Hey gang,

I'm pulling my blog. I'm so sorry! I'm doing a terrible job updating here, so I want to clear the space and hope some other happy wine drinker takes over.

Thanks for reading! It's been fun.

Cheers,
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

This morning I had a phone conversation with Master Sommelier-to-be* Jaffer Kovic, who'd just finished tasting 30 wines from around Greece, Turkey, and Hungary. Turkish and Hungarian wines fly way under the radar currently, but Greek wines have been getting more air time over the last few years (especially in big foodie locales like NY, Chicago, and LA), and momentum is gaining. In a word: Greek wine is HOT. Since I was sitting at my table enjoying black olives and hummus already, I figured the universe was beckoning me to compose a fresh new blog about the very old wine country.

Given my quiet worship of Dionysus, this seems a fair thing to do. Plus I really love spicy, aromatic, refreshing Greek white moschofilero.

I want to start this by admitting I really don't know a ton about Greek wine. It's a huge hole in my wine knowledge. But I do know one thing that is super important: great Greek wine doesn't break the bank. Okay! There ya go. End of column.

Or, if you want to know a little bit more, today I'm giving you the most truncated version of Greek wine history available on the internet*.

Greek wine is old. 4000, maybe 6000 years. Ancient Greece is quite possibly (most likely) the birthplace of wine. When I jump forward to modern day (which I'm about to do) I skip a few thousand years of development, struggle, tragedy, rising, and falling of Grecian wine.

If you'd like to read the centuries-long saga in detail, there's a great website here. It's extraordinarily interesting if you love history.

That rotten little aphid called phylloxera took up residence in Greece (and much of the planet) in the late 19th century and stayed for decades wiping wine production off Greece's map. Then World Wars I and II barreled through, followed immediately by Greece's civil war. Each one marking certain death up and down Greece's terroir. Fortunately Greece previously introduced winemaking techniques to Italy, France, Germany, and Spain (some say the Romans did that, but the Romans got it from Greece), so others were able to keep the dream alive as Greece's wine community suffered miserable blow after blow.

Here's the last 40 years in one paragraph:

In the 1960's Retsina (wine slightly fermented with Aleppo Pine resin and available all over still today) became wildly popular, and that together with bulk bottlings of low-quality wines dominated Greece's representation on the global market, squeezing out boutique, quality wine production. In the early 70's growers painfully aware of Greece's previous glory and future potential rallied for legislation which established appellations and preserved valuable winemaking traditions. In the 80's those standards, and therefore wine quality, were refined a bit more, but wine production in Greece (with its 300+ grape varieties) was still a largely freestyle endeavor. In the 90's pressure from the European Economic Community forced Greece to seriously organize (or try to), and standardize wine laws and appellation structure. All the while wine quality from exciting, emerging leaders was on the rise.

TODAY we've got some really fun, distinct wines floating around the market. Remember how Australian wine was amazingly under-priced when we first began to love it? And Chilean wines, too? Ladies and gentlemen, meet Greece. Awesome, exciting, quality white, red, and pink wines at great prices. Since Greek wines are on the lips of the trend-setting dining cultures of NY and LA, prices are bound to creep up eventually. But for now, they're still low. I'm talking about getting a great bottle, a worthy $30 bottle, for $10. Zowie!

Next post will offer a little more clarity on grape varietals, regions, and producers to look for in Greek wine. Anyone wanting to weigh-in please do. The best part about this blog is the conversation.

But if you're running out to pick up an inexpensive bottle for dinner tonight, for a friend, for a wrong-time-of-year white elephant party, GO GREEK! Ask your wine merchant for suggestions. Get two! I could use one. ;)

*denotes opinion of The Oenanist

Opa,
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

Between the comments on the Beaujolais blog, and the emails I've received on the side, I can surmise that Beaujolais is a much more interesting topic than I initially imagined.

Let's start by putting a pet peeve to rest. It is not BOO-jolais. It is BOH-jolais. Like boat. Or bow & arrow. Bone. Bo Diddley. Little Bo Peep. If you're saying BOO-jolais, cut it out.

