Obsessing over the uniquely Italian wine

It goes without saying that Italy is a wine-obsessed country. It makes perfect sense that they are; every area of Italy is a wine-producing region. Every single one. And it’s all, for the most part, really great.

In addition to the culture being centered around wine, there is a “waste not want not” attitude that the country’s winemakers have toward the grapes themselves. Nothing goes to waste in the winemaking process. And that is, more or less, where grappa comes from.

Grappa can start fights. You either love it or hate it. I love it. My wife hates it. Anytime we’re out at a nice Italian restaurant, I make a point of having a glass at the end of the meal, while my wife enjoys a glass of limoncello.

While I love grappa, I certainly understand why some people don’t. It is, most definitely, an acquired taste. But those who drink it don’t merely like it. They obsess over it. Those who are truly fanatical are called tifosi di grappa, which literally means “I have a fever for grappa.”

Grappa was made, originally, out of necessity. After a wine is made, there is a tremendous amount of waste. All of the skins and seeds (and sometimes even stems) are left over in the fermentation tank after the wine has been either bottled or put into barrels. At some point, an ingenious Italian winemaker decided that it was a bad idea to keep throwing all of this stuff out. So he decided to make something out of it.

By pressing the leftovers (the pomace), a liquid is obtained that is then distilled. This results in a very pure, very clear liquid that is much higher in alcohol than any wine. Because it takes so much to make so little, it is also very expensive. That exclusivity and uniqueness is celebrated in the bottles that are made to hold the liquor. Often long, thin, hand-blown glass bottles, the containers are as much a work of art as the stuff inside.

Grappa had a bad rap for a long time, though. Up until the 1990s, most of the grappa imported into the United States was made from a mixture of many different types of grape pomace. This made a liquor that was, at best, often strong and peppery. At its worst, it was a bit like drinking lighter fluid.

Real grappa drinkers knew that the best grappa is made from single varietals, though. Just like the wine made from those grapes, that grappa would vary in flavor and character depending on what it was made from. The fever caught on in the United States, and now it is relatively easy to find great single varietal, or monovitigno, grappa.

My favorite type of grappa is grappa di moscato, made from the pomace of the moscato grape. One of the best available in the states is the Marolo Grappa di Moscato ($8.99 at K&D Wines, 1366 Madison Ave., at 96th St., 212-289-1818). The harshness of the distillation process is balanced by the natural mildness of the moscato grape. You can taste the sweet, floral quality of the varietal and even get a hint of the signature peach and nectarine flavors present in many great moscato wines.

If, however, you are bolder and your tastes run more on the adventurous side (or you just have something to prove), try the Bertagnolli Grappa di Amarone ($36.99 at 67 Wine and Spirits, 179 Columbus Ave., at 68th St., 212-724-6767). Amarone wine is made from grapes that are dried before pressing, so it goes without saying that whatever is left over from those already shriveled grapes is going to be strong, indeed. While the grappa has some of the characteristics of an amarone (dried fruit flavors and hints of coffee and chocolate), the main event is the peppery mouthfeel and the…shall we say…“warming” finish.

Whatever your tastes are, give grappa a try before you dismiss it completely. You might be pleasantly surprised.
Follow Josh on Twitter: @joshperilo.

After my article last week about syrahs from northern Rhone, I had a friend ask me a question that I’ve fielded numerous times about that region and many, many others: “If Syrah and Shiraz are the same,” he asked, “why don’t they taste the same?”

It is the question that has haunted sommeliers since the 1970s: Old World vs. New World. No phrase is as bandied about as those five words in the world of wine. Is it really a “vs.” situation? Is one better than the other? And what is the difference—if there is, indeed, a difference at all?

The concept of Old World/New World didn’t really exist in the early 1970s. Respectable wine came from France, straw-bottle chianti came from Italy and Gallo came from California. Then the revolution happened. Innovators like Robert Mondavi and landmark events like the Paris Tasting of 1976 changed the landscape forever.

The new world of wine emerged, and for the next several decades, wines began to fall squarely into two camps: Old World and New World.

The first thing that distinguishes whether a wine is Old World or New World is where it is made. Areas of the world that have been important in winemaking for hundreds of years tend to fall into the Old World category—Bordeaux, Burgundy, Rhone and the Loire Valley regions of France; the Piemonte, Tre Venezie and several other smaller regional spots of Italy; Germany; much of Spain; and Portugal are all considered Old World. The United States, Australia, South America, New Zealand and South Africa are considered New World.

