Ravenswood Vintners Blend Zinfandel 2004 - $13 ($10 on sale)
Barefoot Vineyards Zinfandel (NV) - $6 ($5 on sale)
Even tasting blind it's next to impossible to avoid your preconceived notions. I have always considered the Ravenswood Zinfandels to be reliable go-tos when I am in a rare mood to spend more than $8 for a bottle. Barefoot is relatively new on my radar and I'll admit that I've allowed the $6 price tag to cause me to question its drinkability, but recently some friends opened a bottle (well, three or four actually) for us (see: "My friends, you are lushes...") and I was pleasantly surprised. Still we wondered how it would fare against our old standby, and with both on sale and thereby in line with true cheapskate philosophy, Zin became the grape of the week.
Labels obscured in our fancy bottle tubes (manilla envelopes taped around the bottles) and labeled "A" and "B" (note: this only works if the glass is the same color and the bottle is the same shape, otherwise your best bet is the previously discussed Hobo Tasting with paper or black plastic liquor store bags, which allows you to cover the bottle all the way up to the top of the neck), we commenced the test.
We accompanied the tasting with several cheeses including fontina, mozzerella and aged gruyere.
Wine "A" had a nice deep ruby color and aromas of cherry, spice and oak (and, since nothing is stopping us from getting precious: fresh tobacco). It was medium bodied with a creamy texture and gentle tannins, indicating that it was ripe for the drinking. Cherry dominated the palate, with the tail end suggesting herbs and licorice. Our creamy and slightly pungent fontina tamed the acids and rounded it, while it collapsed under the aged gruyere. Overall we determined that it was the better food wine.
Wine "B" was lighter in color and body, with spice and raspberry aromas in the nose and an earthy and less refined flavor on the tongue. Words we tossed around were "scrappy" and "gritty". It vanished when challenged by everything but the neutral mozzerella. A slight chill might have improved it. Little in the way of character, good for sipping but not necessarily for food. Not bad but it was agreed - this wine just didn't move us.
So which was which? I will tell you that we were 100% convinced that we were correct, and this my friends is where assumptions will steer you wrong. We had even decided that yeah, the $6 was worth the price tag but that there was clearly a difference between what $6 and $13 can get you.
And that is, in fact true. Only in this case, $6 will get you wine "A" - Barefoot Vineyards, bumping it from "moderate" to "excellent" value. The Ravenswood Vintners Blends are made in a similar way as the wines assembled by the negociants of France, which all of a sudden explained its lack of character. Individuality is not the goal of these wines.
My conclusion: You can't always judge a wine by its label. The question is do you have the nerve to show up at that dinner party with a bottle of $6 wine, no matter how many ways you have to justify it? You have to admit, the Ravenswood label is probably one of the coolest around and they are certainly known for making some reliably good wines. This one, though, unfortunately does not cut the mustard against the upstart Barefoot, so my advice is to show up brandishing your skinflint ways without shame.
Good match for: The Barefoot isn't special enough for a fancy meal, but grilled hamburgers, grilled anything with a little bit of spice, pizza and red sauces would be great. The Ravenswood doesn't have the heft you might expect from a zin and is a nice sipper that sort of grows on you but gets hit and can't hit back when faced with food. Stuffed mushrooms and mild cheeses might do ok.
Value: Barefoot: Excellent
Ravenswood: Fair
Impress your friends: Zinfandel was first marketed in the states by a nursery in Boston, Massachusetts, from there it making its way to California during the gold rush in 1849.
Showing posts with label wine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wine. Show all posts
Sunday
Wednesday
An Ode to Sangria
I love sangria so much I can’t even begin to explain it. I mean, it’s fruit, it’s wine, it’s hard liquor, it’s delicious, and it gets you wasted. Can anyone find anything wrong with that? Didn’t think so.
The joy of sangria is the joy of many leftover items creating something fresh tasting. Take 5 dollar wine, fruit that’s seen better days, and some less than ideal hard liquor someone brought to your last party… and somehow end up with an impressive and delicious carafe of seriously mind-altering booze.
So here is my recipe for guaranteed crowd-pleasing sangria:
1. Any wine, really. Some wine guidelines: cheap or low-brow enough to be your last resort, but not so bad you spit it out. I prefer to use slightly sweeter, smoother wines, like Burgundy. Magnums or jugs of wine are fine here-- really, don’t be afraid to reach for the Carlo Rossi on this one, friends. Carlo was there for you in college, he’s there for you now. Also, you can be daring and make a white sangria. For whites, again with the slightly sweeter, smooth wines- I normally despise Chardonnay (yick) but it works well in a sangria.