Next, Beaujolais is both the place, and the wine, so it will be capitalized all the way through this entry, unlike what I do with grapes like cabernet or sauvignon blanc.

And speaking of grapes, red Beaujolais is made entirely from gamay. You don't see a lot of gamay on the market, so don't fret if you've never heard of it. There's also a wee bit of white Beaujolais made from chardonnay and aligote. Today, however, we're talking strictly about red Beaujolais, and therefore gamay.

Why all the fuss over Beaujolais? Probably because it's the little-engine-that-could suffering under the gigantic shadow of it's kinfolk in Burgundy. Technically, Beaujolais is a small bit of land in the southernmost tip of Burgundy. But casting those legal borders aside, Beaujolais and Burgundy couldn't be more different.

Gamay's typical aromas and flavors are in a league of their own. Banana, bubble gum, zesty bright berry fruit like raspberry or strawberry, florals like violets and rose petals, and an occasional white-peppery spice nipping at the palate. The fruit in the final product is highlighted by the fact that gamay is naturally low in tannins. Plus, Beaujolais is made by a unique process called carbonic maceration, where the grapes are put in the tank in whole clusters, and fermentation occurs naturally inside each individual grape. One thing to beware: wines made with carbonic maceration don't seem to keep well once opened. I don't know why that is true, but it is. So drink your Beaujolais in one sitting - it's easy to do.

Ugh. When I started this blog I promised myself I wouldn't venture down the road of wine geek winespeak like "carbonic maceration." Alas...

Beaujolais comes in three levels: Beaujolais, Beaujolais-Villages, and Beaujolais Cru. You'd be okay to ignore the entry level Beaujolais, sometimes called Beaujolais-Superieur. Stick with Villages (a considerable bargain), or Cru. Villages at it's best can be very refreshing, with a nice bite of acidity and popping luscious fruit, and only a smidge more in price than the far-inferior Superieur. Crus are a real gem with spicy notes, delicate and complex fruit flavors, and even age-ability on a few of them.

AND it's very important to know that the commercial success of Nouveau has led to many commercial-style wines in Beaujolais. The onset of the commercial style does nothing for the inferiority complex of Beaujolais. Like anything that goes commercial, the new style is grossly manipulated for consistency in mass-production, and pales in comparison to the wines of the old-style fanatics who, thankfully, are still producing.

If you're new to Beaujolais, make sure you're talking to a wine merchant who knows what's old and what's new. Importer is usually a good clue as well. Look on the back of the label for Kermit Lynch, or Weygandt-Metzler, as these two importers are fairly easy to come by in a good wine shop, and are serious about importing top-notch, traditional-style wine. Or ask your favorite trusted wine person about an importer she likes, as there are many who go to great lengths to bring home wines we can all be proud to enjoy.

NOW, the Cru wines. There are 10. Also note when you're looking for a Cru Beaujolais, there's a good chance the bottle will name only the Cru (and the producer, of course), with nary a mention of Beaujolais or gamay anywhere on the label. So here you go from North to South:
St. Amour
Julienas
Chenas
Mouin-a-Vent
Fleurie
Chiroubles
Morgon
Regnie
Brouilly
Cote de Brouilly
(note: these names are missing accents all over the place, but this particular blogging platform doesn't allow for foreign grammatical markings)

I'd drink any one of them, but I like Fleurie the most, and follow with Julienas. Maybe it's the power of suggestion, but I find Fleurie the most floral of the bunch, and Julienas has an exciting spicy side, while maintaining the lower price-point of the Crus.
If you're trying Beaujolais for the first time, maybe go for a Morgon, which tends to have a fuller body. When I first tried Beaujolais I found adjusting to the highly delicate flavors, aromas, and silky texture to be difficult. Once I was able to slow my mouth down and really take in the land... Wow.
The point that needs to be made is that Beaujolais wines can be very, very beautiful and exciting. They're more cuddly than brazen. Even the most muscular among them has an undeniable delicate nature. Taste a few side by side and you'll get a real sense for what sets Beaujolais apart from every other wine producing region in France.

