cellaring.

When drinking young Grosjean reds, it can take two hours before the reduction “blows off” of his Gamay or Pinot Noir to reveal a wonderfully dark-fruited wine beneath. It’s tempting to confuse this reductive aroma with a whopping overdose of sulfur, but, as Vincent explains, he actually uses only a third of the amount of sulphur permitted ¹; it’s simply that the wines are bottled in such an oxygen-deprived environment that they gasp for air upon opening and need time.

Aside from Vincent’s unflinching confidence that the Cornalin grape will be a big player in the Valle d’Aosta’s future, it was one of his anecdotes about Neal Rosenthal which marked me.