These special mushrooms are expensive in general due to their scarcity. Unlike other mushrooms, growing them artificially is incredibly difficult despite farmers’ relentless efforts. Also, habitats suitable for matsutakes are shrinking. They grow on soil free of fallen leaves, but these areas are slowly disappearing. Those who have had the opportunity to enjoy matsutakes understand this fungi fetish. Having worked alongside a number of chefs, I have had the joyous opportunity to enjoy these mushrooms prepared in a variety of ways; one of my favorites incorporated braised beef, ginger rice, sautéed matsutake mushrooms and wild ramps.

Considering wine matches, I apply similar rules for pairing with truffles as I do with matsutakes. These fungi have a musky, earthy depth that goes very well with the aromas and flavors of older Burgundy or Barolo. The dark dried fruit, gaminess and earthy spice notes in these wines complement the depth of flavor in the mushrooms. If I had to choose an Italian  wine to enjoy with this dish tonight, I would open a Barbaresco from Bruno Giacosa, a Barolo from Bartolo Mascarello, a Brunello from Soldera or a Gattinara from Travaglini (the older the better!).

For those of you who have not had a proper matsutake experience, tis the season to enjoy!

If you could teach American wine-lovers one thing, what would it be? I want people to respect all grapes and wines.  Whether it’s Nebbiolo, Pinot, or Cab, every wine deserves its place.

What do you drink when you’re not drinking your own wines? I love the elegance and complexity of great burgundy. I also appreciate what some American pinot has to offer, and from time to time, I’ll drink Bordeaux.

How do your wines reflect your winemaking philosophy? Firstly and foremost, I make wine that my family likes and I don’t give in to market/consumer trends.  Our ultimate goal is to make a wine that represents our soil. I have done my job if when people taste my wine they can recognize it as an “Aldo Conterno” Barolo.  There is nothing more important than this.  Every wine must have a stamp.

What is your favorite wine and food pairing? Because I am firstly Italian, it would have to be pasta dish with some sort of ragu.  Secondly I am from Piemonte, so I would choose to drink this with a Barolo. IWM was delighted to host this dinner that brought Franco together with our clients.

We’re also delighted that we introduced Franco to Nocciolo cheese, which we served with the ’88 Granbussia.  He was very impressed being a Piemontese. He had never tasted that cheese before and thought that it was wonderful and found it funny that he had to come to the States to try it.

Our next winemaker dinner will actually be a winemaker lunch with cult-wine producer Paolo Vodopivic from Friuli. It’s 1:00-3:00 this Saturday in New York City. Join in the conversation; it’ll be spirited!

In an effort to save money, some foodies turn to truffle oil. However, does truffle oil stand up to real, raw, whole pieces of truffle? Some would argue yes; others would say there’s no comparison at all to the “real thing.” Some gastronomes, and even some chefs, would even argue that truffle oil is the most cost-effective way to enhance a dish with the flavor of the indigenous truffles—white ones are found in northern Italy and black truffles in Perigord, France—to their dishes. It’s also worth pointing out that it can be difficult to find whole truffles in the US, so cooks, connoisseurs, and everyone else who wants a taste of truffle sometimes have little choice but to purchase truffle oil. This oil can cost as much as $30 for just over three ounces, and you can also find concentrated truffle oil made with cold-pressed oil pressed with actual truffle for as much as $70 for .33 ounces.

Chef Kevin Sippel of IWM’s Studio del Gusto takes the stand against truffle oil on the premise that it’s mostly artificial. “Truffle peelings and preserved truffles are garbage,” he says of the liquified version usually made of mushrooms, black olives and truffle oil. Instead, Sippel, who also dismisses other “imitation” truffles like those grown in Croatia, China, Poland or anywhere other than Italy or France, prefers using black winter truffles. Sippel observes that white truffles are great, but they’re far more delicate than the black and are therefore limited to specific dishes.  “I like the punch you in the mouth and versatility of the black truffle,” he says. “They hold up well to aggressive cooking. Good white truffles should smell like good white truffles, and if someone is selling you white truffles from Alba ask for the certificate of authenticity.”

The price tag is high for truffle oil and it’s even steeper for actual pieces of the fungi. The expense stems from the labor necessary to gathering the tasty delicacy during its yearly season of September to December. Grown underground among the roots of oak trees mostly in the Langhe region of Piemonte and Alba, white truffles (or trifola d’Alba, the white truffle of Alba) are first located by the keen noses of the trufulau, or truffle hunting dogs, and then they’re gathered by hand. It’s a labor-intensive process to procure this luxury item. For example, 1.6 pound piece of truffle sold for $150,000 at the White Truffle Festival in Piemonte last November.

