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.

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.

By Josh Perilo

In a recent issue of Saveur magazine, the cover story posed the question “what was the greatest meal you ever had” to 25 notable writers and personalities. When I read that query, I immediately started scanning through the volumes of my own amazing food memories, some recent and some from long ago. To avoid being influenced by the responses inside, I ran home and began delving into my foodie past. I knew that there had to be one meal that was some kind of epicure lynchpin.

The task became more complicated than I had expected. What constituted an amazing meal? Was it the food alone? Was it more about the entire experience? Did it have to be at a restaurant, or could it be a home-cooked meal?

My mind immediately raced to the last “amazing” meal I had, which was at a restaurant. The night I proposed to my wife, I took us to La Grenouille (3 E. 52nd St., 212-752-1495), the old-school French bastion of mid-20th-century haute cuisine. I had toiled over the choice of restaurant for months beforehand. This had to be the meal to end all meals. The cuisine was important, but I knew that this night had to be about more than just a plate of good grub. I wanted something classic. I wanted something unique. I wanted something that we could look back upon and feel lucky about experiencing.

That is exactly what we got. The food was satisfyingly indulgent in a way that modern high cuisine just doesn’t get. Instead of blowing the diner’s mind with food combinations that had never been thought of before, the attention was put on the handful of rich, high-quality ingredients that were used to construct plates with serious intensity of flavor. But the food wasn’t the sum total of the experience, as I had hoped it wouldn’t be.

For anyone that has visited La Grenouille, they know that the room itself is reason enough to go. Old-school down to its extremely formal butler service, this is a place that crosses its t’s and dots its i’s when, it seems, few restaurants even know how to write their own name.

While probably the ultimate restaurant experience of my life, I knew there was an even greater meal from much farther back. All the way back, in fact, to a quiet evening at my Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Kansas City in the late ’80s. Every summer each grandchild would spend a week hosted by Grandma and Grandpa Hatfield, and it was like a mini private vacation for us all. Their focus for each grandchild was different, and as soon as they knew I was on my way, Grandma Florence would make a trip to the grocery store.

I received my passion for cooking from Grandma Hatfield, and my week every summer in KC was when I indulged my culinary fantasies. Chocolate cheesecake, chicken gumbo, wiener schnitzel… I experienced all of the great recipes of the world with her. One summer night, however, she had a surprise waiting for me.

“One of grandpa’s friends is a hunter,” she explained, pulling a frosty bag from the freezer, “and he gave us several pheasant that he shot a couple of weeks ago.”

Pheasant. Just the arcane notion of eating the flesh of a bird that wasn’t from the breast of a chicken made me start to salivate.

“I saved them until you came because I knew that you would appreciate them.”

This was a handpicked, specially designed meal, just for me. My grandmother braised the pheasants in sauerkraut, cider and caraway seeds, and served the mixture over white rice. And it remains the single greatest taste I have ever experienced to this day.

And yet, it was so simple. I thought the same thing as I took the first bite of veal kidneys in cognac and mustard sauce at Grenouille. The waiter bent in to ask:

“How is it?”

I paused, then said, “It’s perfect. It’s so simple.”

“Ah yes,” he chuckled, straightening himself back up. “It is like how Gran Mere would make, no?”

Yes. Exactly like how she would make.

By Josh Perilo

Joe, one of the bar regulars, looked up after taking the first sip of his drink. He smiled from ear to ear.

“This is fantastic!” he cried. “What’s different?”

“New brand.”

“Well whatever it is, don’t change it back!”

Joe had been ordering ginger ale and bitters over the past several weeks, and we had recently changed the brand. While switching a particular brand of vodka or gin might flag the attention of an expert, most people wouldn’t notice. Believe me, I’ve seen it for myself. Bitters are a different matter, however.

To understand why types of bitters are so dramatically different, it’s important to understand what they are in the first place. Starting in the 19th century, bitters were concoctions created by pharmacists and used medicinally, usually for an upset stomach. The proprietary blend of natural ingredients that were thought to calm the stomach (among them angostura bark and sarsaparilla root) was muddled in a liquid that was usually derived from a neutral grain spirit. Alcohol was used because the essential oils from the medicinal ingredients infused quickly and easily. After the mixtures became popular in medicine, they began to be served after meals in restaurants as digestives because of their ability to settle one’s stomach.

