tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75743452012-01-05T09:11:08.039-06:00750 mLnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4631100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-54168872769295357262011-12-16T09:39:00.007-06:002011-12-16T14:55:42.694-06:00

I've been reluctant to write this post (apparently), but you've been asking, and I appreciate how many of you actually like this blog. An appreciation which, for some reason, I'm going to use to change everything. I've been busy these past few months with a lot of non-wine work, a lot of whiskey drinking, and some exciting new projects--potentially for the food and wine industry--that you'll all

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-53387768825398109252011-05-05T10:43:00.004-05:002011-05-05T10:53:17.485-05:00

I work in marketing. I get it, boys. Sometimes, you've got to bend over to sell your product. And as long as your product is good deep down inside, I'll cut you some slack if it means getting the word out. Veuve Clicquot: You get no slack, because as tremendous as your La Grande Dame is, the basic wine most of us know you by is, well, I think I described it as sweet and flabby as the girl who

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-19620273635554497052011-04-13T15:42:00.009-05:002011-04-14T09:48:57.336-05:00

312 Dining Diva just let us know that President Obama will dine at MK when he returns to Chicago on Thursday to kick off his re-election campaign. No surprise there. The president has always been a bit of a foodie, frequenting MK, Spiaggia, and Graham Elliot over the years, not to mention this appearance he made on the local public television program Check Please. But his choice of wines do come

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-83264824158700867242011-04-10T00:01:00.003-05:002011-04-10T00:08:20.484-05:00

There's a guy I hang out with sometimes, a friend of a friend's friend, really, who insists I'm missing it. You have got to try Spanish wines, he says. And Argentina--best value out there. Have you ever had Malbec with steak? Well, yeah, but let me look interested. Because I dig you, man. I like that you care this much about your wines. And they are your wines. I don't think you could like them

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-2955643488066033932011-04-07T10:51:00.007-05:002011-04-07T11:17:00.265-05:00

The breaking news from Paul Gregutt (via Storyteller Wine Company). Any my first reaction, my only reaction, was a calm, 21-gram exhale. One of the great errors of this blog has been my lack of focus on Bob Betz' wines, when--let's be candid here--I have a clear lean toward the wines of the Pacific Northwest. And yet I've managed to write about just one Betz wine: the brilliant, decadent, and

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-78707113196513844632011-04-02T11:08:00.006-05:002011-04-02T11:12:19.420-05:00

Oh, you'll like this. And there's a connection. Vegetarian/wine pairings to come.Read/watch/consume: Broke Vegetarian.

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-81806459090667343672011-03-30T09:17:00.010-05:002011-03-30T09:35:17.052-05:00

In a deal to send shockwaves through the industry, it's my great pleasure to announce that 750 mL has merged with... Tattoo McGrew. Well, let me explain. I'm 750 mL. And she's my girlfriend... fiancee.... I got married this weekend. So apologies for this leave of absence, but we're not dead yet. In fact, we're more alive than ever before, and looking forward to posting more frequent write-ups all

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-1456481778623765192011-02-26T15:30:00.005-06:002011-02-27T07:45:40.294-06:00

When I first tried this wine, it was with the brilliant importer and winemaker Scott Paul Wright in what was either the nicest tasting room I've ever been in, or his den. Because whether it was Scott, my fiancee, or my great friend Michael who set this whole thing up for me in the first place, there was something unmistakably homey, welcoming, and nearly loving about the entire affair. I like

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-7067021580935952852011-02-25T13:55:00.016-06:002011-03-01T08:31:37.588-06:00

Breast milk is an issue of provenance. I know my abused cow milk comes from grass and grain. I prefer that to cosmos, ranch, and cigarettes.Source: NPRThe issue has surfaced again in this week's Time Out Chicago, where Chef Giuseppe Tentori of Boka and GT Fish and Oyster references my Stump the Chef challenge, which I just barely lost in the final moments. For the good of mankind. Giuseppe

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-78928462054353169982011-02-14T11:35:00.017-06:002011-02-14T17:22:50.191-06:00

I know I can't convince you otherwise. Whatever happens today, you're probably going to eat chocolate. Either in the warm embrace of your loved one, lit by an embering fire and 9 1/2 Weeks muted on an old TV across the room, or alone on a pillow against the wall listening to Aimee Mann while figuring out how to play Clue by yourself. It's not going to stop. So you'll open a little bubbly to

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-24581373972514328512011-01-30T14:55:00.006-06:002011-02-13T19:17:39.815-06:00

I'm not a renegade, but I've spent most of my life questioning why things have to be any one way. I like rules, I just hate following them. The older I get, the more I find my revolutions not really being about doing any new, but instead just going back to a certain way I remember things being. And when it comes to chardonnay, I can only revolve back to Burgundy, where this Les Vireuils--a wine

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-54572350031623898522011-01-29T23:54:00.005-06:002011-02-07T08:42:20.664-06:00

Nothing's really happened to the wine over the year I've been drinking it. In fact, it's really still not much different than the 05 Cailloux. Same burnt, sulfury dark fruit. Smoky, mysterious. Not particularly different than dressing a deer in the field during a forest fire. Except that I asked my friends, who don't normally drink these wines, if they liked it. One said, "yeah." The other: "

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-52774390774896929862011-01-09T14:55:00.012-06:002011-01-11T19:44:36.659-06:00