Why does Beaujolais not have a broader reputation here in the States? The earlier comment made about marketing probably has a lot to do with it. Both the lack of marketing within Beaujolais, and the onslaught of marketing from huge wine production areas like, oh, Australia for example. Ever seen a Yellow Tail billboard? Yup.

Or maybe folks aren't ready for the challenge that Beaujolais delivers. You really have to pay attention. It's a soft-spoken, complex little creature. It's subtle, like Queen Katherine. It'll smile peacefully while you guzzle your over-ripe, too-young Bordeaux. It'll politely nod when you name Burgundy as your last-dinner-on-earth wine selection. And as prices jump ever higher for wines whose quality hasn't budged, Beaujolais will sit comfortably in it's southern throne, knowing it is what it is, whether you understand it or not.

Bottoms up,
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

The final installment of the Look Smell Taste trilogy

First things first: Embrace the slurp.

You have seen others doing it. You have pondered aloud; WTF is that grotesque slurping about? Do it. Part your lips slightly, pull in some air, and slurp your wine. Slurping is not only crucial for identifying the unique flavors in your glass, but it is absolutely essential for complete enjoyment of the wine. Want proof? Take a sip and swallow it right away, sans slurp. Sit for a second and notice what flavors and affects are leftover on your palate. Done so soon?

Now, take a sip and slurp. For the purpose of this exercise, give it a good five to ten seconds at least. It doesn't have to be one long continuous slurp. Try a series of two-second slurps. When you slurp, you are sending the vapors up your retro-nasal passage to your olfactory center where they can be enjoyed. They gotta get up there! Your actual mouth does not taste the flavor, it picks up on the sensations like sweet, acidic, tannic, balanced, etc. (more on these in a moment).

There is more than one way to slurp your wine. Some swish it around like mouthwash, some pull air over the teeth. I am not a slurp pro, but I do not condone the mouthwash technique; I have always believed pulling air into your mouth is critical, and you do not really do that when you swish it like Cool Mint Scope. I could be wrong. I am sure you will let me know.

I am going to keep this blog lean. For example we will not even touch on salty and bitterness. There is infinitely more information, more examples, more at-home experiments you can try to push your wine enjoyment forward. In the meantime here is a bit about what to watch for once the wine is in your mouth.

Sweetness: Varying in intensity from bone dry (think Italian red) to sweet/v. sweet (late harvest white), your palate picks up on the sweetness level fairly quickly, as it is generally believed that the front tip of your tongue is your sweet-o-meter. That said, make sure you are using the tip of your tongue when you drink. You would be surprised how many folks drink a beverage - any beverage - and get the liquid back into the mouth without hitting the front of the tongue. In the case of wine drinking, that is a darn shame. So pay attention. Say one day you receive a glass of 1981 Tokaji Oremus (up with Hungary!), you better engage the tip of your tongue or you will be cheating yourself out of an everlasting memory. (Incidentally, you can find an article I wrote about Tokay a while back here.)

Acidity: The tic to sweetness tac. The cheese on sweetness macaroni. Acidity and sweetness are great comrades in a good glass of wine. The sweeter the wine, the more acid it needs to for balance. Otherwise too much sugar could leave your mouth a yucky cloying sticky sweet mess; like after eating a full crystalline glob of rock candy. Eck. Good acid will refresh you, make your mouth water just-so. You know how sometimes a white wine will have that certain zip, or zing? The beautiful crispness? That is acid. Too much acid can make a wine tart; too little acid, flat. Red wines prosper for having much less acid than whites, because we like the creamier mouthfeel of a red.

Tannin: Ohhhh tannins. How you play with our emotions, giving us quick glimpses of a young wine's potential, but keeping us at arms length. Tannins are not typically discussed when tasting white wine, because wine gets tannins from the skin of the grapes - same place it gets color. Tannins are a hugely important factor in aging a great red wine to its potential. In a great, young red wine, tannins are like celebrity bodyguards. You might get a glimpse of an arm carrying a $12,000 purse, or a flash of blonde hair, but that bodyguard is always getting in the way of a full-fledged sighting. Elements in a well made wine take time to accept each other, to fuse together in harmony. Tannins protect those elements and let them come into their own; simultaneously tannins age and retreat from the frontline letting the other components shine. These days, California winemakers are doing an excellent job releasing young wines with approachable tannins (I bet you have heard someone say it), so drinking the current vintage is not an abomination like it might be with a young Barolo or Bordeaux.