Today bitters are still often made using a base of alcohol, though not always. Each bitters will taste completely different because the exact blend of herbs and botanicals used to make them are always trade secrets. There are some bitters that are marketed as potable in and of themselves, like Campari, but many older and more historical brands tend to market their products as “non-potable,” which is to say that they are used as additives in cocktails but not meant to be drunk on their own.

Of the major brands on the market, the best-known and most ubiquitous bottle is Angostura Bitters. This little brown bottle sheathed in an oversized white label is most likely the bitters at your local pub or restaurant, and has probably not been touched in weeks. While it is a recommended ingredient for both a Manhattan and an Old Fashioned, many lazy bartenders will forgo the dash or two that they think is superfluous. It is not! Angostura Bitters, distilled in Trinidad, has a powerful flavor that tastes unlike anything else. There are notes of anise seed, sarsaparilla, pepper and tar. On its own, it is, admittedly, too much. Added sparingly to a cocktail, however, the flavors spread out and make a more subtle statement. Insist upon their use the next time you order a Manhattan.

Harder to find, but worth the search, are Peychaud’s Bitters. These bitters are different starting with their appearance. While Angostura’s product is a dark brown, the Peychaud’s is a bright red. Hailing originally from New Orleans, these bitters are lighter in flavor as well. Clove, peppermint and lavender flavors lead the way here. This delightful elixir is delicious as a couple drops in a club soda all by itself, or in its more traditional use, as a part of the New Orleans signature Sazerac cocktail.

Not all bitters are imports from far-away lands. We have our own storied product from Upstate called Fee Brothers Bitters. Fee Brothers, started by brothers Owen, John, James and Joseph in the 19th century, have their own unique blend for what they refer to as their “Old Fashion Bitter.” Dark in color like the Angostura, it is less harsh, with warm flavor notes of cinnamon, cola and allspice. It is unclear as to whether Fee Brothers uses an alcoholic base for their bitters, as they do not indicate an alcohol percentage on their label (which they are not legally required to do, as their product is marketed as “non-potable”), but their bitters are delicious all the same. In addition to the Old Fashion, they also have other flavors of bitters, including Mint, Orange, Peach and Rhubarb.

While not exactly an essential for your home bar, bitters are certainly a great addition for the mixologist who wants to keep it authentic.

By Josh Perilo

“You wine people have a real racket going over there at Barnes and Noble,” my coworker said.

“Whatever do you mean?” I replied.

“All I want is a book on wine for my mom,” she continued. “And the section is, like, five shelves deep!”

I never thought I would ever say such a thing out loud, but she was right. There are too many books on wine! Several decades ago, there might have been one or two dryly written reference books tucked into the “Lifestyle” section or crammed into the “Food and Cookbooks” aisle. Now the genre has exploded and become its own monster, spiraling off into wine and food pairing books, books on which vintages are good and which aren’t, books on the history of wine and even books that focus on a more anecdotal side of wine and wine drinking.

Most of these volumes serve a specific purpose, but for the casual oenophile it may seem a bit presumptuous to dedicate a chunk of one’s salary to the acquisition of a wine library. Like most things, less is more. There is no need to tithe your income in order to know what you’re drinking and how it was made. There are a few books that can either be the building blocks for a future collection, or your crib notes for when you want to impress your friends and family.

For the wine enthusiast who is starting from scratch, there is one book that I recommend above all others. The Wine Bible by Karen MacNeil ($19.95, Workman Publishing) delivers exactly what the title suggests. If you have a question about wine, big or small, this book tackles it in some way, somewhere within its 910 pages. The amazing thing about this book is that, despite its ominous sounding name and foreboding length, it is unintimidating and incredibly easy to read. It is, by no means, meant to be read from cover to cover. The first chapter, “Mastering Wine,” gives a step-by-step, easy-to-understand explanation of the history of wine, how it’s made, the major grapes and basic wine etiquette. Every chapter after this breaks down into regions, sub-regions and sub-sub-regions. Fun facts are sprinkled throughout, as well, making this the most enjoyable, quick overview of wine you will ever have at your fingertips.

For those who have a bit more knowledge under their belts and want a more complex and in-depth discussion about all things wine, look no further than The Oxford Companion to Wine, edited by Jancis Robinson ($65, Oxford University Press). This hardcover reference book is the authoritative text on any question you could ever possibly have. While The Wine Bible addresses most questions and answers them as simply as possible, The Oxford Companion delves deep into obscure queries and ferrets out uber specific data like the legal minimum percentage of alcohol for a German Auslese Riesling. This is a book for those who adore minutiae and have a deep thirst for knowledge; an indispensable book for the extremely serious wine connoisseur.