One of the first things I learned about Champagne (and sparkling wine) was to watch the bubbles. A steady stream shooting straight up the middle meant quality. One of the two great myths about wine (the second, that "legs" mean quality--unless your idea of quality is high alcohol and sugar). For the most part, bubbles aren't really about the wine. They're about the glass. Sparkling wine is evenly

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-83903873383233435282010-12-19T14:33:00.018-06:002010-12-20T11:36:35.494-06:00

I've been asking you to write in. I need you to tell me I don't know what I'm talking about. Fine, I write some obscure tasting of a pinot noir you'll probably never try. I tell you there are ways to mercy and forgiveness that revolve solely around Champagne. But when it comes to cabernet, well, I guess I keep my mouth shut. I have to. I hate to say it, but you come here as much for my opinion on

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-16166213872739598652010-12-10T12:11:00.004-06:002010-12-10T12:59:42.655-06:00

I thought I was sick for suggesting it, though I wouldn't have been the first. But then, Chef Giuseppe Tentori of Chicago's Michelin one-star Boka actually took me up on it. Not quite Iron Chef, but just imagine the chairman for a second, announcing "tonight's secret ingredient is...." He raises his arms, lifting the metal dome, now suspended in mid-air over a table full of...? Breast milk. Chef

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-1260010804310073552010-12-10T09:42:00.006-06:002010-12-10T09:47:59.310-06:00

When I first got into wine, I smelled terrible. You were never to shower beforehand: apparently your wine might taste too Zestfully clean. And you had to drink it out of special glasses. Reds were served at 56 degrees; whites at 48. You held it by the stem or the base—touching the bowl could destroy the thermodynamics, you know! Then I saw it. The light peering into my plain white tasting room. I

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-29862967079576429382010-12-06T20:26:00.004-06:002010-12-07T10:13:00.088-06:00

First off, the name. Quattro Mani. Four hands. Which, in spirit is right. But, let's be clear. There are no four people in the world who make wine like this. This wine, a project by wine importer Domaine Select to sort of benchmark four traditional types of Italian wine, is quite clearly from only one hand. In fact, I'd say it's his fingerprint--a wine that most of you will hate, or quite quickly

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-2105131578984770212010-11-30T18:43:00.011-06:002010-11-30T19:21:28.712-06:00

Well, not a "hotel," exactly. And, as co-owner Peter Toalson told me last night, definitely not a "bed and breakfast." If only whiskey started with a "b," this place might have a more alliterative name. For now, it's the Inn. Stationed one floor above what you might call a gastropub, or a saloon. Or a Michelin-starred restaurant. Anyway, call it what you will, Logan Square's Longman & Eagle

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-25532170976357005202010-11-16T17:14:00.017-06:002010-11-17T09:05:30.241-06:00

The Michelin finally came to Chicago this year, and today they announced the city's first-ever starred restaurants. Molecular gastro-Mecca Alinea won the coveted three stars--as did the exact opposite restaurant, the pristine seafood temple that is L2o. I've been fortunate enough to eat at both. Or, I guess the word is "dine." But at once-a-decade prices, Alinea and L2o are not exactly where I'd

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-36739787110346519902010-11-11T06:48:00.001-06:002010-11-11T06:50:59.160-06:00

I've wanted to use that headline forever. No, it's not about wine. But Eater Chicago editor Ari Bendersky's been kind enough to let me contribute a few pieces to his mecca food blog. And I said "food," not "foodie." It's what had me eagerly anticipating the launch of this site for the past two years--the timely info and fresh writing without any of that gourmand bullshit that goes along with so

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-44233445984074451052010-11-04T19:26:00.006-05:002010-11-05T15:19:22.921-05:00

Congratulations to Mike P., who you may know from future guest spots on No Reservations or interviews on various foodie blogs, if he ever bothers to turn on a computer again. Mike's essay "Late Nights" recently brought home the motherload of all prizes: personal props from globetrotting savant Anthony Bourdain, who likely read, nodded to, and rubber stamped the piece as winner of the Medium Raw

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-4644163384270547622010-10-30T20:22:00.018-05:002010-11-03T11:19:07.200-05:00

The thing is, you have to listen to women. I'm learning that either the older I get, or the more sauvignon blanc I drink. The science says they have better nostrils, or tastebuds. The line is they're more likely to be "supertasters," sensitive to the nuances of bitter, sour, sweet, and salty. Then again, about a fourth of us are supertasters. And, odds are, this is the first time you've read the

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-75429895061092506282010-09-30T00:20:00.003-05:002010-09-30T00:34:20.036-05:00

Months late, I decided to enter Tony Bourdain's in-my-wildest-dreams writing contest. In short, he asked his dorky foodie readers to write an essay about what it means to "cook food well." There's a voting component--and almost 2000 entries--but I waited until less than 24 hours before the deadline to submit. So, I'm mostly SOL, but it was such a pleasure to write. When I was a kid, I used to say

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-70943086119509251272010-09-29T22:18:00.012-05:002010-09-29T22:59:20.790-05:00

I left the wine business because we used to pull vines off the side of my house. Nobody'd asked. But we were bored, they went up three stories, and our 85-pound primary school bodies could pull them clean off. Twenty-five feet of solid vine. Like a fucking beanstalk. And vine after vine, all summer long, I have no idea which neighbor I was with. There was the Filipino one, five years older,

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-21133267822642661492010-09-21T20:09:00.007-05:002010-09-22T07:36:55.326-05:00