Balance: As defined by Karen MacNeil's TheWine Bible: An equilibrium among the components of a wine (ACID, ALCOHOL, FRUIT, TANNIN and so on) such that no one characteristic stands out like a sore thumb.

Enjoying a balanced wine is a gift that keeps on giving. None of the components drowns out the other, and with each sip you can taste something new. Maybe one time you pay attention to the acid, and the next sip you push the acid out of the way and notice the fruit. Winemakers all strive for balance, but certainly not all wines qualify. There are a lot of people who enjoy a technically unbalanced wine, maybe more fruity or highly acidic. It's wonderful to identify what you like. I find it intriguing to hear someone admit "this is one of those out-of-whack, overly acidic wines. I love these."

Body: The last thing I'm covering for today's blog. To determine the body of a wine, I use what I call The Milk Comparison. Imagine Skim Milk vs. Whole Milk. Skim feels very light in your mouth compared to its richer, heavier cousin Whole Milk. This is the same feeling as light body wine versus full body wine. Medium bodied wine most closely resembles 2% milk. However, if you're sitting in a group of wine drinkers and you remark that the this glass really makes you think of a refreshing sip of 2% milk, you might get a few odd looks. The Milk Comparison is best used as an internal measurement.

Alright there you have it. You're two-minute crash course on tasting wine. Hopefully you feel more confident identifying body, acid, sweetness, and tannins. Not to mention all of the great flavors you'll get from slurping into your retro-nasal passage.

I'll finish with a quote from Jancis Robinson in her excellent book How To Taste: You know now how to taste wine, a more rewarding yet hardly more taxing business than merely drinking it.

Enjoy,
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

Second installment of the Look Smell Taste trilogy

You've probably heard it a few times. People enjoy using the term "nose." When you're talking nose, you're referring to the bouquet and aromas of wine. The bouquet is often assigned equal--or greater!--importance as the wine itself.

Technically, aromas are single components that make up the entire bouquet. For example, a wine with aromas of lavender and rose petals has a floral bouquet. The Oenanist is content to use the word "smells."

Developing a vocabulary for the nose takes practice... and the occasional encouragement from the Aroma Wheel. The Aroma Wheel is to a new wine taster what fire was to early man: an outstanding discovery. The Wheel helps you wrap your head around the world of smells, scents, aromas, et al. You can't, *ahem*, find it on the internet for free, *cough cough*, but you can purchase one for a few bucks here.

The nose is where enjoyment of wine really begins. In the case of corked or tainted wine, it's also where the fun stops. This is why you smell wine when ordering a bottle at a restaurant. It's not to say "oh I'm not really in the mood for this," and then send a perfectly good bottle back, forcing the restaurant to eat the cost of your whimsy. Rather it's to take a whiff and a sip and make sure there isn't anything offensive. I keep to the following rule: if it smells obnoxious, it probably is. That goes for both wine and people alike.

REPEAT: THE RITUAL OF SMELLING YOUR WINE BOTTLE AT A RESTAURANT IS NOT TO DECIDE IF YOU WANT IT OR NOT. You are smelling for cork taint, or various other flaws that may render it undrinkable.

Some key smells for a spoiled or "corked" wine are: wet cardboard, dirty socks, body odor, sulfur, old kitchen sponge... You get the idea, yes? If you smell one of these, or something that gives you the same reaction, trust your nose. Remember: The first element of a corked wine is CORK. Screw cap and alternate closure wines can not be corked. Tainted otherwise, yes, but not corked.

And what exactly is corked wine anyway? Corked wine gets its name from being soured by TCA (Trichloroanisole), a bacteria most commonly found inÃÆ'¢â‚¬Â¦ corks. The percentage of wines affected by TCA varies depending on who is talking, but the general consensus is 5%-10%. TCA is not harmful to your health, although it can damage you emotionally when you open a rare bottle of 1942 Burgundy and it smells like a wet sweaty shoebox.

