New hours starting March 21st!

Starting on Wednesday the 21st, we’ll be open:

Mon-Fri 8-7

Sat 9-6

Sun 9-4

It’s spring (almost)!

We’ve got some new additions here at Rosemont Produce Company today; artichokes and flowers!

Come check us out!

Local radishes, three ways!

Rosemont just scored radishes in bunches fresh off Belanger Farm in Lewiston. Also had some local radish sprouts. I brought both home and made the night’s appetizer, Radish Three Ways, in 5 minutes. Snip the greens off the bunch, chop roughly and sauté 3 minutes in extra virgin olive oil and a pinch of salt, with freshly ground pepper. Meanwhile, slice a few of the radishes thinly. Stir the greens as they cook, then remove from heat. Add a spritz of lemon or lime juice, adjust salt and pepper, and lay on a plate. Top with the sliced radishes, sprinkle on some Maine sea salt, top with a few of the radish sprouts. Oooooh, good. I coulda gussied it up with some melted anchovies, chopped black olives, and/or toasted baguette. But I didn’t, and they were still so good!

Neal Rosenthal, wine pioneer and terroir czar, represents for Old School/World

Check out latest word from the battle lines. Neal Rosenthal’s approach to terroir has everything to do with connecting producers and consumers, in a humane, connected way. This is about wine, but it’s really about much more than that — life itself, daresay. You can’t buy exquisite wines made in Maine, but if you’re going to have exquisite wines in your life, you might as well procure them through channels such as Rosenthal’s, where every step on the path is honored. He buys wines the way Rosemont buys cheeses, or olive oil, or prosciutto, or even vegetables from away when we need to: with care, with respect for place.

Barbera Supreme: The best non-bank-breaking way to taste Piedmont wine

From Portland Press Herald, March 30, 2011

By Joe Appel

Piedmont, in Italy’s northwestern corner, is best known enologically as the home of Barbaresco and Barolo, the so-called queen and king, respectively, of Italian wine, made with the legendarily site-specific Nebbiolo grape. Typically, Barbaresco and Barolo cost quite a bit of money and aren’t ready to drink for years if not decades after bottling.

Although a great aged Barbaresco or Barolo is one of the finest things on the planet (I hear), there’s a much wallet- and palate-friendlier option that calls Piedmont home: Barbera. There’s no single way to describe Barbera, because it takes so many forms, from unoaked versions that are light, fresh and brightly acidic to dark, oak-aged, grilled and complicated affairs.

The former are perfect for thin-crust pizza or Tuesday-night pasta and marinara (Barbera’s naturally high acidity goes toe to toe with surprisingly difficult to pair tomatoes), while the deeper expressions are spectacular with herb-rubbed roasts and spicy sausages. Young Barbera is also a close second to Gamay as the best red wine for Chinese food; it’s a delicious combination but only if you’re cooking Chinese at home since Portland hasno good Chinese restaurants.

Accessible options for the lighter style of Barbera include spring-perfect Castelvero Barbera 2008 ($9 to $10, Pine State) and the more dark cherry and grill smoke accentedSan Silvestro Barbera Otone 2009 ($9 to $10, National). These are terrific after a nice 30-minute refrigerator ride, by the way: cooling them highlights their soft tannins and bright red fruits.

On the deep, dark and chewy side, I’m begging you: Drink the brilliant Perrone Barbera d’Asti Tasmorcan 2009 ($17, SoPo), packed with spice and tobacco. Also, I’ve previously praised the Vietti Barbera D’Asti Tre Vigne 2008 ($15, Wicked), a gamey gem that stays playful and bright.

And now, near the end of this column, comes the main reason I wanted to write it: Michele Chiarlo Barbera d’Asti Le Orme 2008 ($13 to $14, Nappi). It’s fermented in stainless steel, which retains the Barbera’s natural brightness and vibrant red fruits, but there’s a loamy, mushroomy quality that’s akin to a gentle Pinot Noir. Indeed, it’s this gentleness that is the most thrilling thing about it.

