Le Vin de Merde - Holy Shit, Pierre!

A Red and A Rosé

No I’m not making up the name, although over the years I may have associated that moniker with a wine or two.  Several years ago I poured an entire bottle of Hungarian wine down the sink.  Had a happy ending.  It cleared the drain.

Le Vin de Merde?  Was the vintner dazed from a hard day at the vats? The wine is from Southeast France, bordering the Mediterranean.  The Languedoc-Roussillon Region. Besides wine, other things that put this treasure spot on the map are caves, beautiful ancient villages, camping, and the Pyrenees.  Makes you want to drag the vintage Jag out of the garage and go for a spin through granite hewn tunnels and twisting turns of a mountain road.  Or, maybe you prefer to just sip a wine.

With a name like Le Vin de Merde, you’d expect a snappy slogan and you’ll not be disappointed:  Le pire cache le meilleur = the worst hides the best.  (For English speakers, Lu peer cash lu may-you’re).  You’ll note from the photos there’s a fly on the label.  Appropriate.  Below the label you’ll find Le Vin des Philosophes, the wine of Philosophers.   Ah, you’re thinking, must be good shit!

Jean-Marc Speziale, the genius restaurant owner and marketer behind the brand, got a friend and qualified oenologue to blend wines from the region, because, as he put it,  “I know many winemakers. I understand their daily problems, and to hear that people continue to class the wines of our region as ghastly plonk or, worse still, Algerian drain-cleaner, makes my blood boil. Winemakers around here bend over backwards to get the very best from their vines.”

Let it be noted they bend over backwards.

You could go on and on with the witticisms.  This wine is only served in Le Maison de Ptomaine.  They also serve Bière de Pissoir.   Don’t grab your Guide Michelin, I’m joking.

Monsieur Speziale has the last laugh.  His first 5000 bottles in 2008 sold out faster than you could say No Shit! and they have continued to top the regional charts.  So, how did your fortunate chronicler happen to find a bottle or two, and what did it cost?

Down the street from me, well to be honest, down the super-fantastic-German-Autobahn, is the quaint country of France.  Shortly after you flash across the border, you’ll find a Super Walmart….hahaha…only kidding.  Cora, which could easily be translated as Super Walmart, except that Cora has a food and wine selection that’s like having your own private food merchant deliver fresh daily.  Cheese varieties by the hundreds.  A fish market bigger than many grocery stores.  Yards of fresh bread from an on-site bakery.  Wines by the thousands.  It was there that the name caught my eye.  Opinions of wines vary greatly, but I’d never seen them expressed so clearly on a label.  Six and one half Euros, or a little less than nine bucks a bottle.  I made sure no one was looking down his Gallic nose at me and grabbed two bottles, a red and a rosé.

The wife came home, tossed off her coat and scarf, and collapsed on the couch.  I greeted her joyfully.  “Honey, I’ve got some shit wine for you!”

Enough of the blather. How ‘bout the wine???  Ok, first the red:

Fruity nose.  On the first sip, hints of citrus, and leather.  Smooth finish.  This  is not a sophisticated wine, meaning no strong flavors and no heavy tannin.  Vin ordinaire.  Didn’t taste what all the fuss is about.  I wouldn’t turn down another bottle, but I’m not storing a case or two in my cellar.

Now the rosé:

Great with a soft blue cheese and a fresh baguette

Pleasantly strong floral nose.  Did I smell roses?  Makes you want to take another whiff.  On the first sip, sour cherries and an oak finish.  This is a wine that could stand up to roast beef, or be a pleasant sip on the back porch, while you watch your 25 year old neighbor stretch out for some nude sunbathing.  Still, it’s not a wine I would stock.

Why would I not especially want more of either of these wines?  Bad stuff?  Not at all, but not distinctive either.  Creates no cravings, unlike the neighbor. Sipped with a common comment of “not bad” and then quickly forgotten.

Once again, a master marketer has hit a home run, but for me, I don’t really care about the final score. 

Let's Get Primitivo - With Wine That Is

Just a couple of a wide selection

Just discovered a new wine, quite by accident,  since I’m not especially partial to Italian swill.  Some may disagree and I say it’s because they’re simply disagreeable. 

Nevertheless, there I was at a tiny table, outside a wine bistro, basking in sunshine and conversation.  For no particular reason, other than the inside was stacked to the ceiling with vintages and the barmaid was young and frisky….ok, scratch the part about the wine to the ceiling, although it was there, honest.  Anyway, although she was just the other side of twenty, I asked her voluptuous opinion on which nectar of the gods should wet my lips.  Instead, she suggested Primitivo.  Never let it be said I let age interfere with finding a new wine, etc.  And when it comes to wine, just remember the old adage, “The size of the grape doesn’t matter.  Only plump and luscious count.”

Now, where were we?  Wine.  New discovery.

Every heard of Primitivo? 

I pictured a small Italian village, women herding goats, men wearing soiled socks when they stomp the grapes.

“Don Carisno, you want that I should persuade da grapes to give up some juice?”