There are confusing areas, however, like the Languedoc-Roussillon area of southern France and the Rioja area of Spain, which make wines that can be considered, taste-wise, both Old and New World.

Which brings us to the second category that distinguishes the two types of wine: taste. Generally speaking, New World wines are what wine snobs call “fruit forward.” What that really means is that when you take a sip of one of these wines, the first thing you taste is bold fruit flavor. Old World wines may have a fruitiness to them, but it may not be the main event, so to speak. There are many other earthier, spice-driven, herbal flavors that are hallmarks of the Old World-style wines.

Also, while New World wines are simpler, easier to drink on their own and, by some accounts, more immediately accessible, Old World wines are more complex and are oftentimes better to pair with food.

Another very important part of what differentiates Old World wines from New World wines are climate and soil. Old World areas tend to have soils that are less fertile and are sometimes downright rocky. This may sound terrible for growing grapes, but the struggle the grapes go through to grow in these areas produces a lower yield and, therefore, more intense grapes with a stronger flavor. Very often, these regions also have cooler climates, which also prolongs the growing season, adding to the complexity.

In many New World areas, the soil is fertile and the climate is warmer. This produces a higher yield of grapes that ripen quicker, making a wine that is, very often, simpler, fruitier and higher in alcohol.

The final component of what differentiates New World from Old World is winemaking technique and philosophy. This is part of the reason New World-style wines can be made in Spain and the south of France. With New World wines, new American oak is often used, which imparts a stronger flavor and smell than French oak. With Old World wines, the emphasis is often put on making wines that are complex and layered. Oftentimes, wines are made that aren’t meant to be opened until many years after they’ve been released.

To get a good idea of how Old World and New World wines compare, get two wines made from the same grape but from different areas, like the Domaine Carneros Pinot Noir (New World) and the Chateau de la Maltroye Bourgogne Rouge (Old World). Both are pinot noir, but the difference will astonish you and your palate will be illuminated.

Follow Josh on Twitter: @joshperilo.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a bit about the basics of pairing wine with food. I received a lot of questions from friends who read the column and wanted more specifics, so this week I’m going to expand on some of the principles I introduced in the last piece.
The first question, which I got from more people than any other, is, “What about wine and cheese?” This seems to be an area that is more daunting and intimidating than it needs to be. The ideas behind matching wine with cheese are as simple as the ideas behind matching wine with any other food—the three basic principles still apply.
There are an enormous number of cheeses that have a marked acidity to them. This is due to the natural acids that are present in cow, sheep and goat’s milk. Under certain conditions, when those cheeses age, the enzymes that are present can make the acidity even sharper. This is the case with fresh goat’s milk cheese (or chevre, as it is called in France), which I mentioned a couple of weeks ago.
There are many other cheeses that have the same kind of sharpness to them. Humboldt Fog, which is also made from goat’s milk, and Bûcheron both fall into this category. In this instance, I would match them, with a wine that has acidity, as well. As I mentioned last week, this will hide the sourness and bring the more subtle flavors in the cheeses front and center.
Then there is the entire palette of blue cheeses. Many of these are so strong that they are an acquired taste, but to those who appreciate them, they are among the highest regarded in the world. A classic pairing for most robust blue cheeses is port. This goes with the second principle I discussed last week: pairing opposite tastes together. In this case, it is salty and sweet.
Even to someone who isn’t head over heels for the blue-veined curd, this pairing can make it palatable. Match a port with a blue Shropshire and you’ll taste caramel, toasted hazelnut and a host of other intense flavors you’d never thought were there.
The ultra-creamy cheeses present their own problems. With these, sometimes the fat content is so high that many people can only take a tiny portion before their palate is overwhelmed. The third principle is the best to use here; to match opposing textures. In this case, a rich and decadent Brillat-Savarin, which coats the tongue with every bite, should be matched with a heavier sparkling wine, like a blanc de noir. The bubbles clean the palate between bites, making the cheese less heavy and more enjoyable.
Aside from the flavor profiles, a popular idea in the wine and food world is to match wines and cheeses together that originate from the same area. This goes to the French idea of terroir, which is the concept that the land, the air and the specific weather patterns and climate of any area can be tasted in the food and wine that are made from the produce of that place. If a wine from Burgundy tastes like Burgundy, then wouldn’t a cheese from Burgundy match with that wine? In many cases, the answer is yes. And, staying with the Burgundy example, there are a number of runny cheeses from the area, such as époisses, that match brilliantly with the delicate and complex pinot noirs from that region.
Then I got hit with the second big question, which is “what about spicy food?” I quickly touched on it in the opening to my last piece on pairing but didn’t fully unpack it. The basic concept here is to put out the fire. It’s similar to the idea behind opposing tastes, but what you’re doing is tempering the heat. The best way to do that is to drink something with a moderate amount of sweetness to it. A riesling from the Mosel area of Germany is exactly what a spicy vindaloo wants to help cool its jets.
Keep the wine and food questions coming! And don’t be afraid to experiment yourself to find out what works and what doesn’t.