This is because the challenge to makers of lively, acidic reds like Barbera is to calm down their wines and bring harmony to their expression while retaining what makes them so exciting. With its slightly schizoid personality – jumpy and childlike, but also soft and introverted – Barbera risks imbalance.

The innovation of winemaker Michele Chiarlo – he started the winery in 1956 and hails from a family that has been growing grapes in Piedmont for seven generations – was to introduce the stabilizing/softening/creaming influence of malolactic fermentation to Barbera. He was among the first to do this, in 1970, and it effected a revolution in quality.

Michele’s son Stefano (trained as an enologist, he’s the vineyard manager and along with his brother Alberto is in line to take the reins from Michele) told me Le Orme is “a feminine wine: soft, delicate, elegant.” There’s an almost extravagant level of integration and harmony, but with no lack of pop, and it can go anywhere coming warmer months will suggest: pizza on the grill, fish with tomatoes and olives, lazy-afternoon charcuterie.

The Chiarlos are that rare thing in the world: an integration of classicism and innovation. Stefano told me, “The identity of the soil is important. Consumers now understand this; they’re looking for something particular. So winemakers must preserve a personal style based on where they are, and then when you make a choice you are sure; you don’t experiment.”

That doubt-free state is most ably attained with the Chiarlos’ single-vineyard Barbera, La Court 2004 ($42), a magnificent, large-oak-barrel-fermented jewel from Nizza Monferrato, the pre-eminent cru of Barbera d’Asti. Stefano calls this “a serious sacrifice,” because the Chiarlos prune so assiduously, there’s an entire vine’s worth of grapes in a single bottle. This is what I call Old Soul wine, and although the price is relatively high, it’s a bargain. The profile is earthy and powerful from the bottom up, with damp cigar leaf, cinnamon, toffee and mocha.

There’s also their unique, symphonic 2006 Barbaresco, the Reyna ($35), floral and herbal and anise-flecked, that you could spend a whole night just smelling; and a Gavi (Piedmont’s undeservedly little-known indigenous white wine, thrilling with asparagus of all things, as well as white fish) crackling with white pepper and minerals. With insufficient space to describe them, I’ll just urge you to start your Chiarlo friendship with the Barberas and move on from there.

For dessert or apertif, though, you need to know this right away – as I’ve written about before (available at my blog), Piedmont is also the birthplace of Moscato d’Asti, and Chiarlo produces an exceptional one: the Nivole 2008 ($13 to $14).

Apricots, pears and peaches burst out of the glass, mousse-y in texture and raked by fine bubbles. Five percent alcohol, sunny and sweet and shimmering and alive, it comes with a free patio or bowl of ice cream – your choice.

 

The Classic Southern Rhône Wines of Perrin & Fils

Reprinted from soulofwine.com

Perrin wines are rather unassuming at first glance. Not flashy. But they’re often brilliant, sometimes mind-rocking, always interesting. You owe it to the classic, gracious, stately side of yourself to drink these wines.

From Portland Press Herald, March 16, 2011

We tend to seek out the new in whatever realms we drift in, partly because it’s exciting and partly for ego upgrade. Be it pop stars, gadgets, politics or wine-and-food, we restless postmoderns like our hunts. But excitement for excitement’s sake is simply distraction, and as for the delusion that the self is ennobled by striving, Google Buddha’s Four Noble Truths. Today I’ll raise a flag for intimacy with the not-so-new.

Where else can one’s mind go when considering (and tasting) the wines of the Perrin family? The Perrins have been making wine in the France’s Southern Rhône since 1909, so well and so consistently that the familiar labels may fail to set your heart aflutter as it peruses your local shop or wine list. Comes a time, though, when your heart matures, and gains the ability to flutter at ever subtler stimuli. Perrin & Fils wines are for such subtle hearts, and for drinkers who are good with elegance, patience, harmony and class. That they bear little blast of trendiness might make them seem less relevant to you, but in fact it makes them more so.