Gizmodo ran an interview today about the Large Hadron Collider, the world's biggest and highest-energy particle accelerator. And, in case you don't dabble in particle acceleration, it's not as though the one before this one was just a few feet long. No, to be the world's largest means being 17 miles around buried in the ground under Geneva. The fear? Well, maybe someone didn't check all the pipes

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-53942052150582013342010-08-30T19:03:00.010-05:002010-09-01T15:51:33.577-05:00

There's nothing more I love about Cava than my ability to hate it on a whim. To taste a perfectly fine wine, look it up and down, see the rest of the party loving it, and then ruin it for everyone. It's how I identify these wines in blind tastings in fact: Tastes pretty good, crisp texture, very controlled sweetness, makes me want to hate. Cava. I can't justify it. But I keep drinking them

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-65586425202242947552010-08-02T20:43:00.009-05:002010-08-03T08:51:08.406-05:00

I started it in a wine glass. Then I moved it to a snifter. I poured that into a highball and then a 4-ounce beer glass. And finally I settled on this coffee mug because my Boston shaker's in the sink. This rose is just that disarming, to the point where I couldn't gild it with the concept of drinking wine. I'm just drinking. And today it happens to be a slightly frizzante, full, and spritely

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-67059299018248922382010-08-02T20:27:00.001-05:002010-08-02T22:39:09.319-05:00

"Rocky and Bullwinkle," and a defense of vegetarian wine drinkers (though I guess I should add many wines aren't technically vegetarian because of popular fining compounds... details...). Read it on The Awl. Also, 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 wine gift

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-71643757796041721122010-07-19T19:27:00.016-05:002010-07-20T08:53:33.755-05:00

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

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-53445624941588980892010-07-18T10:42:00.006-05:002010-07-18T10:54:48.289-05:00

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

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-76477609184655110762010-07-06T20:55:00.016-05:002010-07-07T20:32:13.074-05:00

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

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-34630160401185677532010-06-26T14:19:00.005-05:002010-06-26T14:32:32.908-05:00

750 mL is, well, just completely damn honored to share some space on one of the most pointed--popular--blogs out there: New York's The Awl, run by three Gawker veterans (magnates? magnets?) CS, AB, and DC. They were gracious enough to publish (and help edit) my newest post, "How to Face Down the Wine List and Win." A thrill in its own right, but made only better when I saw what an incredible

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-49814938548097281942010-06-25T09:52:00.014-05:002010-06-26T14:55:49.144-05:00

"The intent of the meal is a slow event." We broke bread to that (well, head cheese). Some 50 of us gathered over two long tables, bottles of wine in tow. I'd literally towed mine, pedaling a Rube Goldberg setup of gear and chain across town, past an oddly situated UPS facility, and finally swinging through a winding country road, wine sloshing like rapids in the rear basket. Whatever it took, we

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-90555050224683606162010-06-11T19:35:00.009-05:002010-06-11T20:41:18.056-05:00

This is the review that won't matter. That won't come up in Google searches, won't be linked to from any major websites, except maybe blogs on Mark Twain. Because there are lies, damn lies, and mass-produced Champagne. And the numbers--some 10 million cases, 90 billion milliliters, or 760 million glasses a year--show that no half-truth is more persuasive than the power of Veuve Clicquot, the

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-35244052470999143682010-05-19T20:50:00.011-05:002010-05-19T21:41:58.942-05:00

They just won't grow up. From what I saw, they looked pretty well matured in Portland. Corduroys, Sperry boat shoes, Jesus Lizard t-shirts, Starbucks, and briefcases. I mean, man, everyone I met out there had it together. I even came across a winemaker hosting a tasting of 12 wines for four people in khakis and a buttondown. I would've worn Hanes and a headband. Another one talking wine while he

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-64855682484941043222010-05-18T13:36:00.005-05:002010-05-18T16:19:45.511-05:00

Never thought I'd find myself quoting The Offspring on this blog, but so it goes. We've got a small, but dedicated readership. One I wish I were closer to at times. Because I read the emails and comments you send over, I read your Tweets, and you all seem like a crowd I could sit down and shoot the shit with over a few drinks. It looks like now I might have that chance. I'm happy to announce that

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-23691232344834057272010-04-13T18:28:00.009-05:002010-04-14T08:57:52.485-05:00

It's time like these that you can't depend on me. Because I'm going to tell you this is, so far, David's best pinot gris. But that doesn't really mean much of anything. Not without knowing the 2008 vintage on the ground, which I've just barely researched and hardly tasted in Columbia Valley. So I don't have that. But I do have taste memory. A virtual record, if that'll pass, of the past several

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-82291990055637564712010-03-28T17:40:00.005-05:002010-03-29T10:32:01.454-05:00

This is where bias comes in handy. Without one, this review is simple: don't buy this wine. You know I hate talking about prices, but I know from working in retail and pairing wines for several years what people expect for their money. This isn't it. It's not elegant. Not inspiring. It probably won't get you laid... ladies. Yet, Pierre Peters is quite easily one of the very best Champagne

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-55117893070645829502010-03-19T17:08:00.004-05:002010-03-19T17:17:15.537-05:00

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-45645623495004594942010-03-15T08:17:00.017-05:002010-03-15T14:53:34.643-05:00

When they say the stuff that dreams are made of--I get it now. It's not some overreaching cliche reserved only for the likes of Sam Spade. I was blinded this wine for the first time last night (no one I know would ever blind Krug; we generally open it under spotlight while screaming yeah, it's KRUG mothafuckas!) and all I could think of it as was fantasy. Sure, looking back, it was obviously Krug