“Make it look like an accident.  Wear dusty socks.”

Turns out, Primitivois the Italian word for early-one and refers to the grape variety we in the U.S. of A call Zinfandel.  Wine experts (some even older than 20) have traced our Zinfandel’s roots back to Puglia, a region in Italy’s deep south, and from there back to Croatia. Oh, what a tangled cultural web we Americans have woven.

Primitivo is a deep purple grape, high in tannins and in Puglia, the wine is sometimes referred to as Mirr Test, or hard wine.  Primitivo may refer to the grape’s early ripening, or to the somewhat unusual occurrence with this type of grape to find ripe berries along side green ‘grape-shot.’

In any case, the Primitivos I’ve tasted….now that I'm on a quest…are dark and deeply colored and the taste is delightfully light and rounded.  When I say ‘light’ I don’t mean the wine is watery.  As a matter of fact, the taste is intensive, but there’s no tongue-twisting tannic jerk at the end.  Smooth.  Flavorful.  Soulful.  Devout.

Another thing you’ll appreciate is the mild price.  Over here in Europe, you’ll pay the equivalent of five to twelve bucks a bottle.  So far that hasn’t included a drinking companion, but I’m ever hopeful.

Lunch In Heidelberg

View from the Inside Out

A Wine Worth Mentioning

The Superb Ravioli

The Equally Grand Goulash

Jump a smooth, immaculately kept train for pocket change, sit back, read and watch the beautiful countryside stream by.  Get off in one of Germany’s most picturesque cities, Heidelberg, complete with a swiftly flowing river, an ancient university and an ancient downtown to match.  Have a quiet, unhurried lunch at a quaint restaurant, with superb food and wine.  Stroll the cobblestone streets.  Ho-hum, just another weekend lunch trip in Deutschland.

I could go on and on about Heidelberg, (and probably will when you least expect it and don’t have time to avoid it) but the quick answer is, it’s best just to wander the streets in the old city and find your own special favorites.

  One of ours is a small hotel and restaurant very near Heidelberg’s cathedral, The Church of the Holy Spirit (circa 1398).  The Hackteufel (Devil’s Cut) has all you’d want for an intimate luncheon for two.  Reeking with ambiance and old world charm, you walk inside and feel as if you’ve just entered the dining room of your warmest and most comfortable dream.  Low, tasteful lighting.  Full, yet subdued decorations.  A buxom waitress….wait, a sec, I mean a very demure, but efficient waitperson, who knew everything on the daily menu and had tasted enough wine to make me wish I had been there. 

In Europe, the wine is every bit as important as the meal and rightly so.  The wine list is also longer than the menu.  My wife ordered a Spätbugunder (Pinot Noir) Weißherbst rosé and I got a Portugieser red wine.  Both were wonderful.  I’ve never seen my wife quite so ebullient over a wine.  “Try this!” she said loudly enough to make the chef quiche in his pants.  Last time this happened was in church during a particularly raucous communion.  I tried the Spät and it was all she said and more.  Smooth. Beautiful floral nose.  Mixed fruits giving it a bare edge of sweetness.

For the main course, my wife ordered a minced lamb stuffed ravioli, lashed with delicate bacon, onion cream sauce and lightly oven baked with a mild, semi-hard Italian cheese, accompanied by mixed greens with vinaigrette.   This was a far cry from the Chef Boyardee ravioli of my misspent youth.  Far cry?  I don’t think the transatlantic cable would stretch that far. Light, yet flavorful, it gave a new perspective to ravioli.

I had a mixed burgundy goulash on a nest of spaghetti noodles.  Tender. Savory.  Luscious for lunch or anytime anyone lends you a fork.  This was the ‘special of the day’ and special it was!  I like my meat one of two ways, rare, or cooked until it’s falling apart.  The goulash was the latter and moreover, the sauce complimented the richness of the meat instead of simply masking a cheap cut.  Every bite delicious.

This was a lunch to remember and repeat….often, in one of the most romantic cities on earth.

Down a Gothic Road, Where the Red Wines Flow

A wine for all days and all occasions 

Just as beautiful with leaves on the ground

We attended a quiet feedfest for eight or ten, in an old, German restaurant we’d never visited. Blasted nuisance tracking the place down, but a quaint find. High-timbers bridged the ceilings.  Candles flickered; scintillating conversation flowed. Without a second thought, and needing a brace from the cold, I ordered some German red wine, a Dornfelder halbtrocken, or half dry.  Some people who haven’t been to Germany in decades, my friends among them, will solemnly swear or affirm: There are no good German reds!  Other lost souls drink nothing but dry wines, the dryer the better.  Unlucky them, bogged in the truth of the past, and blind to the wealth of the present.  German reds can be glorious.  Half dries can be even gloriouser!   Here’s the gospel:  German reds have thrived in the last thirty years.

The wine arrived.  I held it to the light of a candle and a rich ruby glow banished darkness from the corners of the room.  The nose was perfectly balanced.
(Add here, tones of chocolate, hints of sock, eye of newt, any of your favorite pompous wine adjectives). I sipped and murmured an amen to Dionysus, the Greek god of the grape. 

