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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.
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.
Big welcome to recent Maine immigrant: Puydeval 2009
This oughta be less controversial than the LePage thing. Rosemont’s Joe Appel’s Portland Press Herald wine column is out, all about one wine: Puydeval 2009. Best-ever vintage, a tremendously interesting, character-laden Languedoc blend of Cab Franc (mmmmm….), Syrah and Merlot. Appel knows how cool it is. But he’s not going to drink it much…
Ain’t easy being Kermit Lynch…
From Joe Appel’s Portland Press Herald wine column, pale enthusiasm for current-vintage Kermit Lynch…
Kermit Lynch is a lot of the reason American wine culture has evolved to its current level of sophistication. In the early 1970s, Lynch and a very few others (Bobby Kacher and Neal Rosenthal among them) visited the great wine-making countries of Western Europe and fell in love with the land, the wines and the people who made them.
By the seat of their pants, they forged an importation model that produced what we gratefully enjoy today: access to small, exciting wineries from regions both well-known (Rhône) and obscure (Valle D’Aosta); awareness of terroir-based wines made naturally, by hand, without filtration or excessive sulfites; the sharp increase in quality from regions such as Provençe, Languedoc, Alto Adige, Corsica and countless others that previously had been overshadowed by the Big Names (Bordeaux, Burgundy, Barolo, Rioja, etc.).
“Kermit had no idea how the wine market worked,” Lynch’s national sales manager (and himself a spectacular Napa winemaker) Bruce Neyers said. “He had no restraints. He did it his way. … He was one of the first to say, ‘I tasted these two wines side by side — one without filtration, one with — and I want that one.’ ”
It’s a tribute to Lynch’s persistence that he got so many of us to share that discernment and preference.
(Best line from my interview with Neyers: “The (downward) reversal of fortune with the Australian wine business is one of the most remarkably accurate corrections in my lifetime.”) For years, seeing Lynch’s name on the back of a wine bottle was my primary indicator of quality: I knew the wine would be interesting, made by a real person and transported to the wine shop with care.
Just as independent musicians developed alternatives to the creativity-stifling effects of major-label distribution, the wine renegades of the 1970s and 80s opened worlds to thousands of people. That there still exists, concurrently, a corporation-based, factory model for delivering mass-produced wines of no personality doesn’t detract at all from the achievements of Lynch and crew. Localism is surging in food and wine, but so are big boxes and fast food. We can choose. Thanks, Kermit.
In a recent pass through several Lynch-imported wines, however, some pals and I were disappointed. The wines weren’t bad; a couple were terrific. Most, however, just lacked personality and sense of place. Our impromptu panel asked, wine after wine, “Where’s the distinctiveness? The binding worldview?” The fact that the prices were higher than so many other available wines that show more character made it worse.
The confusing thing is, you can’t just say, “Kermit Lynch used to be the gold standard, now he’s a has-been.” It’s just that I don’t fully trust him anymore, don’t feel he’s a can’t-fail guide to my own vicarious “adventures on the wine route” (to quote the title of his still-terrific 1988 book).
Maybe it’s as simple as this: Once the new-wave renegade, Lynch has become a certain sort of establishment. Neyers told me Lynch still gets exuberant over new properties he finds, especially in out-of-the-way places, and I don’t doubt it. Having engineered the revolution, though, he no longer has to fight so hard. If Lynch is still happy, ethical and curious, he wins, but I’m going to be more wary in the future.
Still, here are three Lynch-imported wines that are truly terrific, and worth the price. (Add to this list two stunning Beaujolais I’ve detailed previously: Diochon Moulin-á-Vent 2006 and Lapierre Morgon 2009).
Champalou Vouvray “Fondraux” 2008, Loire, France, $20 (Nappi): Voluptuous wine laced with scintillating acidity and an extensive, undulating finish. Honey, applesauce and shiitakes, then the earthy turns bright with candied lemon peel. Such a food wine, especially for root vegetables, semi-firm cheeses, chicken livers and caramelized onions.
Lynch/Leydier VdP du Vaucluse 2007, Vaucluse, France, $14 (Nappi): The kind of cigar-y, wet-leaves, dusty-textured winter red we’re all looking for this time of year. A gregarious personality, equal parts raw nature and finesse.
Graville-Lacoste Graves 2009, Bordeaux, France $21 (National): The first touch is surprisingly floral with touches of wild honey, pineapple and brown sugar, then it shifts ever so gracefully into Meyer lemons and the mineral realm, ending almost steely. Sauvignon blanc the way it should be, clean enough to transmit the uniqueness of its terroir with no funny stuff, but never veering into astringency or grass. A long, graceful wine that truly tells a story.
