We’re in that weird period now in New York City weather; it isn’t cold, but it isn’t hot. In most areas of the country, the weather professionals would refer to this as “spring.” That season, however, does not exist in New York City. Instead, we have an odd handful of weeks that swing wildly from the upper 80s to the lower 60s, sometimes within the same 24-hour period.

This is the time when I start seeing white wines fly off the shelf with a little more regularity. I, however, hold off on drinking whites for a bit longer. It isn’t that I have some kind of “no white after Labor Day”-type rule for my booze—I just want to hold onto my red wine as long as I can.

The reds I drink at this time of year do tend to be a bit lighter, though. I have some friends who have a sensitivity to tartrates (a chemical that is present in a higher concentration in white wine than in red wine), so they drink these lighter reds throughout the summer.

So for those of you out there who aren’t ready to make the full transition to white wine yet, like myself, or for those who may have an adverse reaction to white wine, I would like to offer a selection of red wines on the lighter side. They are just as refreshing poolside as any New Zealand sauvignon blanc or Northern Italian pinot grigio.

Many light reds benefit from being served under room temperature, or slightly chilled, and the one I’m starting with is no exception. I can’t recommend the Gelsomina Lambrusco 2010 ($10.49 at Red, White and Bubbly, 211 5th Ave., at Union St., Brooklyn, 718-636-9463) enough. In the ’70s and early ’80s, lambrusco became synonymous with the brand Riunite and the bubbly, sweet garbage they peddled. In truth, most really good lambrusco is actually fermented to near, if not complete, dryness. It is slightly fizzy, and is drunk in the Emilia-Romagna area of Italy like Coca-Cola.

As I mentioned before, it is best when served slightly chilled. The Gelsomina bursts with ripe, black cherry aromas and more sour cherry and blackberry jam flavors on the palate. You won’t need anything to pair this with to enjoy it to its fullest extent…but if you must eat, it’s the perfect pairing for a roasted veggie panini.

Moving slightly closer to room temp, the Domaine Chassagne Morgon Cotes de Ruillieres Beaujolais 2011 ($17.00 at Park Avenue Liquor, 292 Madison Ave., betw. 40th & 41st Sts., 212-685-2442) is a go-to summer sipper. Another area for wine that has been marred by cheaply made product, Beaujolais has suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous winemaking for decades.

The swill that washes ashore each November for “Nouveau Week” is almost always terrible, tasting like barely fermented grape juice. Because of this, Beaujolais is one of the most underappreciated regions of French winemaking. Situated at the southern tip of Burgundy, its wine is made exclusively from the super-fruity Gamay grape. The Chassagne is an excellent example of how this underdog can soar, with ripe strawberry and raspberry notes that make this a great red to match with salads and other light summer fare. Be sure to serve it under room temperature, but not cold.

Proving that not all summer reds need time in the icebox, the Zaccagnini Montepulciano d’Abruzzo Riserva 2010 ($15.99 at 67 Wine and Spirits, 179 Columbus Ave., at 68th St., 212-724-6767) does just fine right at room temperature. From the middle of Italy’s East Coast, the Montepulciano is and always will be my No. 1 wine pick for margherita pizza. Its slight acidity balances the acidity of the tomato sauce, and the fruity flavors of blackcurrant and cherry preserves cut right through the fresh mozzarella of any pie.

So the next time you arrive at your friend’s rooftop soiree, bring a bottle of red instead. You never know who might be in the mood for red, or who may not be able to drink white wine. You’ll probably make a friend or two in the process, as well!

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.

This is the case with last week’s Penniless Epicure column and the one the week before. I began by discussing the unfair reputation that screw cap wines have had to shake here in the United States and in many parts of Europe. That led me to talk about the very reason why screw caps are a great idea in the first place: the inefficiency of cork. The main reason for cork’s inefficiency is that it allows for the two most common kinds of wine spoilage, which are oxidization and corkage (or TCA, for all you chemistry students out there).

How exactly does cork lead to spoilage in the case of oxidization, you ask? Inconsistency in storage temperature. The cooler it gets, the more the cork contracts and vice versa. This leads to the cork’s airtight seal becoming compromised and oxygen being allowed to seep in, which basically puts the wine’s aging process in fast forward.

All of this led to my wife asking, as I poured her a glass of champagne on Valentine’s Day, “How come we drink white wine cold and red wine at room temperature?”