The Southern Rhône is profoundly rural France, rustically Provençal in character though not in a touristy way (very windy, spotty wi-fi). In the Northern Rhône, the red wines come from Syrah alone; in the south there are 13 possible varietals blended according to demands of terroir and winemaker preference, and the best wines reflect that freewheeling provenance. But only disciplined winemakers are going to be able to wrest the graceful soul from such hodgepodgey origins.

Perrin wines express that soul, while staying true to the olive-oil/garlic/wild-herbs personality of the region. Most are brisk, spicy, and rocky, reminiscent of open fires and tough old clothes wind-blown ragged and caked in dust. Perrin holds some of the oldest vineyards in France, which have hosted vines brought from the Phoenicians and Greeks. It’s the real deal.

And it comes across in a stunning variety of wines, starting with the Vielle Ferme line, through the Perrin Reserves and Crus, all the way up to Châteauneuf-du-Pape standard-bearer Château de Beaucastel. The range itself is part of what’s so interesting, because it invites you into a relationship with the family and a certain outlook.  (The winemakers still have Perrin for a surname, into the fifth generation now coming up).

Maybe that’s what we’re truly seeking when we hunt for “the new”: a relationship with something real, somewhere real, real people. We find this relationship so rarely that we look and look again, restlessly; with the Perrins you can rest.

You’ve probably seen the Vielle Ferme 2009 ($8, or $13 for the 1.5L size) the last time you stopped at a moderately well-stocked convenience store, which is part of what’s remarkable about it. The Perrins don’t own the Luberon properties that produce these wines, but manage the vineyards. The white surprised me most, because I’d remembered it as excessively fruity. The 2009 was somewhat floral but very clean (it sees no oak), flinty and green-appley, above all alive. The red (same price) is almost maddeningly easy. Something naughty made me want to find flaws but there aren’t any; it’s a perfectly balanced blend of half Grenache and the rest Syrah, Carignan and Cinsault, just perfect for don’t-think-about-it occasions.

Perrin Réserve Côtes-du-Rhône Rouge 2009 ($12) is the best intro to red Côtes-du-Rhône I can think of, pure and straightforward. It hits all the right notes — licorice, spearmint, twigs, moderate spice — with none of the overbearing twang that sometimes plagues CdR. The Côtes-du-Rhône Villages 2009 ($14) is a huge step up, due to different vineyards that permit more Syrah. My notes from a few weeks ago have a lot of exclamation marks, but I just remember how prime the fruit is, like cherries or a red plum in July: that succulent, that oozing, that vital, that smooth.

For me the best values, though, are two of the Perrin Crus. The crus are the myriad vineyard-specific wines that express the deepest soul of the Southern Rhône, and Pierre Perrin is a master at finding and developing the sites. TheCairanne 2007 ($23) is extraordinary, from a site near Gigondas: packed with spice, soft and voluptuously feminine, figgy and deep. 2007 Rhône has already been called a vintage for the ages, and while the Cairanne is singing right now, buy a few bottles because in just 2-4 years it’ll be singing from even deeper down. The Vinsobres 2006 ($20), from the northernmost Southern Rhône village, is more upright, with liqueur-y body, mocha and teriyaki, robust.

The Réserve Côtes-du-Rhône Blanc 2009 ($10) is quite round while remaining fresh and almost evanescent; I liked it fine, though it was only when I tasted Perrin whites in the >$30 range (Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc Roussanne Vielles Vignes 2007, $165, call my name!) that I really found the same strength of character the reds offer up so effortlessly.

I haven’t even touched on the Beaucastel wines, frankly because they cost a good deal of money and are made for cellaring which most of you don’t do. If you’re wealthier and more patient than I assume, then puh-leeze: buy theCoudoulet de Beaucastel Côtes-du-Rhône 2008 ($31), a savory, opulent, gamey wine draped in wet wool, smoke, jus and currant. It’s almost as intricate and Johnny-Cash-like as the Châteauneuf-du-Pape 2007 ($96, a bottle of squid ink and truffles you should drink when your newborn finishes med school), but more open to friendship.

