I think that most of us have always paired a crisp white with hot weather. You know something light and drinkable that leaves you refreshed and with almost no finish so that you can think about how hot you felt on the subway instead of the wine itself. Then things started to get a little crazy and suddenly everyone was drinking rose, which is light and crisp for the most part but sometimes has more structure and body than the usual white Bordeaux you might have chosen. Things progressed in the wine world and suddenly a ton of hot weather options became available; Lambrusco, sparkling Gamay, chilled Blaufrankisch, Barbera vivace and so on. As you may know I am a huge fan of the chilled and/or sparkling red. Sometimes it is the only thing that will do, after all how do you pair a hamburger with some light white? And sometimes you just want a little more weight on your tongue.

A few days ago when the temperature reached it's unbearable peak of 97 degrees (in the shade) and the humidity was overwhelming I reached for a bottle of wine and suddenly I was stumped on what to drink. I wanted to be refreshed but on the other hand I wanted to be distracted from the weather and be able to pay attention to something other than my sweaty self. What to drink? That is when it struck me like a bolt of lightning, or rather a suggestion from a very dear friend, why not have a big rich and slightly chewy red? So I reached for a bottle of our new Montsant, Capcanes, and opened it with gusto. And do you know that wine was PERFECT. I know it goes against all logic but somehow the weight of the wine, the tannins and structure seemed to stand up against the heat and humidity and I felt refreshed both in mind and in palate. SO now when the weather becomes unbearable and the humidity too much I think I will look to Australia for a big Shiraz or to Washington state for a lovely Cabernet and pour myself a big glass of red wine, all the while shaking my fist at the heat and humidity. "Take that New York City summer, take that!"

Labels: reds, spanish

Unless you have your own clairvoyant groundhog, it's hard to know these days whether to fire up the grill or the crock pot for dinner. Equally difficult is the task of deciding which wine to pair with whatever kind of night we get. I keep thinking that maybe if I keep bringing home the heftier reds — California zinfandels, Haut-Médocs, Priorats — that mother nature will get the idea and actually give us some winter. Mother doesn't pick up on the subtlety so well all the time so my palate still seeks some lighter wines.

By far, my favorite not-just-in-summer white wine is albariño. Albariño is, in contrast to almost any other Spanish wine, referred to by its grape name rather than its region and is often ridiculed by other wines because of it. But all that bullying only helps put hair on albariño's chest. Hair, in winespeak, meaning well-balanced flavors and aromas. Its nose has a bit of citrus, some vanilla and sometimes a touch of jasmine or honeysuckle. Once it reaches your palate, the albariño opens up with even more vanilla, some nice almond notes and some spice — sometimes even a little ginger — and is both crisp and creamy at once, like a cannoli. Grill up some shrimp or throw together a potato stew... either way, the albariño will treat you right. So there, mother nature.

2004 Pazo San Mauro $19.95
This albariño is the crisper of the two and overall seems a bit more assertive. There are more lemon & grapefruit notes present, though the vanilla still balances out the acidity quite well.

2005 Margadío $17.95
This is the elegant, deep sibling of the Pazo San Mauro. A little more balance between the crispness & the creaminess and just the silkiest mouthfeel ever. Also a better conversationalist.

2005 Lícia $13.95
The younger cousin is a bit louder, a bit more aggressive, but also sweeter than the other two. She will charm you with the sugar and impress you with the sassy citrus. A good companion at a dinner party.

Labels: albarino, spanish, whites

We are starting a new thing here at Vine and asking our friends and cohorts to do their own wine reviews and wine pairings. Thus allowing all of us to expose our own internal Robert Parker, watch out you might be next.

So without further ado I present one 'experts' opinon on Heirloom tomatoes and the Morgadio Albarino:

This pairing was definitely influenced by the exciting final episode of Hell's Kitchen. We hate and we love. We try and try again.

I hate tomatoes but 10 percent of the year. I can't stand the mushy, cardboard-tasting sodden lumps that sit forlornly in the supermarket in, say, March. As a kid I looked forward to the few weeks of the summer when the miraculous Venn diagram of garden lettuce, cukes, and tomatoes would converge, allowing for a sandwich that, larded with mayo, proved to be the best lunch of the year.

Have you ever seen 40 pounds of tomatoes? It's a sight to behold. Talitha gave me a selection, and with those and the bottle of Morgadio Rias Baixas 2004, I trotted home to begin the pairing.

We were very organized. First, we tasted the wine (to make sure it wasn't poisonous, of course). Tart, crisp. Floral nose. Light but with a nice, long finish. Not bad. We decided to let it breathe. In the meantime, I lovingly examined our heirloom tomatoes. We had your standard red, a green with red highlights, and a gorgeous yellow shot through with red. Slicing them up, I tasted each on its own. Good heirloom tomatoes are like oysters. They don't really need an accompaniment.

So we set it up in stages. Tomatoes and wine. Tomatoes and basil and wine. And finally (and perhaps the most potentially calamitous), tomatoes and mozzarella (or, as my Brooklyn Eyetalian family says, muhtzarrelle).

A good tomato has more to offer than just acidity. It should be sweet and fulsome. The green variety was sharp and matched the acid and the texture of the wine. And it really brought out the minerality. The salt and pepper enhanced this. The yellow was sweet and soft and after the wine had a chance to breathe it paired nicely with the wine. Adding a bit of the basil brought out the wine's natural herbaceous notes. The red tomato was red. No less delicious, but compared to its more vibrant counterparts it seemed...mundane. But the tomatoes and the wine: a perfect zen pairing.

Now, scientists will tell you that cheese will alter your ability to truly taste wine. That's why I saved it for last. Because as much as I believe in chemistry and science and all that other gobbeldygook, let's be real: we don't eat meals in a vacuum. And basil, fresh mozzarella, and tomatoes are like my holy trinity. Tasting this combo with the wine, though, proved a bit disappointing. The wine doesn't stand up to the milky richness of the mozz. I went back to the kitchen to try a few more experiments.

I cut open a clove of garlic. And this is how I made my discovery of the perfect pairing for the Rias Baixas and the tomatoes. Take some slices of fresh Italian semolina bread (or baguette--we're not picky), drizzle them with oil, and them with garlic. Plop some slices of heirloom and basil a la chiffonade and really, there is nothing better. (If you're a die-hard cheese fan, though, my recommendation is this: Trader Joe's pizza crust, slices of heirlooms, some basil and thin slices of garlic, and a generous sprinkling of the pecorino romano, in the oven till it gets all warm and crispy.)

Something about the tomatoes, the hint of garlic and the Morgadio Rias Baixas 2004: really, so much more satisfying than the results of the Hell's Kitchen competition.

Labels: albarino, food, spanish, whites