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-26682367889972998452010-03-03T20:01:00.012-06:002010-03-04T09:34:51.566-06:00

I got a sage piece of advice the other day from a fellow wine writer: don't be afraid to make enemies. Be as honest and objective as you can--I guess the rest will basically take care of itself. And I am. But the longer you do this, the more people you inevitably get to know, and your biases bloom like mold in April. I find myself refusing samples. Or taking them with the caveat that I'll only

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-4667420853872711242010-03-01T20:05:00.008-06:002010-03-02T14:41:54.912-06:00

I've never asked, but I'd guess confidently that most of my favorite winemakers at some point in their lives fell in love with a bottle of rose. At least that's what a wine like this Darien makes me think. Its citrusy berry ripeness--something like a kumquat mixed with Meyer lemon peel, white raspberries, strawberries, and nectarine--has the power to put you in a place you've never been and make

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-26640481500560097462010-02-25T15:00:00.000-06:002010-02-25T15:04:17.591-06:00

Nobody invites me to dinner anymore, but my local crafts store is beaming. Until last October, I didn't know people actually made "wine bottle lamp kits," but as soon as I discovered it, I realized that the many generous distributors, winemakers, and PR-professionals ("Hey, we *love* your blog and would *be honored* to send you a free sample of our most *prestigious* wines!") were killing two

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-16796714003871966722010-02-17T18:26:00.009-06:002010-02-18T08:55:33.039-06:00

I wouldn't go so far as to call this an addiction. But, well, maybe it's not wrong to call it an affliction. You need rhythm to move around the constant desire to drink wines like this. I have to tell myself: get through work, the bus ride is shorter than you think, a few quick miles on the mill will cancel out the calories. For godsake, I have other things to do. And then there's that cliche

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-16920905812390233002010-02-11T18:23:00.004-06:002010-02-11T19:08:00.985-06:00

Listen. Come close. So, now tell me. How's my breath? Well, yours is pretty terrible, too. But we'll talk some, eat a few tapas, and, I promise you, make out before the moon turns the night blue. Because anything off tonight is as much my fault as anyone else's. It's not me, it's us. That could very well be mencia's slogan. men THEE uh. It tastes a lot like whatever that middle syllable is

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-73598955544867418302010-01-31T11:23:00.006-06:002010-02-01T10:52:58.471-06:00

It's not often that I drink coffee while tasting a wine, even relatively mild, nutty, Mexican Chiapas. Like cigarettes, flavorful food, off-white tablecloths, and impressionist art, it's one of the things that the real tasters out there--the guys who get paid the big bucks to have all their wines comped--would never allow. Obviously, it destroys your palate. And while it's tough to argue with

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-32199887327126524942010-01-29T20:44:00.010-06:002010-01-30T08:31:24.175-06:00

When I was younger, my parents would feed me green mangoes and salted pears. So, there you have it. That's the wine. But, even if you read this blog all the time, don't expect me to get all deep on you. Because it's not deep. We ate that because it tasted right. Ripe mangoes were for summer. Pears? Well, immigrants don't really know what pears are. So we better put some salt on them. Like an

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-22239649899470060782010-01-13T20:14:00.014-06:002010-01-15T09:57:47.862-06:00

This is exactly what's wrong with today's glut of California pinot noir. Leave it to Oregon to tell us that too. Because while I wouldn't want to cover my body in, say, beef tallow, I wouldn't mind washing my lips every evening with a thin strip of Armandino Batali's lardo. Bear with me. What I'm trying to say is while this briary, sometimes sappy, full-flavored pinot noir doesn't have to hold

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-74679229921673101332010-01-08T20:04:00.010-06:002010-01-09T09:50:34.326-06:00

I'm not one for causes. Confusing what I do here with tertiary things like politics or economics. I might care about biodynamic, organic, sulfite-free wine. I might not. Maybe immigrant vineyard workers should be paid more. Has anyone looked into who is really making the new wines from India? I don't know. That's not what drives 750 mL. But today, we officially adopt a cause. A mission, if we may

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-8528148783875733482010-01-05T11:48:00.006-06:002010-01-05T12:54:02.692-06:00

The 3rd Annual New York Wine Expo is this February 26-27 in New York city. There's a broad lineup of tastings from 170 producers and seminars in store, appropriate for--it seems--just about anyone. I'm happy to announce that all 750 mL readers receive a discount. Register at this link before February 19 for $10 off your tickets with discount code 750MLBLOG....which reminds me. There are so many

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-19186144356821298472010-01-01T10:13:00.007-06:002010-01-01T12:35:04.000-06:00

Goodbye, 2009. Hello, 2002. The last decade probably won't be remembered for this--especially since it just came out--but it should be. It brings together some of my best memories of the past 10 years--the bracing tartness of my first Salon, the big frothy mouthfilling flavor of my first blanc de noirs, the sheer look of shock, awe, and horror at the metaphysical possession that was my first

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-47002693362816330102009-12-08T19:34:00.010-06:002009-12-15T18:37:34.056-06:00

I shouldn't even write this. As regular readers of this wine blog know, I'm going to use some form of the word "terrible" pretty soon. I choose the adverb. Because this pinot noir, this pinot, this Cali pinot is terribly good. Terribly delicious. Yes, it's terribly true. Clearly, it's never read the blogs. If it had, it would know that none of us care about this winery. Why should we? With such a