Red wine with vegetables? Try Monastrell

Another offshoot of my/Joe Appel’s Portland Press Herald wine column this week was my re-acquaintance with broccoli rabe. No, it’s not local this time of year (and damn hard to find around here even in season; why is that?). But I made a simple lentil dish (French lentils, and loads of chopped garlic, fresh fennel, fresh sage, rosemary, parsley and mint, plus multiple grindings of black pepper), then blasted the wok for the classic combo of broccoli rabe, garlic and hot red pepper flakes, finished with lemon juice.

The wine was the Atope Monastrell 2008, a bargain of a wine ($13) for what it offers: blueberry at first, then minty bitterness, moderate earthiness, and a shocking kind of freshness that leads naturally to hearty greens. The lentils had fun with the wine’s earth, but it was that green quality — kind of like a balanced Cabernet Franc from the Loire — that took center stage, picking up the herbs of the lentils and bowing in deference to the verdant, bracing tang of the broccoli rabe.

Also-known-as-es: Broccoli rabe is sometimes called “rapini”. And Monastrell is the same grape as what the French call Mourvèdre, that southern-Rhône powerhouse that endows Châteauneuf-du-Pâpe with its spine and can be thrilling as a single-varietal wine in Bandol.

What can’t Riesling do? (With recipe for Maine squash and cabbage)

Whatever it is, I don’t — or don’t need to — know. I’m still buzzing from my latest experience with the Leitz Dragonstone 2008, from the Rheingau. I wrote about it this week in my Portland Press Herald wine column. Cottony soft, yet with perfect electricity to cut through the fat of winter meals.

Last night was a simple one-pot prep of  sautéed onion and red cabbage with roasted kabocha squash, finished with smoked paprika and Bisson raw cream. On the side was buttermilk cornbread. All the bold-faced ingredients in the preceding paragraph are local foods (not to mention the Kate’s butter, Maine cornmeal, Straw’s eggs I used), proving that eating locally here, in mid-February, is easily done and joyful.

So, all the sweetness of the cooked cabbage, onions and squash was picked up by that Riesling, but then the circus act of the wine’s counterbalancing acidity sliced through the thickness of the squash and pure-fat of the cream. The Dragonstone has a cornmeal flavor element as well, which meshed with the cornbread and did a joyful tango with the smoke of the paprika. After the main course there was a small piece of blue cheese lying around, and darned if the Riesling didn’t match perfectly with that too!

Perhaps the best part was that I could drink as much of this wine as I wanted, given its thrillingly low alcohol level of 8%. I rose from the table invigorated rather than teetering and heading south, and had a perfect blend of calm and focus so I could write. I slept well, too.

Appel on Wine: Pairing 101.5: Tofu, Monastrell, Pasta, Riesling…what else?

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From Portland Press Herald, February 15, 2011

Kind of about tofu, but not really. More about how to pair, with creativity and joy. Part One of…more

 

An exchange I had recently with a customer at Rosemont Market sticks with me, as often happens when moments don’t go right. I keep replaying the conversation in my mind, amending as I go, wishing I’d said this but not that, etc.

She was glancing at a bottle of Castano Monastrell 2009 ($9, Central), a rear-legs-kicking, gnarly desert-n-tanglewood Spanish red I happen to love (and so will you, if you love peppery, spirited red wines that don’t take no for an answer). At the same time, I was stocking shelves with a different Monastrell, the Atope 2008 ($13, Wicked) – less ornery, playing in a higher key with mint and blueberry prominent, a favorite of mine these days.

We recognized this shared moment with a somewhat uncommon grape, and got to talking. Turns out she’d lived in Almansa, the Atope’s home region, and had happy tales of quaffing Monastrell daily from the village urn at about $3 a bottle. She also had a bag of tofu in her hands, and as she grabbed a bottle of the Atope, I asked how she was planning to cook it to match with that wine.