Follow Josh on Twitter: @joshperilo.

About five or six years ago, it was on the menu of every high-end restaurant in the city. The now defunct Chanterelle actually had a tasting menu that paired seven courses with seven different types. Sherry-Lehmann had an entire section devoted to them exclusively.

People who had always made fun of and ridiculed the stuff were suddenly fair-weather converts, praising its unique qualities and gulping it by the bottle. And now, it is once again difficult to find anyone anywhere who has a serious enthusiasm for it.

I am referring to the often misunderstood star of the southern Spanish wine world: sherry. Once one of the most drunk beverages in the world, this shy little quaffer is now exiled to the back of most liquor stores, often displaying a generous coating of dust. Then, when someone actually buys that ancient bottle of fino and tries it at home (probably at room temperature), they end up throwing it out, declaring, “I’ll never understand how anyone can drink this!”

To understand why someone might drink it, it’s best to understand how it is made. Unlike port, which many people place in the same category as sherry, this product is not all that sturdy. Port was designed for travel. High alcohol and high sugar make it a durable commodity. Many sherries are very delicate.

All sherry must come from one of three small towns in the southwestern area of Spain: Jeres de la Frontera, Sanlúcar de Barrameda or El Puerto de Santa María. Back in the day, wine was stored in barrels that were turned on their sides and stacked on top of each other, three or four rows high. Two-thirds of the wine was taken from the bottom barrel and bottled, then the remainder was filled from the row above. This was repeated until the top row of barrels was refilled with the new wine from that year. This was called the solera system and is still used to this day. Because of this, there are no vintages of sherry. It is all multi-vintage.

But the solera system is only half of what made sherry unique. Sherries themselves were radically different depending on what city they were from and even which part of those cities the wine was made in. This was all because of humidity and yeast. In the towns that were more humid and closer to the ocean (Sanlúcar de Barrameda, in particular), the yeasts would “bloom” and form a skin on top of the wine in the barrel. This would keep the wine from being exposed to oxygen and thus make a lighter, crisper, drier wine. It was also a much more fragile wine, because as soon as it was exposed to the elements, it would begin to deteriorate. These dry sherries were given the classification “fino,” and the driest of the finos was called manzanilla.

These, like the “La Guita” Manzanilla ($7.99 at 67 Wine, 179 Columbus Ave., at 68th St., 212-724-6767) with sea air and raw almond flavors, must be served cold and fresh. This isn’t a bottle you want to age.

With the sherries that did not benefit from the yeast’s bloom, the resulting product was richer, nuttier and more complex. Amontillado is the name given to the style of sherry that had oxidized only a little bit. Amontillados like the Valdespino Amontillado “Contrabandista” ($26.99 at PJ Wine, 4898 Broadway, betw. 204th & 207th Sts., 212-567-5500), with flavors of hazelnut, orange peel and butterscotch, still retain a bit of the crisp flavor profile that the finos have, but are definitely in a class by themselves.

There are other sherries, though, that are allowed to completely oxidize and are made from a sweeter, more robust grape. Pedro Ximénez sherries are dark as molasses and extremely sweet—so much so that a traditional dessert in Southern Spain was a scoop of vanilla ice cream with a drizzle of a PX like the Osborne Pedro Ximenez ($17.99, also at 67 Wine) on top.

Don’t be afraid of the bottles in the back of the store! Try a sherry the next time you want an inexpensive trip to the Spanish coast.

Follow Josh on Twitter: @joshperilo.

I guess there’s something to be said for the tradition and the ritual of removing the cork from a bottle of wine. With a collectable bottle of wine, especially, the removal of a cork can become not only ritual but an art in and of itself. My experience with opening a bottle of 1945 Chateau Latour was one of the most harrowing experiences of my professional life—mostly because the bottle wasn’t mine!

But tradition aside, the fact of the matter is that corks are outdated. Not just because they are expensive, but because they contribute in a major way to the loss of billions of gallons of wine each year.