I opened my mouth to respond and realized I didn’t have a really great answer. I thought about it long and hard and realized that the reason I don’t have a great answer is because we, the American people, by and large do not drink our wines at appropriate temperatures. Our whites are too cold and our reds are often far too warm.

How did this happen? Let’s take a trip back in time to the middle of the 19th century.

The 19th century was an important time in the history of wine. French wines from Bordeaux and Burgundy were beginning to be recognized as truly world-class outside of the exclusivity of the very, very rich. The Bordeaux Classification of 1855 also happened, which basically declared that all wine was not created equal. This is the period we take many of our wine habits and rituals from, one of them being the temperature at which we serve our wines.

The cellars of castles were underground caverns hewn from rock. They were a perfect place for general storage and an even better place to store wine, because these catacombs were always the same temperature, year-round; they were dug so deep into the earth that the air in never got far above 60 degrees Fahrenheit. It just so happens that 55-60 degrees Fahrenheit is exactly the appropriate temperature for long-term wine storage.

Because there was no refrigeration, 55 degrees was as cold as the serving temperature ever got for wine. So when a white wine was served “cold,” it was actually served at cellar temperature, not at the arctic depths we serve our whites at today.

On the other hand, there was also no central heat in the massive castles and estates of the day. There may have been a fireplace or two, but dining halls tended to be colder and draftier than we are used to. When a red wine was served, it was brought up to room temperature, and because the rooms were cooler, room temperature was rarely above 70 degrees Fahrenheit.

Think about some of the hot and stuffy rooms you’ve served your merlot or cabernet sauvignon in—the temperature in those rooms probably topped out at above 80 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s no wonder that red wine is “too heavy” for some people.

My rule of thumb for all wine is: hug the middle. For whites, take them out of the fridge 20 minutes before serving. For reds, put them in the fridge for 10 minutes before serving. Try this at your next get-together and I guarantee you’ll have a more pleasurable wine drinking experience!

Follow Josh on Twitter: @joshperilo.

By Josh Perilo

I left the house on Tuesday to move my car and I wasn’t wearing a coat.

Yes, this is the wine column, but I felt that sentence needed to be said. It’s both thrillingly amazing (considering the snow spanking we got last year) and very, very scary. By the way, thanks, Al Gore! I still have trouble sleeping whenever it’s unseasonably warm.

But let’s focus on the positive, which is that this weather is kicking some serious butt! Winter is usually the time when I stock up on heavy reds like Cali cabs, those amped up, high-alcohol shirazes from Western Australia and big, earthy tannin monsters from northern Italy. This year, however, those wines just seem out of place and a bit smothering.

So instead I’ve been turning to wines I usually don’t give a second glance until April or May. It’s allowed me to go back and reconsider some selections that I’ve never tried or completely forgotten, which is how I ran into my long lost friend torrontes.

Torrontes is a grape that is indigenous to Argentina. It is also, sadly, a varietal that rings few bells with the vast majority of United States wine drinkers. That’s unfortunate, because these are some of the best bang-for-your-buck white wines from anywhere. It’s also strange, because torrontes is the most produced white wine in Argentina. The typical flavor profile is fruit-forward and light- to medium-bodied with citrus and apple notes, but as you’ll see from my selections, there are a number of ways the profile for this versatile grape can go.

So, allow me to take you by the hand and lead you through the delicious and inexpensive field of Argentinean torrontes.
If you haven’t tried torrontes before, a great one to start with is the Bodegas Callia Torrontes Tulum Valley Alta 2010 ($9.45 at Morrell and Company, 1 Rockefeller Plz., 48th St. & 5th Ave., 212-688-9370). This is a simple, pared-down, refreshingly delicious wine that will kick the door open for those who are new to the grape. On the nose, there’s a good amount of fresh orange zest. The citrus flavors continue on the palate with riper tangerine notes up front. The middle becomes sparer and more herbal with notes of chervil, and the finish has a clean, bright minerality.

For a torrontes that stays simple but has a little more body to it, look no further than Bodega Monteviejo Torrontes Argentina Festivo 2010 ($13 at Yorkshire Wines and Spirits, 1646 1st Ave. at 85th St., 212-717-5100)—it takes the basic profile of torrontes and kicks up the intensity several notches. Scents of intense wildflowers waft from the glass.

Honeysuckle and orchid are the main event. On the palate, though, it’s all about tropical fruit and melon; lots of mango up front with notes of honeydew through the middle and a dollop of lychee on the finish.