Going from in-depth information to specific in-depth information, Oz Clarke’s New Wine Atlas ($75, Harcourt) is the last book one will ever need on the subject of wine regions. Beyond the obvious information like “what grows where” and “this region is next to that region,” the book provides data on soil type, rainfall and microclimates. This all might be dry and bland if it weren’t for the construction of the book itself. Printed in gigantic, coffee-table proportions, the illustrated maps inside jump to life with breathtaking detail. The main maps for each sub-region are always topographical, with subset weather and rainfall supplements. More than just a tome of agricultural and geographical knowledge, this is a collection of lush maps that are easy to get lost in for hours at a time.

Whether it’s a stocking stuffer for the mildly curious, or an investment for the next Robert Parker Jr., these wine book basics will have something for every fan of the vine.

By Josh Perilo

It has become a startlingly familiar sight: rows and rows of extra virgin olive oils with prices topping $20. Precious-looking containers of aged Aceto Balsamico lined up like vials in an Elizabethan apothecary. Geographically-specific spice blends from far off micro-regions of Morocco and Spain. One might think they had wandered into their local Williams-Sonoma. One would be wrong, as these products are stocking the shelves of almost every corner grocery store in the city.

So why on earth does anyone need another online gourmet food store?

While the availability of a wider variety of prestige edibles is a good thing for the adventurous home cook, it doesn’t exactly fill the niche of the hunter epicure: that breed of gourmet who prides him or herself on sourcing the best and hardest to find products known to man that no one else knows about.

Enter TheIngredientFinder.com. Think of them as a one-stop shop for every amazing luxury food ingredient that you can’t find anywhere… until now.

Jim Feldman, the managing director, jokingly describes himself as “chief bottle-washer.” In their tiny digs in the heart of Chinatown, the company’s diminutive size mirrors, in some ways, the philosophy of the products they sell. Many of the producers they deal with are tiny operations themselves, but that’s where you have to look to find some of the best stuff on earth, Jim contends.

Growing up in New York City with an Italian mother and grandmother who loved to cook, Jim’s passion for food started early, and, can be argued, was part of the catalyst for his project. Recently Jim was on a quest for the “perfect double-zero Italian flour” with which to make his Grandma Flora’s fresh fettuccine noodles. The only problem: He was in the Catskills and every store he went to turned up nothing. Using his background in luxury product marketing and his passion for great food, he came up with the idea for The Ingredient Finder and began sourcing his hard-to-find treasures.

“It isn’t just about ‘hard to find’ either,” Jim explained. “It’s also about providing a palate of ingredients that the home cook can conveniently draw upon.”

And that’s all well and good. But are these high-end products really worth the high-end dough?

I was able to sample a cross section of the inventory and every item I personally tried was stellar. Their ethno-centric catalog includes ingredients from India, Spain, Italy and many other ports of call. One spectacular single-estate extra virgin olive oil I tried was the Salvatore Mirisola, an organic oil from Sicily. True to many Sicilian olive oils, it was very robust, but not overpowering. It had a green, artichoke-y flavor that ended with a well-balanced punch of black pepper. The site also features products by the La Boîte à Epice line of spice blends. The blends all have unique names and themes, and the Dali blend, with seafood essence and hints of lemon peel, took me back to the Costa del Sol in Spain immediately. Equally delicious was the Mardona Balsamic Condimenti glaze. A sweet (but not cloying) reduction of Balsamic vinegar, this sauce would be a no brainer for an otherwise boring grilled chicken breast.

Because the site was started as a passion project, it is easy for Jim and his company to connect to the emotion behind food.

With so many websites peddling expensive and sometimes overpriced ingredients, it’s nice to find a site whose business model comes from a real place of passion and offers its customer something they won’t be able to find, in some cases, anywhere else in this country. Whether they’re ordering from Wichita or the Upper East Side.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been recounting my findings from the annual New York wine and liquor distributor portfolio tastings. “What are these portfolio tastings?” I hear those of you out there who haven’t read my last two installments asking. In a nutshell, the distributors that sell wine to liquor stores and restaurants have a get-together every year where they let the buyers taste everything.

It’s not as fun as it sounds.

This year I decided to focus on two or three grapes, regions or styles,instead of trying to give an overall “best in show” type of distinction to any particular wine. By doing this, I may have left some wines out that I think are very good, but my aim is to focus on wines that I thought showed well as a group and feature the best in those particular categories.