The last word on corked wine: no one expects you to drink it. Do not be shy about telling the wine steward, or taking the bottle back to the shop where it was purchased. Any respectable person/place will be happy to swap it out.

Alright! Aroma Wheel in hand, let's get to smelling.

First, set the glass perfectly still on the table. Stick your nose in and inhale. What do you smell? Probably not much. NOW, give the glass a swirl, don't be afraid!, let it swirl round and round and round to release the aromas, and then stick your nose in it again before it settles. Smell the difference? Can't make that up.

Constantly smelling your wine is a good habit. Even if it bothers your friends, keep sticking your nose in the glass and taking in the fruits, the minerals, the wood, the nuts, the whatevers. Tobacco, leather, anise, eucalyptus, hibiscus, tomato skin, sulfur, cranberry, if there's a smell on earth, it's probably in a glass of wine somewhere.

But it's just grapes, right?

PLUS, like everything else, your sense of smell declines as you age. According to the Smell & Taste Treatment Research Foundation, you can reverse that injustice by taking a deep smell of something specific and pleasurable every day. This exercise causes your nose to develop new scent receptors. In case you needed yet another legitimate, beneficial reason to drink wine every day...

I'm here for you.

Sniff sniff,
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

"You can never know everything about wine. Anyone who claims to know everything is a fool, and should be avoided." -The Oenanist

In the interest of the basics, I'm devoting the next three entries to Look, Smell, and Taste.

LOOK
To start off, you have still wine in three colors: white, red, and rosé. And of course there's the non-still bubbly/sparkling wine which comes in all three colors, but most often white.

Sidenote on bubbles: It's not Champagne unless it's actually from the region in France of the same name. If you aren't sure what to call the sparkler in your glass, just call it bubbly. No one will be offended.

Wine gets color from the skin of the grapes. Red and rosé wines are always made from purple/red/black grapes. White grapes can only produce white wine, but white wine is not always from white grapes. The juice inside all grapes is colorless, or white. Kind of like people-- no matter what color our skin, our blood is all the same. So if you squeeze the juice out of red grapes and throw away the skins, you're going to have white (colorless) wine. If you squeeze the juice from red grapes and put the skins in with it you'll have pink or red wine, depending on duration of skin contact. Imagine leaving a white shirt in the washing machine with red socks- the longer you leave them in contact with each other, the more color the white shirt is going to absorb.

Next, keep in mind all wine goes to brown. Red, white, whatever. Progression to brown-ness speaks to the age of the wine. When you see wine lovers tilting a glass away and gazing at the vino, they're typically checking the color, ideally against a white or light-colored background like a table linen. Try it. Look at the rim of the wine, where it meets the glass and the color fades. Even if it's a white wine, the rim will be more clear than the center. On a young red wine, you'll have varying shades/hues of red, and purple all the way out to the rim. As it ages, the color at the rim will begin to brown. Eventually the entire glass will take on a more brown hue. There is no botox for wine-- as it ages, it will brown. Fortunately, there are no societal pressures that prevent wine from aging naturally.

Note: If you have a very golden brown hue on a young white wine, or a very brown looking young red, be on guard. You might have a problem when you smell and taste it.

These days everyone is drinking baby wine. Just released, current vintage, wine that would be in diapers if it were human. So when you're checking out the rim, you aren't going to see any brown. But the next time you're around someone who is enjoying something aged, even just 5-7 years, ask for a look in the name of official wine age research. You'll notice a slight fade starting right against the glass, and traveling in a couple millimeters. There is a lot of information in that fade. Stare at it until it reveals itself to you. It might not be right away, but keep doing it with a lot of different wines over time and you'll notice the differences.

As far as color goes, don't be shocked to have a cloudy or milky looking wine. All wine starts cloudy. A number of factors in the infancy of a wine's life will affect its overall clarity. Settling, fining, filtering-- there are a handful of ways to remove cloud from wine. However, there are plenty of folks who don't want their wine to go through the sometimes harsh processes of removing particles (like yeast) from the wine, so they leave it the way it is. There are other wine sites that will tell you a wine shouldn't be cloudy. We call bullshit! Taste it and see if there is a problem. Most of the time, there won't be.