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-75995602074914584122009-12-04T17:21:00.006-06:002009-12-04T19:38:00.265-06:00

Maybe it's true that nothing good lasts forever, but I'd always assumed chardonnay was the exception. At its best, it goes from powerfully tart, food-friendly fruit flavors (apple, apple skins, pear, and raw quince) to an unceasing, arm-chilling nuttiness that I believe might actually resemble the outer limits of the universe (this tasting note has proven difficult to test). But at its worst, it

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-40250215113990969492009-12-02T08:21:00.009-06:002009-12-03T15:13:38.873-06:00

A close friend and former colleague today tipped me to some heartbreaking news. And while it's not my place to be involved in matters personal or business, this one impacts anyone who enjoys reading this blog. Because one of the very dear inspirations for my work--as much as I'd like to pretend I have no biases--is The Eyrie Vineyards, whose wines I like well enough, but whose culture, I adore.

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-70084202520779485972009-11-27T19:27:00.010-06:002009-11-30T11:51:51.627-06:00

People have lost their jobs for less, but I'm self-employed on 750 mL, so I can say this: you must try this wine exactly once in your life... But in the meantime, here are my years-old notes on the dry 2002, for which this 94 is a telling omen, and the sweeter 1995 Moelleux. They're proof that I'm getting old, and that nothing could be better.

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-81024825422808349332009-11-25T10:26:00.001-06:002010-04-02T16:50:49.545-05:00

In Oregon, they call this Bergstrom. In California, they call this Sea Smoke. In the Rhone, it is Domaine Royer. But what's amazing is that, somehow, in Walla, this can still be called merlot. Because I don't mean it tastes like pinot or syrah or grenache. It's not that. It's more that this wine defies the conventions of its varietal the same way the other three great vintners I mentioned do. At

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-63087583636966782372009-11-19T18:58:00.022-06:002010-07-06T10:47:19.156-05:00

I would have had this wine sooner, but I was looking for my good corkscrew. The one I've had since I was 21. A compass to gauge perfect center on the cork closure. Christmas lights. I had to put on my mood ring. The moment had to be just right. This wine deserves it. Maybe more than any other producer, Belle Pente captures Oregon pinot noir. Relax. Don't get up in arms at me about The Eyrie. Or

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-7172594295688660902009-11-12T18:42:00.001-06:002009-11-12T19:54:44.211-06:00

I might as well have been holding the oracle of Delphi, because everyone was transfixed and no one would dare question me while this was on the table. At L2O, Chef Laurent Gras' seafood capital of the world... most statements begin and end there. Yeah, I was at L2O, and it was amazing, but it was also a bit of a landmark for this wine. Because at the end of the night, tempura lobster, Osetra,

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-46267856594311832952009-11-07T09:01:00.004-06:002009-11-09T07:29:43.732-06:00

You look surprised. I thought you expected me. As some of your may have noticed, 750 mL recently introduced Paire, a personalized wine pairing service that we'll be running for the next week. The idea's simple. Post your meal plans and we'll send you a one-on-one email with our ideas for wine pairings. Nothing is off limits. But key to this is that your email address works. So to Chicken Mamou,

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-49189956897913045482009-10-27T20:01:00.009-05:002009-10-28T14:38:02.078-05:00

I swear I recognize your face. I always feel that way with grenache--whether the juicy, dusty red is from Spain, Australia, southern France, or here in Columbia Valley, where I now have suspicion to believe the ground is made of marrow bones and the spirit of some ancient, possibly Aztec, god of cocoa beans. I'm not so sure we're at a place yet to say what Washington wine means--not so much as

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-90504681980762745312009-10-26T18:34:00.000-05:002009-10-26T17:09:16.053-05:00

I believe in the goodness of others because of this wine, by far the best of America's Bordeaux-style bottles. Yes, class is in session. There are fuller bodied wines. Fruitier. Sweeter. Earthier. Better with roast beef. But none so evocative. The label is just semantics--a merlot, sure, but calling it one is like calling chicken soup chicken. Yes it's the most important component and drives a

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-77714399683055401362009-09-30T08:40:00.015-05:002009-10-01T19:55:51.854-05:00

While I often question the purpose of these lists, the truth is, they're very necessary. And maybe for me the problem's never been that they exist, but instead why. When I first started in the wine business, I was greener than some of the chardonnays I would come to love, and so blanketed myself in that cold alleyway of wine knowledge with reams of wine mags. At the time, this blog was loosely

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-73120874922120424602009-09-23T18:28:00.004-05:002009-09-25T19:47:42.005-05:00

As common and noticed is the tide, I've drank this wine. It's been constant in my glass--a wine I've never bought retail, mind you, but something like my fat, love-starved cat that just keeps showing up under my arm. I would pet you if I could. So why never write about it, and why write about it now, when I don't even have a glass in front of me... More to come....a great coincidence, looks like

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-52151484039207529112009-09-17T19:46:00.007-05:002009-09-18T16:27:17.588-05:00

I don't ever mean to make sourdough. I love to cook, but I hate baking bread. And by the time the dough's proofed, I've already turned off the stove, made biscuits, eaten, drank wine, and played a couple games of Madden. For that much time, I'd rather drop the $4 to buy some genius' wood-fired loaf instead. So, I always end up with sourdough--a Kitchen Aid mixing bowl of unbleached flour, yeast,