She literally laughed. “I have no idea. You can’t drink wine with tofu.” With that, she was off to pay, and I started to say, Yes-Wait-Yes, but she laughed again and was gone.

This was what’s known as a teachable moment, and although I missed the opportunity then, I’ll try to re-seize it now. First of all, you can and should drink wine with tofu! There’s wine for everything.

Second, eat lamb, lentils or sausage and hearty greens with either of those Monastrells, and see what happens. Use the flavors and associations of a wine you know to suggest food matches, rather than just putting the wine next to food you happened to cook and crossing your fingers.

Third, the question of what to drink with tofu is as broad as what to drink with pasta. Both, plain, present almost completely neutral flavor profiles, and so what’s important is your preparation, other ingredients and sauces. (Therefore, any wine’s back label that says it’s a “great match for pastas” should be regarded skeptically.)

Simple red wines with a mix of sweet cherry and tongue-tingling acidity – like the Il Morino Sangiovese 2009 ($10, Central) or Capestrano Rosso Piceno 2009 ($10, Pine State) – are perfect if you’re covering pasta with tomato sauce, but with rabbit rag?ou need to drive deeper: Vietti Barbera D’Asti Tre Vigne 2008 ($15, Wicked) is amazing, at once gamey – chewy even – and bright. Pasta with a mushroom-cream sauce would get wrecked by that Sangiovese, but would be exalted by an earthy Pinot Noir or a nutty southern Rhone white that blends Marsanne and Rousanne. Everything, always, depends on the details.

This returns me to the tofu. If you’re beholden to that Monastrell, make your meal conform to it, and do one of these things: rub firm tofu generously with a Cajun spice mix and blacken it; or crust the tofu with ground walnuts and currants before frying; or make a sauce using roasted garlic; or add chipotles;or add bacon.

Best, though, is don’t be beholden to the Monastrell! Find additional wines to love. There’s comfort food and there’s paralysis; recognize the difference. If you prefer your tofu in Thai style, using coconut milk, ginger and lemongrass, a boisterous red wine is ridiculous. Rather, the Leitz Dragonstone 2008 ($17, SoPo), is super vigorous, lusty and open, surefooted and stony, with just enough polenta-y sweetness to offset your tofu’s heat.

But say you’re creating a different kind of Asian heat, more of a Chinese style with star anise, peppercorns and soy? For that, you want something more succulent and plunging. Try the best red wines you’re not drinking, Cru Beaujolais (I’ve written on these before; see my blog for the archive if you want specific suggestions), or the extravagantly terroir-yIndependent Producers Merlot 2008 ($11, Nappi) from Washington state, deep like an Oaxacan mole with cocoa, pumpkin seeds and innumerable other stealthy spices and dried fruits.

Pairing food with wine is endlessly fascinating, and you can do it in a playful, experimental way rather than anything grim and academic. There’s much more to discuss along these lines, but for some reason The Press Herald editors don’t hand me the entire Wednesday paper to play around in (something about world, national and local news, apparently).

For that reason, let’s consider this column Part One of an extended investigation into what wine and food actually have to do with each other. Next installment to come soon, and I’ll try to incorporate any comments and/or questions posted here. Thanks!

Barrel tasting 2009 Burgundies. Tough Life.

The main point here is: Plan for your future (and that of your children), by planning to buy some 2009 Burgundy in September when they become available. Charmingly accessible for-American-palates whites (Chardonnay), with ripe but precious and ageable reds (Pinot Noir). The whites especially are drinkable now, while the reds will be fun (and sufficiently loose) young but soulful as years go on.

From Portland Press Herald, 2 February 2011

I had the privilege of tasting 2009 Burgundies “from barrel” last week. The wines will not be available anywhere until autumn, but when that time comes you’d be a fool not to buy some.