There are three major ways that wine can go bad between the vineyard and your table, and cork contributes to the two most
widespread causes. Today, I’ll discuss all three and hopefully leave you with a better understanding of them, able to point out a spoiled bottle the next time you taste something off in a wine you get from a store or at a restaurant.

The first and most common cause of wine spoilage I discussed briefly last week. It is commonly known as “corkage” or getting a wine that’s “corked.” Corks are sterilized with chlorine before they can be used. Now, mind you, they aren’t dunked in some powerful, toxic vat of Clorox; the cleanser that is used is extremely mild and diluted. There’s just enough chlorine present to clean the corks, then they are rinsed thoroughly before sealing the bottles. If, however, even the slightest amount of that solution stays on the cork, the bottle of wine will be ruined.

We’ve all had it happen. You open a bottle of wine, pour yourself a glass, and the smell that comes out is something akin to wet cardboard, a dog after a rainstorm or a flooded basement. That’s TCA, or trichloranisole. TCA is the chemical compound that develops when chlorine comes in contact with wine. While nothing terrible will happen if you drink the wine, it severely affects the taste and smell. Up to 6 percent of all wine bottled each year is affected with TCA.

The second way a wine can spoil before it reaches your table is through oxidization. The fault for this also lands squarely on the cork’s shoulders. Again, because cork is an organic material, it expands when it gets warm and contracts when it gets cold. Humidity also factors into it, with the cork expanding with higher humidity and contracting as it dries out.

If a wine has not been stored properly or if the temperature and/or humidity have vacillated in any significant way during its journey from the vineyard to the wine store, there’s a good chance that the wine will be oxidized. As the cork contracts, minuscule amounts of oxygen will creep in around the compromised seal. Oxygen is wine’s mortal enemy, and as soon as it is exposed to it, the wine begins to age rapidly. By the time you try it at home, it will most likely taste and smell nutty, like a sherry.

The third and less frequent way a wine can spoil before it makes it to your glass is through accidental double fermentation. After a wine ferments in a tank, the yeast is removed and it is bottled. If, however, any yeast remains and the wine has even a tiny amount of residual sugar, fermentation will continue in the bottle. If you’ve ever had a slightly fizzy Cabernet Sauvignon and scratched your head about those bubbles, you’ve been the victim of accidental double fermentation.

Now that you know, be proactive and return those bad bottles to the store. And support producers who make screw cap wine! They’re just trying to ensure that you get a flawless product.

Follow Josh on Twitter: @joshperilo.

“Oh my gosh,” Natali said as she looked up from her glass. “It tastes like root beer! It really tastes like root beer!”

I nodded and smiled as I took a draw off of my own pint, savoring the commingling of carefully selected ingredients. I had finally done it. I had mastered homemade root beer!

Josh Perilo

I have a bit of an obsessive personality, and I’m okay with that. When I informed my wife that my latest project was going to be making home-brewed, fermented-style root beer completely from scratch, I think she was okay with it because she didn’t realize the time, effort and frustration that would be involved in the endeavor. And neither did I.

But I’m glad I did it! Aside from learning how to concoct a tasty beverage from a handful of strange and exotic ingredients, I’ve been reintroduced to some valuable and simple life lessons. I call it “Everything I Need To Know I Learned from Making Root Beer.”

Be patient. There is no single other project I have undertaken where this is more directly critical to the end result. Like most Americans, I want my reward right away—this is not how fermented root beer works. Once you have finished steeping the ingredients, you must wait until the liquid is cool enough to add the yeast. Jump the gun and you’ve killed the yeast and your root beer will be fizz-less. Then, once you’ve added the yeast and bottled it up, you have to wait. Sometimes for up to four days. Even then, if the room the bottle sat in was cool, it may still not be ready!

You get what you pay for. You know what cheaply made root beer tastes like? Cheaply made root beer. If you skimp on the ingredients in your brew, you will taste it. What is the point of making the ultimate root beer if you aren’t going to spring for the best stuff available and use the ultimate ingredients? Vanilla beans are expensive, but if you want it to taste otherworldly instead of simply okay, you have to suck it up and shill out some extra cabbage.

Life isn’t fair. Sometimes, even when you’ve done every single thing correctly, added the perfect amount of yeast at the right temperature, sterilized the bottles and kept the fermentation temperature constant, it can still not work. Why? Who knows. There’s no way to control every single element in your given surroundings, and sometimes something slips by. You have to be okay with the fact that no matter what you do, it may not work out. It just makes the successes all the more satisfying.