2. Juice and fruit. I tend to go light on the juice and heavy on the fruit. I’ll mash the fruit a little to release more flavor. As for the juice, frozen cans of concentrate work well with a little water added. Just like I like my ice cream chunky, and I like my juice pulpy, I like my sangria filled with interesting textures. So I like to puree or mince a fruit, and thus opening the surface area and fibres of the fruit to become more a part of the liquid. I use a food processor or blender. For a white sangria, you might want to stick to lighter and crisper fruits like pears, apple, or melon.
3. Hard liquor. One of the best things about sangria is that it works with just about any hard liquor, and each liquor gives it distinct character. Personally, I like using vodka or rum, but I’ve been known to use the ends of an old bottle of Hennesey. Go heavier on the hard liquor than you would think- the interplay of flavors mask the harshness of cheap liquor.
Some additional sangria tips:
*Be creative with your fruit choice. I once made a white wine sangria with kiwi, cucumber and cilantro. I honestly can’t remember if it was good or not (well, because I can’t remember, I’m guessing it was at least drinkable!), but your guests will always be impressed with your audacity.
*Once I made ice cubes out of juice and a little wine to keep the flavor from weakening as the ice melted.
*I’m not one for measuring- I prefer the “have a sip and adjust” method (even if I end up hammered before my party starts). But as a guideline, I would say I use around 5 parts wine to 3 parts fruit & juice to 2 parts hard liquor. This is just a guess—honestly, the best route is to taste and see how you like your sangria.
I hope these guidelines help you make one of my favorite beverages ever!
The joy of sangria is the joy of many leftover items creating something fresh tasting. Take 5 dollar wine, fruit that’s seen better days, and some less than ideal hard liquor someone brought to your last party… and somehow end up with an impressive and delicious carafe of seriously mind-altering booze.
So here is my recipe for guaranteed crowd-pleasing sangria:
1. Any wine, really. Some wine guidelines: cheap or low-brow enough to be your last resort, but not so bad you spit it out. I prefer to use slightly sweeter, smoother wines, like Burgundy. Magnums or jugs of wine are fine here-- really, don’t be afraid to reach for the Carlo Rossi on this one, friends. Carlo was there for you in college, he’s there for you now. Also, you can be daring and make a white sangria. For whites, again with the slightly sweeter, smooth wines- I normally despise Chardonnay (yick) but it works well in a sangria.
2. Juice and fruit. I tend to go light on the juice and heavy on the fruit. I’ll mash the fruit a little to release more flavor. As for the juice, frozen cans of concentrate work well with a little water added. Just like I like my ice cream chunky, and I like my juice pulpy, I like my sangria filled with interesting textures. So I like to puree or mince a fruit, and thus opening the surface area and fibres of the fruit to become more a part of the liquid. I use a food processor or blender. For a white sangria, you might want to stick to lighter and crisper fruits like pears, apple, or melon.
3. Hard liquor. One of the best things about sangria is that it works with just about any hard liquor, and each liquor gives it distinct character. Personally, I like using vodka or rum, but I’ve been known to use the ends of an old bottle of Hennesey. Go heavier on the hard liquor than you would think- the interplay of flavors mask the harshness of cheap liquor.
Some additional sangria tips:
*Be creative with your fruit choice. I once made a white wine sangria with kiwi, cucumber and cilantro. I honestly can’t remember if it was good or not (well, because I can’t remember, I’m guessing it was at least drinkable!), but your guests will always be impressed with your audacity.
*Once I made ice cubes out of juice and a little wine to keep the flavor from weakening as the ice melted.
*I’m not one for measuring- I prefer the “have a sip and adjust” method (even if I end up hammered before my party starts). But as a guideline, I would say I use around 5 parts wine to 3 parts fruit & juice to 2 parts hard liquor. This is just a guess—honestly, the best route is to taste and see how you like your sangria.
I hope these guidelines help you make one of my favorite beverages ever!
Tuesday
Pétit Bistro Pinot Noir - $11
I like an icy vodka gimlet or a crazy fruity tiki drink as much as the next girl, but let's switch gears for a minute and talk wine.
Myriad choices face the cheapskate wine drinker in this golden age of mass produced mediocrity. Nothing announces "I don't really like you that much" quite like a bottle of Two (or Three, depending on your location) Buck Chuck presented to the host of the party where you're about to consume three plates of shrimp cocktail and meatballs and all of his microbrewed ales. Conversely, the host who offers the same proclaims "My friends you are lushes, and I'm not hocking the title to my car to get you drunk".
So what's a responsible cheapskate to do? When faced with row upon row of off-the-rack $8 cabernets and all you know is that you need one, what do you grab? My goal is to guide you through the Yellow Tails and the Jacob's Creeks and the Red Bicyclettes of the supermarket aisle and help you avoid plunking your money down on disappointment. We'll also look at some wines to seek out when you need something less generic but still cheap. The bottle will never cost you more than $15 (come on, we all have to splurge a little sometimes!).