Bubbles, on the other hand, are quite another story. If you're looking at a glass of still wine, and there are little bubbles in it, you may have a problem. Sometimes a fresh young white wine will have an intended spritz. Otherwise, you might have a fermentation thing happening, which is kind of yucky, like when you think it's water but it's really tonic and you take a big gulp. Try it and see. It won't kill you, it just tastes like someone dropped a fizzy tablet into your wine glass. If your wine is going through a freaky fizzy ferment phase, don't fret. It's a natural thing that happens sometimes. Count that bottle out, but don't worry about purchasing wine from that producer in the future. Chances of it striking the same place twice are slim. And yes, a respectable place will swap you out for another if you take it back reasonably full.

Lastly, when a person swirls the glass and then stares at it, what the hell are they looking for? Legs. People are looking for legs. Some call them tears. But tears are sad, and legs are sexy, so at The Oenanist we call them legs. Legs are the viscous (pay attention! That didn't say vicious)drizzle that slink down the side of the glass after you swirl it. Sometimes you have to swirl a few times before the legs really grab the glass and reveal themselves. Here's a list of the things legs DO NOT tell you:
-the quality of the wine
-the age of the wine
-where it's from
-the approximate cost of the wine

Here's a list of the things legs DO tell you:
-alcohol content

Short list, eh? The slower the legs, the higher the alcohol. There you have it. End of story. Case closed.

Now that we've covered LOOKING at the wine, here's a checklist that will help you on your way to becoming a home or restaurant table expert.

-Look at the color of the wine. Anything look weird? If not, proceed. If so, well, proceed anyway. Investigate.
-Check the rim variation against the vintage and you'll get to understand how rim variation changes as bottles grow older.
-Swirl the glass a few times and watch the legs drip down the glass. Then assess how much of that particular bottle you can safely enjoy without regretting it tomorrow.

Smell you later (seriously!),
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

I resolve to actually maintain this blog like a worthy blogmistress once 2008 is at last upon us.

In the meantime, please enjoy the music.

3..2..1,
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

Granted, I do love a good slogan. And this one:

Wine in Glass Bottles Shouldn't Throw Stones

gives me a grin. And I like progession. Progressive relationships, progressive politics. Progress towards the shower at some point today. When the screw cap debate became heated in years past, I supported the progressive closure from the jump. (One bottle of corked 1942 La Tache will do that to a lady.) But when the post-Franzia box wine
revolution swept into specialty markets across the nation, I wasn't running with the front of the pack.

Regardless of progressive, I'm overcome with prejudice towards wine in a box. I don't care for the in-your-face technology of modern spouts. I'm uncomfortable when vintage is replaced with a "born on" date. I know there is a market out there for the situation, but I'd never considered myself a part of it. Then again, I used to drink wine for free.

So, I tried the line-up of local cylinder-shaped wine box Revelry Vintners. That's their slogan at the start of this entry. I tasted the merlot, cab, and chardonnay. Each red was tasted multiple times, days apart, to check the freshness level. Although "freshness" in this case refers to wine that doesn't age once its open, which reminds me of veal, and that's sad. Not necessarily un-tasty, of course.

As promised, each red hardly evolved after spouting the first glass. The chardonnay struck me as the most unique of the bunch, but I never got back to it. Long story. Overall I consider all three to be the equivalent of an undiscovered bronzed Los Angeles wannabe starlet with lip injections. Pretty, but, meh.

Now let's get down to the real deal on the Revelry box wines. Will their use of French Oak make or break whether or not you buy it? Doubt it (but its a bonus in this packaging, methinks). The driving factor for Revelry and other box wines is the value. Revelry is about $20 a box. Each box is 1.5L, which is two regular bottles. A box can stretch out 30 days. Best (or most depressing) case scenario, two boxes = 60 days. Thats value alright. Huge value, actually. If it tasted like garbage, it would be a waste of money at any price. But it doesn't. It tastes okay-ish.