           Through clever conversation and relying on my heavily accented German (Know you this wine the name of and where can I it buy?) I cajoled the waitress into giving up some cherished secrets of the kitchen. Turned out the vintner was about an hour away, in a little town on the Deutche Weinstraße, or German Wine Road.                 

Started in 1935, the wine road is the oldest named wine route in the world and stretches from the French border, south for about 85 kilometers, or 53 miles.  If you haven’t visited, it’s a delight for the eyes and palate, with classic village after classic village, broad acres of well-tended vines, and plenty of chances to stop and taste.  We could have jumped on the autobahn and pushed the chariot to well over a hundred miles an hour.  Could have.  Didn’t.  Instead, we harnessed ourselves to a winding two laner,  following deep valleys, and through tiny towns, including Frankenstein.  Yes, there is such a place, with the castle ruins on a hill overlooking the village, a castle that (supposedly) inspired Mary Shelly to write her famously gothic novel (pub 1818).

            The weingüt, or wine producer we searched for was Karl Dennhardt, who along with his reds, offers some of the finest whites and rosés in the region.  His winemaking facilities are tucked into a spacious old stone barn, on a small and somber street on the outskirts of the town of Neustadt-Mussbach. Vineyards stretch in quiet rows behind the house and barn.   Karl and his wife, both in their eighties, own the vineyards independently, and are almost embarrassingly hospitable.  On the day we shuffled into their tasting room, a group of Germans had beat us to the punch; but in Germany, if there is room at the table, you’re welcome to sit, and in this case, sip. Fifteen or twenty bottles already sat open on the scared oak table.  Lots of whites, but we came for in the reds.  In German and English, a group of about ten tasted, compared, and offered opinions, most of which were lost in translation and the flow of the wine.

            The two most popular red wine varieties in Germany are Spatburgunder (pinot noir) and Dornfelder.  We sipped each and munched pretzels in between.  Mrs. Dennhardt told how most of her family immigrated to the U.S. and sadly have no intention of returning.  She confessed, when she and Karl’s wine making days are over, they’d sell the business.

            Meanwhile, the wines tasted better and better.  The Dennhardts offered some excellent 2005 Cabernets and we purchased a few bottles. Couldn’t resist.  These Cabs tiptoe fragrantly across the taste buds and if you like ‘em dry and flavorful, you’ve found the lost silver mine.  We also brought home a couple of cases of the Pfalz Bereich Mittelhaardt Rotwein halbtrocken, the wine that had led to our journey, and six bottles of a light and bright rosé.  Average cost for all the wines was about six bucks a bottle.

            The morals of the story are, don’t live in the past, unless the past is written on the label, don’t take the autobahn and Vive! those damn good German reds!

Grab A Bottle of Spanish Sunshine

           What I know about wine flavors may be summed up in a single sentence.  It’s either mellow and tastes good, or it doesn’t.  Which brings up a question.  If that’s all there is to it, why do I generally prefer red wine to white?  Well, as a friend of mine said, the reds are beefier.  By that I suppose he means fuller bodied.  Makes sense.  He prefers his women like that, too.

            Some of the heartiest, beefiest, boldest red wines I know are Spanish.  No comment on the women.  Spanish wines often offer a mouthful of flavor, with a smooth finish.  Ok, so everyone knows about the justly famous Riojas, with their well-deserved reputation for aging into magnificence.  They are also give-up-your-cable-service and empty-your-pockets pricy.  The top of the line (so it is said by experts with a strong disrespect for the American dollar) is Vega Sicilia, which can run to big money.

            I’m not above paying for superb taste, but I’ve found if you look to Spain and wander outside the Rioja region, you don’t have to empty your wallet and search under the car seats for that last quarter.

            The three wines in the photo, Valtier on the left, Mil Cepas in the middle, and Vega Libre on the right are, quality wines at soda prices.  Valtier and Vega Libre are 2004 and 2007 Reservas respectively.   The Mil Cepa is a 2004 Gran Reserva.  Average price:  four bucks  a bottle.  Maybe you can’t find these where you live.  No problem.  Search for Spanish reds and try what you find. 

What do Reserva and Gran Reserva mean?  Reserva means the wine was stored for at least 36 months, 12 months in oak barrels.  Gran Reservas were stored at least 60 months, 24 in oak.

Valtier is from La Mancha.  The other too come from Terra Alta, in the province of Tarragona, southwest of Barcelona.  I drink them daily and find them unparalled, if you like dry red wines, bursting with flavor, to the point that you look forward to the next bottle. My tongue tingles with delight. The stingy part of my brain glows.  A Rioja would cost me many times the price.  Worst of all, the Rioja wouldn’t taste as good.

            Want a bold Spanish tinto?  Be bold yourself and venture into wine districts outside Rioja, like Valdepeñas, La Mancha, and Tarragona.  Leave your money, bring your thirst.