Taking the intensity and dialing it up even more, the Bodegas y Vinedos La Esperanza Torrontes Cafayate Menduco Reserve 2010 ($12.75 at Garnet Wines and Liquors, 929 Lexington Ave., betw. 68th & 69th Sts., 212-772-3211) is possibly the spiciest torrontes I’ve ever tried. Right out of the bottle and into the glass the wine smells simpler than it tastes, with scents of pear and orange peel. Up front on the palate, however, there’s a good amount of white pepper and starfruit. This leads to a mid with white peach and ripe orange flavors. The finish is full and floral with magnolia blossom and papaya notes. This is the Torrontes to pair with a spicy Pad Thai.

And for those who love the classic flavors of French, old-world-style white wines, try the Bodegas y Vinedos La Esperanza Torrontes Cafayate Valley Finca El Origen Reserve 2010 ($12 at Garnet Wines and Liquors). This wine has all the telltale scents and flavors of a lean and racy Chablis; wet granite is the main event on the nose. The palate continues the minerality throughout with green apple, pear and lemon zest on the finish.

So don’t be afraid to go light this winter. Think of it as a preview of our (hopefully) beautiful spring!

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

I was heading home from the bodega with a bag of ice cream and beer tucked under my arm when I saw the limo pull up at the end of my block. Out stepped Mayor Bloomberg. Just earlier that day he had won the right to run for a third consecutive term and he was clearly out to celebrate.

“Congrats, man!” I called out to him as I passed by.

He smiled humbly and ducked into the restaurant in front of him.

I would soon learn that this restaurant was one of his favorites in New York City. It had fast become one of my favorites as well. And after 32 years of caring service and amazing food, the Upper East Side lost one of its treasures June 30, when Ristorante Primavera on 82nd Street and First Avenue closed its doors forever.

Nicola Civetta opened Primavera on June 28, 1978, and it soon became a neighborhood haunt for the wealthy, or those who wanted to pretend they were for an evening. The ambience was pure old-school New York. It was the type of place that conjured images of Scorsese movies and echoes of Sinatra ballads. Forever a holdover from a culinary time gone by, there were no “foams” and “deconstructed entrées” on their menu. This was the land of gigantic, unapologetic slabs of veal and heaping bowls of pasta.

It was also the home to the warmest service I have ever had at any restaurant, ever. While some higher end New York restaurants focus on sterile accuracy and presentation, and others want you to feel like the wait-staff’s “bud,” Primavera simply made you feel like a member of the Civetta family. Whether you were the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, or a meager writer who scraped together enough cash to have a single evening of gluttony, you were always treated like a VIP.

The first visit I made was with my wife, Natali, for a birthday of mine several years ago. Course after course of indulgence was brought to us (many of which we didn’t order, but the waiter insisted that we must try). Wine flowed, and when the waiter found out that it was my birthday, he brought by complimentary grappa and limoncello for both of us.

The grappa was so good, I asked him if he could tell me the name of the producer. He brought the bottle over to my table, held it above my glass and said, “Here it is… perhaps you can read the name better if I tip it a little?”

With that, he tipped the bottle, pouring an enormous second glass of grappa for me, winking at the same time.

This wasn’t just the food you wanted to eat when you went to a New York restaurant. These were the waiters you wanted to meet. The owners you wanted to be greeted by. The clientele you wanted to be surrounded with.

The last time we were inside the restaurant was in late May. My wife and I had just witnessed a car accident and the woman from the cab that was struck was panicking. As I dialed 911, standing on the corner of 82nd and First, Nicola stuck his head out of the front door of Primavera and beckoned us into his restaurant.

“Please! Come in and sit!”

As I spoke to the operator, Nicola, his wife and the bartender talked to the young woman and Natali. As the young woman was taken off in an ambulance, Nicola ordered Natali and me to sit at the bar and have a glass of wine with them. As we left later that evening, feeling warm inside from both the feeling of helping another person and the Chianti, Nicola beckoned to us.

“Please, come and see us again… soon.”

“We will!” I said, knowing it would be months before we would be able to afford another visit there.

I am so glad to have had the chance to experience the Civetta’s wonderful restaurant. I wish them, their family and their staff only the best for the rest of their days. Salut.

By Josh Perilo

With the Fourth of July fast approaching, I was given pause to think about the state of our union and the divisiveness that currently seems to hang in the air. While there are always issues being fought over and differences of opinion in this vast country, right now there seems to be more conflict than ever. It is at these times that a holiday like Independence Day holds the most significance.