The wines are expensive, by the usual criteria of this column and most people who read it. But there’s a time for expensive wines. Yes, wine is meant to be enjoyed heartily, without fetishizing; yes, wine should be an everyday meal companion; yes, there are currently many terrific $10-15 wines; yes, there’s danger in over-thinking it. However: Wine can also be a unique connection with land, with exquisite beauty, and with pleasures so delicate that if we experienced them too frequently we’d dissolve. These are those kind of wines, and $30 to $100 a bottle is a more-than-fair price for such encounters. (How much did you spend on dinner and a movie last time you went out, and how exalted was the experience?)

If you’d like some background on Burgundy, use Wikipedia or a good book. My only task here is to convince you there’s a good chance you will love these ethereal, infinitely complex wines, and get you to start and/or continue a relationship with them.

The barrel tasting was with Maison Louis Jadot, one of the great names in Burgundy. The wines are still aging in barrel (hence the Fall 2011 release), but for promotional purposes Jadot (and others) get small amounts of several of their wines into bottles for professionals to taste. The intention is to provide a “picture of the vintage”, rather than drill down on the nuances of any one wine.

Vintage is extremely important in Burgundy because, as Jadot’s export director, Marc Dupin, told me, “We don’t have a stable climate.” 2003 was the hottest summer in 500 years; 2004 was the coldest in 600. In 2009, lucky for us, “everything worked”. The summer wasn’t so warm it killed off the necessary acidity, and September brought some rain which can effectively restart the maturation process, raising alcohol to the appropriate level and ripening the skins sufficiently.

Jadot is both a winemaker and négociant-éleveur. They make wines from their own grapes, but also buy grapes from selected growers and then age and bottle these. Dupin told me they’re as proud of their négociant wines as they are of their proprietary wines. Indeed, he said, the ability to pick and choose grapes can sometimes render“négoc” wines more complex than single-property wines; the disadvantage is a loss of some gôut de terroir, that singularity of taste that a wine made only from these grapes in this spot can elicit.

The 2009 whites are fascinating. Dupin said the Burgundians won’t love them, because they’re a bit too viscous and generous, with not enough acidity. But that’s perfect for many American tastes, especially those Americans who are ready (I say that as condescendingly as possible) to move from New World Chardonnay to Old. Austere 2008 belongs to the French, but gregarious 2009 is for us! Austere 2008 will age decades, while 2009 will be prime by 2015.

For example, the Pernand Vergelesses (roughly $35), a great “Villages”-level value grown on a slope facing the famed Corton Charlemagne, presented distinct toast aromas, but toast without butter. That is, it wasn’t too oaky, even as its lemon spongecake character gave plenty to smile about. Those weaned on oaky, buttery Chardonnay will find so much to like, even as those seeking purity of fruit and minerality don’t have to feel dumbed down. The Jadot Puligny Montrachet Clos de la Garenne (roughly $67) is totally different: explosive, racy, and oily, it’s Chardonnay stripped down to essences. Both are singular, and transporting. Also look for: Santenay Clos de Malte Blanc, and Meursault-Genevrières.

The reds were just oh-so pretty, like the great 2005 but a bit riper, with plenty of backbone hinting at decades’ worth of ageability. Still, several will be wonderful from this September onward: Beaune-Boucherottes (roughly $40)was fungal, packed with white pepper and herbs, 1,000 edges and corners like an M.C. Escher drawing that makes sense despite itself.

We also tasted the Chateau des Jacques Moulin-à-Vent, technically a Beaujolais but that was the point: It’s vinified like a Burgundy (handpicked, handsorted grapes, destemmed, with long maceration), and it’s massive. When I asked Dupin how long this one could last, he said “forever” — only a slight exaggeration. It was bottled last fall, when I wrote this about it: “brooding wisdom-soul…an untracked forest…earthy, gamey, brambly roses.” Still true.

The best a critic of anything can do is persistently point at the moon, saying, “Look! See what’s there! Take this in!” My scribbled notes from the Jadot tasting include phrases like “roasted”, “prettiest thing ever”, “spice-rubbed”, “oh strawberries”, “what is that flower?”, “flesh”, “so calm”. Those are the words; the wines are beyond them. All I really want to say is, Please: staple this column to your calendar, and buy 2009 Jadot Burgundy in September.