First up on the hit list is Pétit Bistro's Pinot Noir. You might not be seeing this yet in your market, but they're coming for you. The French have apparently caught on to the idea of marketing their wines under the name of the varietal. Labouré-Roi is a Burgundy-based French négociant, which essentially is someone who takes grapes or juice from several vineyards and blends them together with the goal of creating a trademark "style" (Louis Jadot and Georges DuBoeuf are two other familiar examples of négociants). The Burgundy region of France is well known for the exquisite pinot noirs it produces. Many of them are very expensive, and there is generally a good reason (or a somewhat reasonable explanation for) why.
The vintage is 2005. The label is...sigh...whimsical. The copy on the back of the bottle is cringe inducing:
"...Miles may be gone, lost in the vineyards of France...but I remain faithful to my own true love -- Pinot Noir: smooth, seductive, sophisticated..." Maya reflected. At that moment, her eyes locked with those of a handsome stranger who casually sauntered into the Petit Bistro. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. Maya gestured to the empty seat beside her and motioned to Louis, the resident bartender-philosopher. "Maya certainly has a thing for guys who like Pinot Noir..." Louis mused as he poured a glass for her new friend.
And the wine is - there is no better way to put this - ham-handed. Brutish and unlovely. Medium-bodied and not entirely undrinkable, it sports something like a generic deep berry flavor and not much else. Indistinct. None tasting would have pegged it as a pinot, but never came to a conclusion about what it was more akin to (a mediocre merlot blend of some kind?). It absolutely refused to interact with the food and left behind the distinct aftertaste of marketing.
My conclusion: If your gut says don't trust the $11 Burgundy*, don't fall for the friendly label.
Good match for: Eh, crack this one open at 3 a.m. when the Two Buck Chuck runs out.
Value: Poor
*Impress your friends: A red Burgundy is always a Pinot Noir.
Myriad choices face the cheapskate wine drinker in this golden age of mass produced mediocrity. Nothing announces "I don't really like you that much" quite like a bottle of Two (or Three, depending on your location) Buck Chuck presented to the host of the party where you're about to consume three plates of shrimp cocktail and meatballs and all of his microbrewed ales. Conversely, the host who offers the same proclaims "My friends you are lushes, and I'm not hocking the title to my car to get you drunk".
So what's a responsible cheapskate to do? When faced with row upon row of off-the-rack $8 cabernets and all you know is that you need one, what do you grab? My goal is to guide you through the Yellow Tails and the Jacob's Creeks and the Red Bicyclettes of the supermarket aisle and help you avoid plunking your money down on disappointment. We'll also look at some wines to seek out when you need something less generic but still cheap. The bottle will never cost you more than $15 (come on, we all have to splurge a little sometimes!).
First up on the hit list is Pétit Bistro's Pinot Noir. You might not be seeing this yet in your market, but they're coming for you. The French have apparently caught on to the idea of marketing their wines under the name of the varietal. Labouré-Roi is a Burgundy-based French négociant, which essentially is someone who takes grapes or juice from several vineyards and blends them together with the goal of creating a trademark "style" (Louis Jadot and Georges DuBoeuf are two other familiar examples of négociants). The Burgundy region of France is well known for the exquisite pinot noirs it produces. Many of them are very expensive, and there is generally a good reason (or a somewhat reasonable explanation for) why.
The vintage is 2005. The label is...sigh...whimsical. The copy on the back of the bottle is cringe inducing:
"...Miles may be gone, lost in the vineyards of France...but I remain faithful to my own true love -- Pinot Noir: smooth, seductive, sophisticated..." Maya reflected. At that moment, her eyes locked with those of a handsome stranger who casually sauntered into the Petit Bistro. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. Maya gestured to the empty seat beside her and motioned to Louis, the resident bartender-philosopher. "Maya certainly has a thing for guys who like Pinot Noir..." Louis mused as he poured a glass for her new friend.
And the wine is - there is no better way to put this - ham-handed. Brutish and unlovely. Medium-bodied and not entirely undrinkable, it sports something like a generic deep berry flavor and not much else. Indistinct. None tasting would have pegged it as a pinot, but never came to a conclusion about what it was more akin to (a mediocre merlot blend of some kind?). It absolutely refused to interact with the food and left behind the distinct aftertaste of marketing.
My conclusion: If your gut says don't trust the $11 Burgundy*, don't fall for the friendly label.
Good match for: Eh, crack this one open at 3 a.m. when the Two Buck Chuck runs out.
Value: Poor
*Impress your friends: A red Burgundy is always a Pinot Noir.
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