So instead of merely suggesting wines that might match well with picnic fare or barbecue, I’ve decided to show my national pride by highlighting wines that are made in America. Not only are these wines made in America, but they are made in the cradle of America, the birthplace of the union: These are wines from the original 13 colonies.

A few places in the original 13 are actually considered world-class areas for growing grapes and making wine. Most, however, are up-and-coming, mom-and-pop operations that are only beginning to experiment in winemaking. At this time, every state in this country has at least one operational winery within its borders. While that effort is commendable, unfortunately there is a reason why only certain parts of the world are renowned for wine. Most of this vino blows.

However, there are some shining lights within the mass of “hobby wineries” that can truly compete quality-wise with other big-name wines from around the world.

Starting in our own backyard, New York has had a long history of winemaking. The wineries of upstate New York have a longer history of growing grapes and making wine than even California. More recent to the fermentation biz, however, is Long Island. Only a handful of decades ago, the areas now inhabited by wineries were potato farms. Now they are home to myriad producers. For a fantastic rosé from this area, go to the South Fork of Long Island and try the Wolffer Estate Rose 2009 ($13.95 at Sherry Lehman Wines, 505 Park Ave. at 60th Street, 212-838-7500). This crisp Merlot and Chardonnay blend has a light, salmon hue and a refreshing acidity that will remind you of a French Provençal-style rosé.

Further south, in the home state of our country’s first Presidential oenophile, Virginia has a burgeoning winemaking community. Thomas Jefferson was a fan of Bordeaux and Burgundy, but the wines here tend to be much more new world than anything that our third president likely drank. For a great example of the type of light, summer reds that are being produced currently in Virginia, go no further than the Veritas Red Star 2008 ($18 at www.VeritasWines.com). This Meritage blend is made up of Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Chambourcin grapes, and the end result is a light-bodied, berry-packed wine that is a perfect stand-in for a Beaujolais Nouveau.

Even further south, in North Carolina, many old tobacco farms are slowly being converted into wineries. It is not uncommon to drive through rural North Carolina and see miles of trellised vines. The attention to quality is also on the rise here. On the grounds of the Biltmore estate in Ashville, one time home to the Vanderbilts, lies one of North Carolina’s highest quality vineyards. The Biltmore Dry Riesling 2009 ($12.99 at www.shop.Biltmore.com) shows a commitment to serious wine production. Made in the style of a typical Australian Riesling, this zesty wine has intense floral and citrus notes that make it a great match with a North Carolina-style (vinegar-based) barbecue pulled-pork sandwich.

Explore the original colonies this summer and you’ll be surprised at what these historic areas have to offer the ever-growing world of wine.

josh@penniessepicure.com

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

By Josh Perilo

Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I’m standing in the middle of the supermarket, my voice rising incrementally and bleating: “I don’t care how many viewers it has, I think Family Guy is the un-funniest show that has ever aired on national television!”

Do I really care all that much about Family Guy? No. But for some reason, whenever there’s a consensus about one popular thing being plunked down into a solid “good” or “bad” category, this raises red flags for me and I’ll usually take the opposite position, just to try and even out the score.

So it is with wine as well. I’ll be the first one to admit that I am not immediately drawn to a Chardonnay that has been either fermented or aged excessively in oak. This was a style that caught on in the late 1970s and grew in popularity through the 1980s until the market was saturated with this style of Chard in the 1990s. Then came the backlash.

It started with wine geeks who, rightfully, hated the cheaply made “oaky” Chards that tasted like a stick of butter nailed to a two-by-four. These wines were often not even made using oak barrels, which are very expensive. Instead, oak chips were (and still are) dumped into a stainless steel vat of wine to add oaky tones. Sometimes even sawdust is used.

These are terrible wines. You will get no argument from me about that. However, there has been hysteria over the last decade or so about Chardonnays that have any oak flavor at all. Any use of oak is looked down upon and thought of as bourgeoisie. This is an incredibly ignorant point of view that has, unfortunately, become the norm now in the oversaturated world of faux wine connoisseurs.

Oak is good. Oak can be amazing, actually. It takes more talent to use oak correctly in winemaking than not using it at all. And when done the right way, the end product is breathtaking.