Terry Theise’s wines are the best you’re not (yet) drinking
More related content, and commentary, and other good wine stuff, is at Joe Appel’s own blog, Soul of Wine. The New York Times just called that blog “charmingly passionate”! Isn’t that sweet?
The following post is a lemme-count-the-ways paean to Terry Theise, the Muhammed Ali/Lester Bangs/Bob Dylan of the wine world. Heart and soul, baby, heart and soul.
Please, y’all, remember that Terry Theise will be in Portland, Maine on December 7, signing copies of his book at Rabelais from 3-5 p.m., and then hosting a wine dinner at Bar Lola at 6:30 p.m.
From Portland Press Herald, December 1, 2010
This is simultaneously the hardest and easiest column for me to write. Easy because it concerns Terry Theise, my personal wine hero (and writing hero, and life hero), and I have waited a long time for the opportunity to write publicly about him. Hard because the stakes are so high: If I fail to convince you to form a long-term relationship with Theise’s work, then I wonder why I speak about wine at all.
If you love wine for its particulars but also for its metaphors; if you cherish delicacy, beauty, clarity and harmony over bravado and impact; if you agree at least partially that wine is ultimately not really about wine but is rather just one particularly useful pathway to the transcendent, then you too may come to view Theise as your Guide.
It’s due to Theise more than any other single person – his crystalline palate; his unyielding devotion to his winemakers as humans; his passionate, rambunctious, irreverent essays in his own wine catalogs and now in a book, Reading Between the Wines – that most of us know the first thing about German and Austrian wines, not to mention have come to appreciate Riesling as the most beautiful and complex grape on Earth. Theise has also exposed the corporate culture of the international Champagne market and pointed the way to grower-made Champagne (or as he calls it, “farmer fizz”).
He represents, powerfully, for the sensitive sensualist in all of us: “There aren’t a lot of emotional introverts getting the word out,” he told me. “It’s important to applaud that quiet, delicate temperament and encourage that sort of person – to say, ‘Your perspective is incredibly important.’” This from a guy who says he’s “most of the time thinking about sex, baseball and rock-n-roll.” Most of us who read Theise (as you can online, or by buying his book) adopt a kind of WWTTD-bracelet approach to life.
Although he has one of the finer palates in the world, he’s unconcerned with analyzing wines to death. “Most people think only what they’re supposed to think about wine,” he told me. “They treat wine like their life, as something that needs to be wrestled to the ground. We’re constantly being showered with beauty, but we affect an indifference to it that takes greater effort than would be required to just let it in.”
Worse even than indifference is adherence to preconceptions, which afflicts so many wine consumers when they encounter sweetness. Some Rieslings are perfectly dry (like the outrageous value Leitz Einz Zwei Dry “3”, $15), but a misconception persists that a touch of sweetness is anything other than life- and food-affirming. How to dispel this? “It’s hard, but my only real advice is to make yourself into a pure, blank receiver.” His wines beg us to meet them with our full array of sensual receptivity in the moment, rather than a scorecard.
“I approach this as an aesthete,” he said, but he’s an earthy one. His wines can be pounding-your-hands-on-the-steering-wheel-pop-song like the Gysler Silvaner 2009 ($14 liter) or quietly majestic like Dönnhoff Oberhauser Leistenberg Riesling Kabinett 2009 ($25). They can be lusty, waxy and lipsmacking like the Gysler Scheurebe 2009 ($17 liter), or spacious, oxygenated and spicy like the Darting Dürkheimer Nonnengarten Riesling Kabinett 2009 ($17 liter).
They can educate: Berger Zweigelt 2009 ($14 liter) shows the significance of integrity over concentration, as it combines dense red fruit and prosciutto without any squeeze-in-there-guys cloying or whump. Or they can seduce and sizzle: Messmer Spatburgunder ($19 liter) shows why so many of us are hooked on German Pinot Noir, wrapped as this is in silk, smoke and sand.
For Thanksgiving I provided an array of the above wines as well as some others from Theise. I didn’t push it or gush over the wines unless someone asked, and they were there among other bottles people had brought: California Pinots costing twice as much, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Burgundy. The Theise wines disappeared the fastest. For all their soul, all their distinctiveness, all the care that went into their making and their selection, they’re above all delicious and approachable. “Not every wine needs to rock our world,” Theise told me after a long conversation about world-rocking wines. “Just laugh when you’re tickled and let it all be fun.”
All Theise wines are distributed in Maine by SoPo Wine Company. Some are tremendous bargains (note the liter bottles above), others are quite pricey and lead to Theise’s palace of wisdom. For access to these, he suggests drinking less (more attentively): “If you spend $45 a week on three bottles, try spending that on two. Or sometimes, one.”
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