For the final installment, I have decided to focus on an area and a grape: the noble, elegant and delicious white wines of Burgundy, which are made from Chardonnay. Sometimes overshadowed by the dramatic reds of the region (which are made from the Pinot Noir grape), white Burgundy is in a class by itself. They aren’t just complex “food wines” anymore, either. Many of them are bursting with enough fruit and other luscious flavors that they are delicious all by themselves.

Burgundy’s a big place, and that means the Chardonnays from that region will vary greatly in style. I attempted to represent the various flavor profiles from different subregions in my selections. So, without further ado, allow me to present my picks for the stand-outs in the white Burgundy category from this year’s portfolio tastings:

Most Likely to be Confused With a Different Grape: It’s the number one gripe of most American wine drinkers when they talk about Chardonnay: “I don’t like them because they taste too oaky.” Well, if that’s the way you feel, then you need to take a trip up to the northern area of Burgundy in Chablis. These are the crispest, sparest, most refreshing Chardonnays you will ever taste, and a perfect example of this area’s finesse is in the William Fevre Chablis “Domaine” 2009 ($21.95 @ Sherry-Lehman Wine and Spirits, 505 Park Ave. at 53rd St., 212-838-9285). This clean-tasting Burgundy starts with green herbs on the nose. The focused flavors of lemon peel and wet stone drive straight through, with a hint of wildflowers on the finish. This is the go-to wine for fruits de mer, from raw oysters to lobster.

Best Line-Straddler in the Category of Flavor: Further south in the area of Côte Chalonnaise is the subregion of Rully. Almost smack dab in the middle of Burgundy, this region produces Chardonnays that reflect that geography. These wines owe some of their flavor profile to the fuller bodied wines of the Côte d’Or, but maintain some of the minerality of Chablis. That is the case with the Joseph Faiveley Rully “Les Villerange” 2008 ($19.99 at Crush Wine and Spirits, 153 E. 57th St. between Third and Lexington avenues, 212-980-9463). There is plenty going on just from the scent alone, with tons of white peach and orange peel. Flavor notes of ripe apricot upfront, fine herbs in the middle and white pepper on the finish make this a luscious, but not over-the-top selection from the storied region.

Outstanding Achievement in Blowing My Taste Buds Through the Back of My Head: So, I obviously didn’t literally have my taste buds blown through the back of my head, but it sure felt like it when I tasted the Chateau Fuisse Pouilly-Fuisse “Les Brules” 2007 ($49.95 at Sherry-Lehman Wine and Spirits). This is not a wine for the faint of palate. The scents from the glass attacked my olfactory receptors with burnt sugar and candied ginger right away. The wine unfurled its complex structure with dollops of quince paste at the front of the palate, all the way through to the finish, which was rife with cinnamon, allspice and clove.

Whatever you seek in a white wine, rest assured that the vast and varying landscape of Burgundy has you covered.

Bordeaux grape is carving out own niche in marketplace

Continuing the theme from my last column, I will feature a “category” of wine this week that I thought shone brightly during this year’s massive portfolio tastings. For those who may not have read the previous column, the portfolio tastings are annual (or, in some cases, biannual) events where the wine distributors of New York City rent a space, open a couple bottles of every product they sell, and invite retailers and sommeliers to taste their new stuff. It is as overwhelming as it sounds, and my idea this year was to focus on just a couple categories (be they grape varietals, areas or even styles) that I thought showed well overall.

Last week I focused on Merlot. This week, I will focus on another grape that also originated in the Bordeaux area, but has since carved out its own distinctive niche in the wine marketplace: Malbec.

I’ve written before about Malbec, but I think the grape deserves more ink now because of the immense amount of fantastic and inexpensive wines out there that are available. It seems like every year I see twice as many Malbecs at tastings as the year before, and this go ’round was no exception. The quality, overall, is also on the rise. I attribute that to smart producers realizing that the name “Malbec” is starting to stick in the minds of the mass-American wine buyer. And rightfully so!