For a tremendous example of what the new world can offer along the lines of well-made, oak-laden Chardonnay, look to the Arcadian Vineyard “Sleepy Hollow” Chardonnay 2005 ($33.99 at Astor Wines, 399 Lafayette St. at East 4th Street, 212-674-7500) from California’s Central Coast. This wine is both fermented and aged in French oak barrels. The result isn’t an over-the-top, wet particleboard smackdown. Instead, it starts on the nose with ripe oranges and notes of French bread. On the palate, the super ripe citrus continues with pineapple through the middle. The end has flavors of honey, white pepper and even a hint of caramel. This vino is a meal all by itself, but would be the ultimate match-up for lobster and drawn butter.

The old world has plenty of good, oaky Chardonnay to bring to the table, as well. The Chateau Fuissé Pouilly-Fuissé “Les Brûlés” 2005 ($65 at Sherry Lehman, 505 Park Ave. at East 59th Street, 212-838-7500) from Burgundy is a touch lighter, but no less intense. There are massive amounts of ginger and crème brûlée scents. The palate is all about vanilla, white peach and spice. The finish has hints of cinnamon, allspice and quince. This wine is a masterpiece.

So break off from the mob and open your mind. Try tasting a truly great wine that is made, if not to please the masses, then at least to please those who appreciate expert craftsmanship.

josh@pennilessepicure.com

Unlike the Union Square market, our meager outpost is only open from mid-spring to early fall. But the produce is out of this world. In the summer, I switch from the heavier fare that I slave over the stove for hours to cook, to lighter vegetable-based dishes. The less our oven stays on, the cooler our apartment is. Besides that, vegetables, to me, are the flavor of warm weather.

So I must switch to drinking sangria and beer come summer, right? Wrong! Although many people are frightened by the prospect of matching vegetables to wines, it’s really a natural pairing. If you think about it, the grapes used to make the wine and the vegetables you are cooking (or not cooking) have more in common than a Cabernet and sirloin steak. You might be surprised what some of the great match-ups are, as well.

One of my favorite things to make when entertaining in the summer is an easy asparagus side dish that is great served room temperature. Using about a pound of trimmed asparagus, I heat two or three tablespoons of olive oil in a sauté pan on low heat with five thinly sliced garlic cloves. I then add four or five roughly chopped sundried tomatoes after the oil has heated the garlic. Once the mixture has cooked for five minutes, I bump the heat up to medium high and add the asparagus, cooking for another five to seven minutes. This is amazing with a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc like the Allan Scott Sauvignon Blanc 2008 ($16.99 at Elite Wine, 558 Third Ave. at 37th St., 646-658-7548). The crisp, citrusy flavors of the wine complement the green, grassy flavors of the asparagus perfectly.

Vegetarian cuisine doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll walk away from the table hungry. If you want something hearty, a ratatouille is the perfect summer stew. Start by sautéing a chopped onion, four minced garlic cloves and a diced zucchini in a medium pot with olive oil. After everything has softened and you’ve flavored the mixture with salt and pepper, add a can of crushed tomatoes and a handful of chopped Kalamata olives. Let it simmer for a half-hour and match it with a Pinot Noir, like the Cooper Hill Pinot Noir 2008 from Willamette Valley, Ore. ($16.99 at 67 Wines and Spirits, 179 Columbus Ave. at 68th St., 212-724-6767). The acidity from the tomatoes and the natural acidity of the Pinot Noir grape cancel each other out and highlight the fruity qualities of the wine and the richness of the ratatouille.

In my book, the perfect summer pasta dish is primavera. Mine always starts with sautéing six garlic cloves with a tablespoon of red pepper flakes in olive oil over low heat. After that steeps, I add chopped summer squash and rough chopped artichoke hearts. While I’m boiling the pasta, I turn up the heat and add purple cauliflower florets, broccoli rabe and a little salt, and finish the dish by throwing in the pasta and adding a handful of grated Pecorino off the heat. This deserves a wine with a lot of fruit and personality, like the Cline Viognier 2007 ($11.99 at Beacon Wines and Spirits, 2120 Broadway at 74th St., 212-877-0028). The richness and slight fruitiness of the Pecorino matches amazingly with the full-throttle tropical fruit in the Viognier.

You don’t have to give up meat completely for summer. Where would this great country be without hotdogs and hamburgers grilling on the coals? But if you decide to lighten up with seasonal vegetables, you’ll still have plenty of drink options besides a watery beer with lime.

josh@pennilessepicure.com