NV L. Mawby, Leelanau Peninsula Sparkling Wine Brut Blanc de Blancs Methode Champenoise (Cuvee 140: April 2007/December 2009, Bottle 585 of 1122)

Sex. It's how I first got to know Lawrence Mawby. Young, inexperienced, and looking for something cheap, I turned to him--well, actually, his second-label M. Lawrence wines, which included the off-dry "Sex" rose. I was relatively new to the wine game, but had recently tried (through the generosity of relative strangers at the time) the 1990 Salon. Which meant, without dispute, that the rest of my life would be spent looking for sparkling wine that tasted like that (the odyssey continues). And while I wasn't quite sure why Champagne was so expensive, I knew I had to have it. (Again, sex seems to be the natural corollary.) What little money I could save those days wasn't going to anything else. And it sure wasn't going to "sparkling wine" from Michigan, no matter how far north, or how high in altitude, or how close it was to the latitude of Champagne. Michigan? They made football, cherries, and TP'ed my alma mater. Muck Fichigan. But on those nights where I had to bring a wine, as broke as I was, to dinner, Sex was in my price point. To most who'd never tried it, it wasn't very good, but no one's first time ever is. So I moved into his more typically dry "US" sparkling wine. I was hooked. Diversity between the rose and brut, decent flavors, I may never need prosecco again. Every now and then, I'd see the "L. Mawby" wines. Twenty-two, twenty-five, sometimes forty bucks. Yeah, right. As if. He'd convinced me with the relatively free samples, but they were no gateway. I would rather be sober. Those labels, though, talking about disgorgement dates, tirage, methode champenoise. I mean, how'd they even heard of these things in a UP town of 600 people? Well, what everyone carrying these wines knew that I didn't was that Mawby's been making wine for a long time. Sparkling wine, specifically, since 1984 under this label. I've come across them time and again, sipping glasses at wine bars in the Midwest, and at last I finally bit on a bottle. For as simple as it is, it grows on you. Sharp with ginger, a bit of pie crust, chalky city crabapple, and loads of smoky lime, the wine seems determined if nothing else. Weak, overall pretty boring, but also mysterious. I keep thinking to myself, is he doing this on purpose? Is this some sort of thesis on Michigan chardonnay? Do I buy her because she's wearing pearls--all the French and junk on the label--or do I call her younger sister with the run in her stockings? Well, the L. Mawby is of another breed. A forgettable part of some very historic lineage. And the M. Lawrence wines like Sex and US? They're shining examples of something much more common. So, I won't pick, except to say that during this entire review, I didn't mean to talk about the wine I didn't drink tonight, and yet I couldn't help myself. The ginger in this wine gets stronger on the finish. No surprise, really. I think, deep down, I've always been more Mary Ann.

Starbucks on a Wine Blog?

Sorry if I've been here a little less. It happens in the summer. Try as I might, I find myself drinking growlers upon growlers of beer and by the time I get to opening the wine, I'm already a few in. And when I do start to feel guilty and put the focus back on wine, I drink a lot. No, not in that way. I mean, I tend to have a glass of this, a glass of that. I don't do as much of that "750" thing I do the rest of the year. I'm out with friends, dinner, etc. Who's got time to think about it, or even really be inspired. We're out, we're drinking, hooray. I could write about those wines--sure, I've always got plenty to say--but that's not fair. Every wine is "unctuous" and "holy crap that's amazing" when you're already a few in. Plenty of other blogs do that (ooo, burn) anyway. But, truth is, that's only part of it. The rest is that, dear readers, I've been moonlighting. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, the guys at The Awl have been really great. It's a site I'd been following for a while, and I was really drawn to their mission statement. Something about publishing intelligent content, not just aggregating crap. Given that that was the only requirement, it still strikes me as odd that they liked my stuff, but so far, so good. Why such a long post about this? Because I'm trying to distract you before I say that Starbucks will make America a great(er) wine country. Read more about it at The Awl. And don't worry, I'm picking up some sparkling wines today. I'll be back.

09 Villa des Anges, Vin de Pays d'Oc Rose Old Vines

What is that taste? Nitrates? Cured intestine? Lard? Don't run away just yet. You've not only had it, you love it. It's whatever's embedded deep in the soul of great salumi. Finocchiona, a personal favorite, but also just outside the spice of coppa, in the fat of San Daniele prosciutto, crunchy Reggiano, red pepper flakes--the fruity red flakes, not the white seeds--on a spinach pizza. It's the reason you eat this stuff instead of pork tenderloin. I don't know what happened here, but clearly something did. Something is dying. I guess, in some respects, it really just tastes like time. I'm not saying this cinsault-based wine is in rigor, but maybe the guy who made it is. It's salt. Not Morton's per se--not even the good kosher stuff. It's what salt does to food. What happens to chicken fat after it's rendered off a great bird (this is the best fat in the world, porcine fetishists be damned) crusted in the crystals. I'm telling you. That's almost wholly the definition of great rose--taking the color and force out of red wine and replacing it with... seasoning. That's precisely what's happening here. Who cares how good the fruit is? Pump in some CO2, and you might just have Bouzy on your hands. This isn't tremendous in the way that you'd bring it to a tasting with your winegeek friends. It's more edifying. When you drink it, it's how you might feel after winning an argument with your parents. See, it makes perfect sense that I come home after midnight as long as I'm sober enough in the morning to drive my sister to school. You're an adult now. You make your own choices. That's all that this wine asks of you. Don't look to the ratings. For godsake, put your flavor wheel next to the Rolodex in your recycling. And try to focus for a moment. Focus on the simple, but pure watermelon and strawberry sweetness in this wine. The slightly pink ones you buy two weeks before the farmers' market opens. The insides of those candies that didn't really taste like strawberry but came packaged in strawberry wrappers. That's exactly what this tastes like. Somebody kill a tuna. It's a purpose, a minerality, that only good rose has. Rose knows it's a food wine. It knows, unless you live near a pool or in Provence, to never position itself on its own merits. It's a wine of... possibility. One that graciously complements you, extends your party. Sure, I'll have one more if there's any shrimp left. It's the reason you can't stop eating Chinese food. The umami of cured pork and absolutely nothing else. The wonderment of why we're still here, in this bar, on a Tuesday well past bedtime. It's a way forward. An amuse bouche. Something that will never accurately be committed to words. And while this rose isn't the first to do it, it does do it and that makes it great. That's what keeps us smiling.

From time to time, we accept sponsors at 750 mL, though they have no influence on the wines we choose to review. Along those lines, one of our sponsors this month, is offering half-off shipping when you buy a half a case of wine. If you're interested, use the code juneone to buy wine online. I have no idea if this wine is sold there.