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-24738910820178594242009-07-29T19:42:00.010-05:002009-07-30T09:10:03.641-05:00

It tasted like a science experiment, so I thought I'd run my own tests. This is the taste that made me hate wine when I first tried it thousands of gallons ago. Sharp, acidic, alcoholic--it tastes so damn adult, like something they brought out at the big table over Thanksgiving. We weren't supposed to touch it, but the truth is, nor was anyone else. They took it in out of ritual, a little like

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-27803873900371067252009-07-07T19:48:00.001-05:002009-07-08T09:24:37.417-05:00

Fitting that I'd drink this after Eyrie, who planted the country's first pinot gris. Funny how so little has changed. Maybe, I'll admit, this isn't a varietal much suited to change, but the plush sweet tart candy profile is starting to wear thin. In every way Arcane's wine is doing nothing wrong. And while I'll usually commend some Basque whites and albarino for that trait alone, Alsace and Italy

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-35162517623743245692009-07-06T14:24:00.000-05:002009-07-07T09:55:52.064-05:00

Love is an iterative process. It changes you, you change the one you love, and it takes a little editing, fidgeting maybe, to get it all to work out in the end. I know wine changes. Usually, it goes bad. I know I change. Quickly get sick of the wine I might've drank all summer long last year. But rarely do we both change right enough to know each other better. One year after my first, the 02

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-17739067492235950772009-06-07T22:49:00.008-05:002009-06-09T16:57:28.761-05:00

It's an honor to drink Champagne from a winemaker whose house style is apparently "perfection." That's the flavor profile of the 2000 Terres de Noel, Jean Milan's tete de cuvee bottling, one of the best vintage Champagnes of the new millennium. Seen from any side, it's the height of chardonnay, whose 65-year-old grand cru vines make up 100% of this single-vineyard wine. It's no coincidence that

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-45315492839964878442009-05-24T12:45:00.009-05:002009-05-25T19:59:14.150-05:00

I remember my first Italian beef sandwich. Not because it had anything to do with culture or the aura of Chicago street food. It was the first thing I ever bought myself, with a few weeks worth of the pocket change and gum wrappers immigrant parents called an allowance in the 80s. I'd never forget the taste, but really it was the royal power I felt--8-year-old kid pressed back in the formica

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-37643688655713846412009-05-20T19:16:00.008-05:002009-05-21T12:03:14.259-05:00

I hate grad students. Not you, but most of them. Not all of them. Certainly not the ones pursuing some vocation or scientific research that four years of college just couldn't contain. But, well, you know the ones. The ones who are going to change something--usually everything--with the gentle wave of a 27-page paper. I don't hate them for their ambition or ideals; neither their passion nor their

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-41531873342020264442009-04-14T19:33:00.011-05:002009-04-17T00:01:27.315-05:00

I'm putting on weight. That's not an observation (I've actually lost 20 pounds over the past year--hurrah), it's a pledge. Because I'm eating an entire sea bass with this wine, and I don't see how I can go another day without saying that again. This is riesling for the chardonnay drinker who hates his friends' chardonnays. A surprisingly lean, austere white from the otherwise Chinese massage

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-42987139459220176952009-04-12T14:30:00.007-05:002009-04-12T15:15:29.833-05:00

If arugula made a wine, this would be it. Which is to say, it takes all that's light, lovely, and easy about the world, and adds a powerful punch. Fuck you, lettuce. If grass represents the sun, these grapes--either some hardcore stainless steel chardonnay and gewurztraminer or some incredible sauvignon blanc, I'm not sure--are a sunburn cooking on the bottom of your chin as you sleep. It's a

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-364035636429138322009-04-11T11:55:00.006-05:002009-04-12T10:13:20.897-05:00

The night started with the klink of a glass. No toast, no celebration--just the drop of three ice cubes into my neighbor's chardonnay. Paso Robles on the rocks. To be fair, it probably was pretty hot and, hey, if it tastes good drink it. But here's where I started getting worried. That Paso had nothing on my viognier, whose thick, lead-weight glass was doing everything it could to hold the 14.5%

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-44944624339159439522009-04-01T08:44:00.007-05:002009-04-01T11:01:15.776-05:00

I write about wine because I can't help it. I have to talk about this, and my voice is just too monotone to hear everyday. Not for you, for me. I can barely stand it. But reading my work lets me channel other voices. Today, in my head, I sound like Barry Gordy. Yesterday, it was the Indian guy from House. That one perk would be enough. But every now and then, I'm fortunate enough to get something

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-28012514205483742642009-03-15T13:29:00.003-05:002009-03-15T16:13:11.566-05:00

Recession: Bring it on. Because the Saint-Hilaire bubbly isn't scared. And it's not just good enough to be an alternative to pricey Champagne, it eliminates the need for at least three popular brands I can think of off the top of my head. I won't say which ones, but these are three your local liquor store will recommend if you ask for a "nice, light Champagne; we're having guests over, maybe some

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-865922165546845392009-03-02T20:11:00.010-06:002009-03-03T20:24:32.339-06:00

The thing is, Charlie is, in fact, a pretty nice guy. But this wine tastes completely like an asshole. A syrah on steroid demiglace, this single-vineyard bottling comes from the hottest slope in Washington--south-facing, no less, from a vineyard called "Sundance," perhaps as close as we get in the New World to France's Martian Cote-Rotie. It's the kind of wine that will burn the hair off your

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-23567342760608603042009-02-15T20:50:00.007-06:002009-02-17T10:50:01.818-06:00