Still predominantly from the Mendoza area of Argentina, this grape is slowly becoming the next big thing. Don’t be surprised if, in the next five years, you see it being grown elsewhere and marketed the same way that Yellowtail Shiraz has been. Until then, however, I can offer these stellar recommendations from this year’s releases:

Most Likely to be Confused With a Bordeaux: Malbec is frequently made into a spicy, yet very fruit-forward wine that can often be easily classified as “new world.” That’s why when a Malbec pays tribute to its roots and successfully presents a much more complex and earthy flavor profile, it’s reason to celebrate. Such is the case with Trapiche Broquel Malbec 2008 ($10.99 at 111 Lex Liquors, 111 Lexington Ave. betwn. 27th and 28th streets, 212-213-2288). This is a bordelaise-style red, through and through. Macerated black cherry, cedar, rose and a hint of vanilla hit you as soon as you stick your nose in the glass. On the palate, this wine has fantastic structure. Not without fruit, it gives up a nice amount of dusty blackberry, but the solid tannins carry through the middle and it finishes with more cedar and black pepper. Fire up the grill for this one!

Easiest to Get Along With: On the opposite end of the spectrum, there are a heaping pile of Malbecs that are fruit, fruit and more fruit. This can be a bit unbalanced if done poorly, but a great reason to open a bottle without a meal if done well. The Huarpe “Taymente” Malbec 2009 ($8.99 at 67 Wine and Spirits, 179 Columbus Ave. at 68th St., 212-724-6767) is a perfect example of this. The scent of baked plums and wafts of cinnamon set up a fruit-forward palate that doesn’t disappoint. Round, dark berry fruit and baking spice with softer tannin through the middle make this one go down smooth.

Outstanding Achievement in Compromise: If you’re like me, you love aspects of the old and new world. The best example I found of that great compromise, in bottle form, was the Chalten Malbec Reserve 2008 ($14.95 at Sherry-Lehman Wine and Spirits, 505 Park Ave. at 59th St., 212-838-7500). Immediately, the scent was intriguing. Vanilla and orange-rind mingled together, creating a sort of “orange cream” note on the nose. The flavors of sweet raspberry and strawberry jam met head on with pepper and pipe smoke, all held up by a sturdy tannic structure that left a long, satisfying finish.

Don’t wait for the huge, mega-producers to catch up with your taste buds. Go out and find a Malbec yourself. You’ll be glad you did!

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josh@pennilessepicure.com

By Josh Perilo

Fall is here again, and for most people that means heading back to school, getting those merino wool sweaters out of mothballs and raking the leaves. For those of us in the wine world, however, it means tastings. And then more tastings. And then, after that, some more tastings.

This may sound thrilling, but slurping and spitting 60 to 70 wines with one hand, while trying to write coherent tasting notes with the other, all in under two hours, can be a chore. Especially when everyone in the New York City wine industry has to do it at the same time. The pushing and shoving can verge on “First Day of Barney’s Warehouse Sale” behavior. Although, watching three 50-year-old men in three-piece suits fight over the last sliver of Cashel blue cheese may have been worth the swollen feet.

Sorting through the highlights and lowlights of these events can be fruitless unless one approaches it with an agenda. It’s nearly impossible to go to a tasting, determined to find “The Best Wine” there and find it… although that has happened. It’s far less maddening to look for something specific, try everything available that fits that profile, then move on to the next style, grape or region.

With this in mind, I focused on a couple of different specific categories this year. The first category, which I will hone in on this week, is inexpensive Merlot.

For some reason, this poor grape is still experiencing a kind of pseudo-intellectual wine-snob backlash. Are there crappy Merlots out there? Of course! Does any real wine expert know that this is one of the most popular grapes in the world because it also makes some of the most remarkable wines in the world? Absolutely. So, I give you my top picks in the Discount Merlot category from the Fall 2010 Portfolio tastings.

Outstanding achievement for a light and fruity Merlot: This was a tough one, because there were a lot of contenders. It really came down to a combination of quality plus price to break the tie. Michael Sullberg Merlot 2008 ($9.95 @ Morell & Company, One Rockefeller Plaza at 49th Street near 5th Avenue, 212-688-9370) has everything you want from a lighter, new-world-style Merlot. The wine starts with baked cherry and blackberry scents with hints of cocoa on the nose. There’s more tart cherry fruit on the palate with hints of cinnamon and a bright, gripping finish. You won’t get more for your money as far as quality goes with American Merlot.

Excellence in the field of Napa Valley Merlot: Location is very important to a lot of people in the wine world. Personally, I don’t really care where it’s from, as long as it tastes good, but there are those who swear by certain areas, and Napa Valley is still one of them. For a great Napa Merlot that will keep you from taking out a second mortgage, try the Ramsay Merlot 2008 ($14.99 @ 67 Wine and Spirits, 179 Columbus Ave. at 68th Street, 212-724-6767). Scents of strawberry pie give way to concentrated plum and currant flavors up front, some black pepper in the middle, and a refreshing dollop of pomegranate on the finish. This is a classic Napa wine without the classic Napa wine price.