Hard work will be rewarded. If you stick to your plan, pay attention to what you are doing and learn from every batch you make, the long-term result will be a delicious success.

If anyone out there is masochistic enough to try this at home, below is the recipe that I honed over five trial-and-error batches. Just because this worked best for me does not mean this is the be all end all of root beer recipes—experiment and see for yourself what works best!

Combine 4 tablespoons sarsaparilla root, 1 tablespoon licorice root, 1 teaspoon burdock, 1 teaspoon wild cherry bark, 1 split vanilla bean, 1 ½ cups blackstrap molasses and 2 quarts of water in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Cover and lower heat to a simmer for 10 minutes. Add 2 ½ tablespoons sassafras root bark. Simmer for 30 more minutes.

Strain the mixture through cheesecloth into a clean saucepan. Combine ½ teaspoon wintergreen extract with 1 tablespoon gum Arabic in a separate bowl. Slowly whisk in 2 tablespoons of water until incorporated. Add the slurry to the root beer. Cool the mixture to under 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Add 1/16 teaspoon ale yeast. Mix thoroughly. Using a sterilized funnel, pour the mixture into four sterilized, 1-pint, swing-top beer bottles. Close the bottles securely and let ferment in a warm room for two days or four days in a cool room. Chill and serve in a pint glass.

By Josh Perilo

“Just tell me how it tastes,” The Doctor said, cutting me off before I launched into my usual exuberant spiel. “And avoid words that have more than three syllables.”

The Doctor was one of our regulars at the wine store. He could be somewhat annoying, in that he only came in for the free tasting every day and never actually purchased anything. You could, however, always rely on him for blunt honesty. If he didn’t like something, he let you know.

“This tastes like crap,” he said, tossing the plastic cup into the trash. “And no matter what fancy words you use to describe it, it’ll still taste like crap.”

He was right! If there was one thing I learned from The Doctor, it was that winespeak can be just a smokescreen for wine professionals to explain away a bad wine or make a mediocre wine sound better than it actually is.

The fact of the matter is that winespeak, when used correctly, can actually be helpful. The terms used to describe a lot of wine’s characteristics are very specific and if conveyed in an unpretentious way, can illuminate rather than confuse.

One term that is constantly used (and overused) to describe red wines that are more Old World in style is earthy. Does this mean that the wine is going to taste like a handful of soil? Probably not. What it does mean, however, is that if you are looking for a wine that tastes primarily of big fruit flavors, this wine is not going to be for you. “Earthy” usually implies a complexity of flavor that can include fruit flavor, but does not put the emphasis on it. Other flavor notes and smells that are reminiscent of non-food items like pipe tobacco, cedar and smoke often go hand in hand with the term earthy. These are wines that tend to be better with food, generally speaking.

On the other hand, when you hear a sommelier use the term jammy, you can pretty much expect the opposite of earthy. The word jammy evokes a big jar of strawberry preserves to me—and that’s pretty much what it means. A jammy wine is going to be less complex, and the main event will be the fruit flavors. Jammy also tends to connote darker fruit flavors that have a concentrated taste. Strawberry preserves, again, is a good example, as is baked blueberry and stewed fruit flavors.

That brings us to another term that is closely related to jammy, but has its own nuance: fruit forward. A wine that is fruit forward simply means that the first flavor you taste when the wine hits your tongue is fruit. Therefore, a jammy wine can be fruit forward, but a complex wine that has more than just fruit flavor to offer can also be fruit forward. The flavor of the wine changes as it runs from the front of your palate to the back, so a wine that starts fruity may end tannic or spicy.

Perhaps the term that is the most often misunderstood and misused is dry. This term is misused because most people think of the term “dry” as subjective. It is not. Dryness in wine specifically has to do with the amount of residual sugar once a wine is bottled and ready to drink. It has nothing to do with the perceived fruity flavors of a wine, which is the common misperception. For example, a wine that is low in acidity and very fruit forward, like a Viognier made in a warm climate, may come across as less dry than an oaky Chardonnay from California. The truth of the matter, however, is that the Viognier is most likely much more dry, as it is a common practice in many oaky California Chardonnays to leave some residual sugar to balance out the oak flavor. Even though the Viognier tastes less dry because of the fruit flavors, it is not.

Understanding the basic terms that are thrown around by wine professionals can not only help you find the type of wine you are looking for, but sort out the treasures from the chaff.

josh@pennilessepicure.com