The chances you are going to open a box for one glass, and then return to an undrinkable oxidized box a couple days later when you want another glass is extremely slim. Unless you're pouring the box on it's side, apparently. Or if you're pouring it upside down, in which case you aren't actually old enough to be drinking your mom's wine and you're so going to get busted when she goes for a glass and hears the gurgle.

Plus the Revelry box is fully recyclable. We like that. But I hope when my old Revelry boxes are re-born they're easier to open. I struggled with all three.

I'm still waiting for the cask system to arrive.

BYO jug,
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

In each respective time zone, at one minute past midnight tonight, the wine drinkers will begin a ritual that has persisted through decades, through vintages both great and deplorable. It perseveres through all countries, languages, it's a phenomena in it's own right. Chalkboards in front of cafes from Tokyo to Tulsa will proclaim Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrive! Or, the new Beaujolais has arrived.

Beaujolais Nouveau is a white wine that happens to be red. A sheep in wolf's clothing, perhaps? As someone who has attended Beaujolais Nouveau celebrations both humble and extravagant, I've got to admit there is something very raw, very organically sexy in the air the third Thursday of every November...

Light, fresh, fruity, and served chilled. Beaujolais Nouveau is intended for high-spirited quaffing rather than contemplative sips. That said, it's also produced for immediate consumption, meaning you don't want to hold on to the bottle for more than about six months. Note: this is a GREAT Thanksgiving wine! It's inexpensive, crowd pleasing, and you can drink it all day while you're cooking without turning your teeth black. Yay!

Technicals: the grape is Gamay. It is not-a-thing like any bottle you see labeled as "California Gamay." Beaujolais also produces ten Cru wines that are a bit more serious, and will not have "Nouveau" scribed anywhere on the label. Nouveau is produced through a process called carbonic maceration. Why do we care? Because that means the wine will be fruity, and will not be tannic.

Get out and find yourself a good time tomorrow evening, wine drinkers. Call your local wine bar, or wine shop, or restaurant, and see if they have anything on tap to partake in the rite of passage for wine's 2007 vintage.

A smattering of suggestions:

The French-American Chamber of Commerce will hold its 15th Annual Beaujolais Nouveau Wine Gala and Benefit Auction at the Westin Bellevue Hotel on Friday the 16th. I've attended a Beaujolais Nouveau gala thrown by French-American Chamber of Commerce elsewhere, and to put it mildly: It was a BLAST. Well worth the ticket price.

Le Pichet is a pretty safe bet for a good celebration. They've got the whole French thing down to a science. Plus they'll have some live music!

Seattle Cellars has a wine tasting every Thursday. Tomorrow's will feature T-Day wines, and include the Georges Du Boeuf Beaujolais Nouveau. $10 for the tasting includes a Riedel glass that you get to keep.

Fill 'er up!
Emily Resling
The Oenanist

MSN's Men's Health e-gazine published a wine article this weekend that made me rubber-neck like I was driving by an accident.

Here's my guess-- ... Well, to be fair, I have two guesses.

First guess: this writer realized he had an article due about wine in less than 12 hours and not only had he not begun to write it, but he didn't know a thing about his subject. He mentioned this to the table of [INSERT SOCIAL NETWORKING CLUB] friends he was dining with, when so-and-so's boyfriend (who totally knows so much about wine y'all) piped up. Our Young Writer took out his mini-Moleskin and moments later the atrocity was written.

OR: I had no idea that:
- you should never buy wine close to the counter in a shop.
- white and red should be served at the same temperature
- labels bearing the colors red or yellow should be avoided (what about this guy? Consequently this wine also falls under the article's "critter label" warning.)

To be fair, the article is about 10% accurate. Taste does vary from vintage to vintage. Otherwise, it's ignorant journalism that widens the gap between wine knowledge and those who want it.

Here it is.

Tsk, tsk MSN! Do Editors have the weekend off? It's a fair question, seeing as nobody bothered to capitalize Chianti (last I checked it's a proper noun. Anyone at MSN wanting to brush up on the rules can do so here).

Don't mess with wine drinkers, MSN! I will take you down!
Emily Resling
The Oenanist