There are cooking wines better than this. It's unpalatably pungent, with the nutty oxidation and thin acidity that you'd most closely identify with fino sherry. Great there, gagging here. Clearly marketed as a superyoung-drink-right-now wine (though the lack of vintaging makes me question how committed Toro Loco actually is to making sure I don't grab a wine too old--can't I at least have a

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-54023614942135836812009-02-14T07:48:00.006-06:002009-02-14T12:49:53.757-06:00

Briary, sappy, round, lush--I could think of no better wine for Valentine's Day. It's a lusty, red, beating heart of a wine, full to the brim with flavors of dried black cherry, framboise, cocoa nibs, almond milk, and thyme. When the pork belly came out last night at Boka, I said, "I want to live in here," right there inside the tender flesh with walls of semolina. And, if I did, I would shower

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-78993257637159839732009-02-08T14:26:00.007-06:002009-02-09T23:09:26.580-06:00

I remember the first time I had Cloudline's pinot, I was staring out the window of a boutique wine shop at a dark sky coming in. No, I wasn't doing it for the metaphor. We'd just sold a lot of wine, the Euro was gradually getting stronger, and the sudden craze over American pinot noir left us with almost no bottles of pinot under $20. Actually, almost nothing at all but the most choice selection

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-22175382590638006842009-01-29T19:55:00.007-06:002009-01-29T20:44:40.277-06:00

I think this is what Stafford Hill meant to do with the great 2002 vintage. I'll never forget that wine because it floored me, completely floored me, with what it did with that glorious vintage. I remember thinking this must be a joke. This isn't 2002 Oregon pinot noir. It's a secret Moldovan pinot from the future. It would take such a pogrom-inflected palate to take something as sweet and

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-13186195492872291502009-01-15T19:35:00.005-06:002009-01-16T20:08:21.518-06:00

If Goodyear made prunes, they might taste like this. Maybe that's why it smells like new car and a pair of Ballys ankle boots in the middle of April. Stern and stemmy in the nose, oddly fruity, chocolatey, and rubbery on the palate with awkward, chalky, woody tannins, it's wines like this that make me hate traditional wine. In some ways, that's what you get with cabernet franc, especially in the

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-78235937916258972142009-01-05T20:46:00.011-06:002010-07-28T15:19:17.608-05:00

Bottle 1484 of the 1911-bottle production of cuvee 13 should have a vintage label. Originally a limited blend of the 1996, 1995, and 1997 vintages, past selections have been incalculably amazing. As is this one, which is the freshest and tightest 1911 I've tasted, disgorged just six months ago almost to the date. I wish I'd known that before buying, because it does much better with a year or two

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-52578876334480309692009-01-01T00:07:00.005-06:002009-01-02T13:23:46.773-06:00

I want it to be my birthday right now. This tastes like the sight of fondant, burning candles, and sweet flour--moments before everyone I know gives me something. The non-vintage Pierre Peters is a gift, which is to say, whatever's in the box, I like it because it means that someone took a second to think of me. Pierre Peters thinks of us, letting us in quickly with its innocence, but then

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-59540955588621050622008-12-31T17:38:00.002-06:002008-12-31T18:12:46.436-06:00

The bold, haughty Arnould et Fils is a study in biscuits and gravy. It's a toasty, rich Champagne with pronounced spice, but nothing that anyone would consider exotic. These are down home country flavors, a little black pepper here, maybe even some cayenne, like an apple pie baked in a cast-iron pan your grandma (or I) used the rest of the year for jalapeno cornbread. It's full of the dried

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-67284095435914710162008-12-30T18:53:00.006-06:002008-12-31T09:36:33.533-06:00

In a lovely coincidence, the 2000 Marguet Pere et Fils from the grand cru pinot noir-heavy region of Ambonnay, is almost a perfect combination between the Vesselle and Turgy wines I had earlier this week. It makes me think back to when I first started drinking wine. My first true Champagne was a 1990 Salon. Yeah, so you see how this all began. And from that moment on, I was convinced that pure

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-20224528016619836342008-12-29T20:18:00.011-06:002008-12-30T09:07:31.342-06:00

This old vines Turgy Champagne is a completely different animal than the regular bottling, and that animal may be a dove. While it's up front with flavors of green apple and drawn butter, the joy of this wine is in its grace, which is calming to the point of being religious. What seems first like a flatness in the midpalate is actually a place to put more flavor, as the unsweetened cream,

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-37465309983123622432008-12-26T16:10:00.018-06:002008-12-31T18:16:07.679-06:00

I'm making torrone today because I can't learn how to make apple pie. It's easier than torrone--cutting apples and putting them in a pan with sugar, compared to whipping cream, egg whites, and cooking sugar to exactly 248 degrees Farenheit. But after all the coring and peeling, I inevitably eat half the apples, always a blend of Granny Smith and Golden Delicious. That's exactly where this wine

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-44403090397811359552008-12-21T16:28:00.001-06:002008-12-25T14:13:55.106-06:00

It's no wonder that these grapes share the same soil as the Chianina, Tuscany's great synecdoche of cattle--heavy, burly, and powerful, but known for its delicate and fragile disposition. Caprili's brunello is a rippling, throbbing chest with last night's perfume on its neck. "We won't eat these animals. They are for lovemaking," says the great Tuscan butcher in Bill Buford's Heat, which can be