Most likely to be confused with a French Merlot: Finally, for those who love Right Bank Bordeaux (made predominantly with Merlot), but can’t find an inexpensive one that doesn’t blow, there’s The Velvet Devil Merlot 2008 ($15 @ Yorkshire Wines and Spirits, 1646 1st Ave. at 85th Street, 212-717-5100). The trick these days with French wines, especially those from Bordeaux, is that they taste less and less “French” every year. More emphasis on less complexity and simple fruit flavors are making many French wines indistinguishable from their American counterparts. Out of Columbia Valley, Wash., The Velvet Devil starts on the nose with the distinctive whiff of new leather, boysenberry and a touch of oak. Notes of underripe blackberry and earth on the front of the palate give way to more leather and wafts of pipe smoke on the finish. These are the flavors of old Bordeaux transplanted to the Pacific Northwest.

More tasting notes to come!

By Josh Perilo

In 1945, just months after the end of the Second World War, my grandfather, Jack Hatfield, returned home to Wichita, Kan., and married my grandmother, Florence. At that humble ceremony in my great-grandmother’s house, the young couple was given the 1945 Deluxe Edition of The Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book as their lone wedding gift.

In 1970, my mother had recently moved out of her childhood home in Kansas City, Kan. It was at this time that my grandmother and grandfather took the opportunity to overhaul their outdated kitchen. Along with new appliances, my grandmother also purchased a copy of the 1970 Better Homes and Gardens NEW Cook Book.

In 2006, having just moved in with the young lady who would soon be my wife, my grandmother asked if I needed anything for the new apartment.

“I can always use a cookbook.” I said.

Days later I had in my hands the 2006 Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book.

Only a little over a year later, my grandmother passed away and her belongings were scattered amongst the myriad children and grandchildren. But somehow I was able to secure her two prized cookbooks. I keep all three, side by side, as though they complete some kind of mythic kitchen trilogy.

The oldest edition is stuffed with as many magazine clippings as there are recipes in the actual book. There are the bizarrely dated dishes like a phosphorescent green cake called a Lime Delight, and a frightening array of fried disks called Ham Patties Sultana. There are also ads from the clippings for long-forgotten products like Kellogg’s Corn Soya Breakfast Cereal and Swift’s Allsweet Vegetable Oleomargarine. The spills and stuck-together pages attest to a young cook, finding her footing in her first kitchen. Trying new things and taking risks with culinary experiments.

The second cookbook, from 1970, is the one that I have the fondest and oldest memories of. As far as I knew growing up, it was the only cookbook that existed. The bold red and white-checkered design provoked a Pavlovian response for me to immediately start pulling out cookie sheets and mixing bowls. This book was largely responsible, in concert with my grandmother’s encouragement, for my passion for cooking. Looking at the cookbook now, it seems more like a relic than the endlessly useful book my grandmother and I used every summer together. It’s strange to remember how seriously I took the classic late 1960s/early ’70s food photography. At the time, I would go to great pains to exactly recreate the dish I was making to resemble the one in the photo, props and all. There was no Jell-O salad that went un-lettuced.

The 2006 version of the ubiquitous culinary tome is no shelf decoration. I consult it on a regular basis for advice on technique and basic cooking facts. Its base knowledge has and will always be the North Star for home cooks. It is exactly where you head to if you want to know the temperature of a medium-well steak, how many minutes per pound in the oven for a roast turkey, or what ratio of butter to flour to milk makes the best béchamel sauce. The editors have, unfortunately, added their own “modern” touches, the most irritating being updates on standards and classics. With all due respect, the very reason to have a Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book is because it is so classic, unchanging and reliable. Unnecessary gilded lilies like “Overnight Cream Cheese Stuffed French Toast” is easily skipped over, leaving the originals, like the basic Better Homes French Toast recipe (one of the best I’ve ever made) intact.

Aside from the knowledge that we, as a collective cooking community, use many fewer beef bouillon cubes than our grandparents, the three generations of Better Homes and Gardens Cook Books have given me a better perspective on where I came from, culinarily. For as much that has seemed to change philosophically, just as much has stayed exactly the same in practical application. Here’s to the next three generations!

josh@pennilessepicure.com