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-78312756274880215122008-12-16T20:45:00.013-06:002008-12-16T23:16:05.330-06:00

I didn't know if we would make it through the night. Because when the cork finally gave in, after 12 minutes of prying with an 8" vice grip, I was pretty sure I'd shot it straight up my upstairs neighbor's ass. When the smoke settled, there was a vice and cork in my right hand, a bottle of golden elixir in my left, and three cats perched high in the next room. After nine years in bottle (the cork

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-14087831803707311142008-11-28T21:48:00.010-06:002008-12-03T23:15:48.061-06:00

This Macon is proof that Americans are right. There is a brilliant winemaker/Burgundy importer outside of Portland, Oregon who is wondering, now, why he ever wasted his time having lunch with me. I wouldn't blame him. This is pretty blasphemous. But I like to go back to these simple--and they are not always "elegant," they are simple--South Burgundian French chardonnays to remind me what the

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-70752290448958165282008-11-01T10:31:00.019-05:002008-11-01T15:49:05.953-05:00

This is all that's left of last night with the flower of Pingus. A desecrated pitcher, a glass that looks like it's melting in the morning light, and an upturned, deflowered bottle almost floating in the air, as if it might carry the night high into the next day. I'm not sure how the handmade Danish pipe comes into play. How this could be anyone's "second" wine, the wine equivalent of mismatched

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-14576289202982257762008-10-26T19:00:00.009-05:002008-10-27T10:07:24.652-05:00

Then there's the rest of Crozes-Hermitage. Maybe it's because I always hated the black jellybean. I hated it even more when I'd have a handful of delicious red ones and one black one snuck in to ruin it all. Rousset's syrah is austere, like a good cru Burgundy opened a few years too early. The tannins are so stern, they spear the air--a Trojan horse on the otherwise floral bouquet--with that

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-42086317072357895712008-10-23T18:58:00.019-05:002008-10-26T10:40:56.420-05:00

If I could create a new wine appellation, I'd call it Grand Crozes. It would encompass all the best, most creative off-label wines in northern Rhone. And each year we'd honor the best one with an award. One named after Philippe Faury, who makes this the model for all such wine. The key to knowing this wine is reading the label and seeing that it's "recoltant" in Chavanay. Which should mean

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-74569169089937949812008-09-28T14:18:00.011-05:002008-09-29T14:53:55.628-05:00

There is so much intelligence in this wine. I've been drinking it for two days, and it's battled me with every sip. Any sauvignon blanc drinker would love it, but they're pretty easy to please. Most sauv blanc is the light lager of wine--as long as you make it clean, it's going to taste just fine. And Bouke does. It does taste just fine. But I needed to sit with it for a bit. Does it know what

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-69231209556099179852008-09-10T20:06:00.006-05:002008-10-26T09:31:50.933-05:00

Please, listen to me. It's not bacon, it's pancetta. That's what everyone who talks about Cote-Rotie, the French Rhone valley's most powerful expression of the syrah grape, is missing. Smoky, yes, but great Cote-Rotie isn't like the bold syrah of California or Washington. It's so much more delicate. Maple wood over hickory. Black pepper over smoked paprika. I know; we want to use words like "tar"

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-85072178668179030912008-09-03T22:36:00.007-05:002008-09-04T14:37:10.644-05:00

They should make bars out of sponge and copper, so you could go to Barcelona, pull up a leather stool, open up a 150-Euro tin of smoked mussels, and ring four ounces of this stuff into your glass. The six months of vanilla-laden French and American oak in this wine brings more than body and structure--it gives purpose to this wine the way a good suit can make you stand taller. Sure, some might

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-55488842286229530212008-08-05T20:51:00.002-05:002008-08-05T21:29:22.219-05:00

This is the kind of wine that could move a plot along. If only Jack had slipped Miles a bottle of this in Sideways--he could've become a Sartre scholar instead of just a miserably lonely drunk (OK, maybe that's not that big a difference). "I am not drinking any fucking merlot!" "...got any malbec?" Odds are some of the merlots he so fuckingly detested had a dose malbec, anyway. The La Posta reds

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-76328193283492894172008-07-29T20:24:00.003-05:002008-07-30T15:11:58.841-05:00

After blending some of this country's best syrah, grenache, and mourvedre, winemaker David O'Reilly siphons this wine into an old radiator, covers it in heather, and buries it deep inside a hill in Cote-Rotie. At least, that's how I see it. And if, in fact, this international radiator-maturation is not the way wine is really made, I'm content thinking that it is. I don't know how else you get so

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-58750544582881336352008-07-10T22:52:00.004-05:002008-07-10T22:55:26.584-05:00

This wine should be served at every French bistro, tapas restaurant, steak house, rib joint, pulled pork stand, and chef's bathroom in the world. I'm used to good, unclassified wine from the south of France, especially near coastal Montpelier and slightly inland Nimes (where I assume the soil is made of olive pits spit over the sea from Corsica). But when they have this much texture, they reach a

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574345.post-911435599524809252008-06-21T15:09:00.006-05:002008-06-21T15:48:11.067-05:00

There should be a two-drink minimum to get into this syrah. A red rope and curtain beneath the cork. A flashing sign of neon raspberry, lavender, and violet jam. Scorpions stay away. That's how expressive this Maggie Harrison, nee Sine Qua Non, syrah is. It's a Parker wine in every sense of the word--migraine concentration and a silken slip of body that slides off onto your tongue given the right

750 mLnoreply@blogger.com1