Delicate white truffles have hints of garlic and can be eaten raw or thinly shaved over pasta, risotto, eggs, fondues or just about anything savory, while black truffles have a more pungent aroma that makes them more food specific. The French counterpart to our trifola d’Alba, black truffles are earthier and are often stored with eggs or added to sauces, bread and other foods to permeate their flavors with truffled goodness. Slightly less expensive than white truffles, black truffle is a better choice with heartier foods like meat or rich sauces.

Any Piemonte Barolo will pair well with a white truffle-infused dish, but when having such a posh treat, you might as well go with some of the best like Bartolo Mascarello, Luciano Sandrone, Aldo and Giacomo Conterno, or Bruno Giacosa. IWM’s Perry Porricelli has tried all of these Barolos with truffles but favors Aldo Conterno’s Barolo Granbussia. Only made in the best vintages, Perry says “Aldo seems to have a wine made for truffles.” But then any meal with Granbussia is bound to be good—truffle, truffle oil, or truffle free.

The amount of age a wine needs in order to show its full complexity varies greatly from wine to wine.  The actual process of aging wine is most noticeable in the process of tannins in the wine reacting with other components until they are unable to stay in solution, where upon they become visible sediment.  As this happens, most of the aromas of the grape are replaced by the reductive aromas of the aged wine, which can include dried fruit notes, nuts, leather, oxidative flavors and more distinct minerality.  At the same time, the color in the wine either lightens if it is a red wine (the red pigments, called anthocyanins, bond to the sediment), or turns browner in white wine as it oxidizes.

Certain wines have obvious aging requirements.  Take Barolo, the king of Italian wine, for instance.  To open a Barolo early is an utter shame.  The amount of tannin and acidity present in this wine makes it almost undrinkable in its early years, and the Nebbiolo grape requires around 15-20+ years of age in bottle show its true potential.  Another example of an ageable wine is a Prädikatswein designated Riesling.  Some Rieslings can age up to 30 years, eventually reaching an golden amber color and showing notes of petrol, which are coveted by the experienced Riesling connoisseurs and completely off-putting to novices.

The Riesling divide suggests that age on a wine can be misunderstood. For example, this New York Magazine listing gives some common wine defects, but this helpful guide also explains that what is perceived as “bad” is not actually so, even for everyday drinking wines.  Aged wines, on the other hand, can be even harder for a novice to understand.

I believe that being able to differentiate a young bottle from a mature, or being able to tell if a wine is capable of growing with age, comes with practice and time.  Taste preferences also develop and adjust.  I remember my first time trying Fino and Amontillado sherries.  I thought they were some of the most bizarre liquids on the planet and would never have imagined myself to develop a love of them so impassioned that I can honestly say I am a sherry fanatic.  I am also in love with our Castello di Cacchiano 2001 Vin Santo del Chianti Classico.  These wines are vinified and developed in a much different process than dry reds and whites, yet they have some similar aromatics to well-aged wines.  The nuttiness and deep dried fruit notes are enticing and seemingly classic.

In the end, I think it’s safe to say that everyone can use a little more wine practice and knowledge.  We should all be well-informed of the wonderful taste experiences out there and be prepared to know what to expect when ordering more eclectic and vintage wines at favorite restaurants and your local wine shops. And we should understand that often our tastes—like wines themselves—can evolve with age.

And yet.

One stifling August day almost two years ago, I had a wine epiphany. I was working at IWM, writing copy for wines I’d never tasted, descriptions of lands I’d never visited, and stories about food I’d never tasted. It was hot, tedious, often mind-numbingly painstaking work (I’m a thorough researcher, and I’d often have six or seven tabs open on my Firefox to ensure that even if I’d never had a Bracchetto myself, and even if I’d never visited Valle d’Aosta, I could make the writing real enough that someone who had would recognize their experience in my words). It was work. I enjoyed it, but it was work.

There was, one afternoon, a frisson of excitement that ran through the staff. It turned out that a client had returned a bottle of wine. It was a very rare occasion because IWM sources, stores and ships so carefully. In fact, this bottle was the only bottle I ever saw return to us after being shipped far away. Upon beginning to open the bottle, the client had noticed a partially dried cork, or so my memory of the scenario goes. I could be wrong, but the bottle was returned, and therefore we would have the serendipitous opportunity to drink it.

It was a Barolo from the Nixon administration. I don’t remember the producer, the vineyard, or the exact year, but I do remember that the bottle cost about my weekly take-home salary. With much ceremony and serious attention, the portfolio manager whose client had returned the wine opened the bottle. Using cheesecloth to filter the wine and a candle to light the bottle, he decanted it. A vibrant hush fell over the room as we waited, poised like meerkats at our desks. The moment came.

We all lined up. We each got a tender mouthful or two of wine in our Spiegelau glasses. The people around me swirled, they inhaled, they swirled, they inhaled, and they sipped. I followed clumsily. The wine, I noted, indeed did show dark red with the telltale orange highlights. The nose, I noted, did have violets and roses. I felt reassured that all my research on Barolo had not gone horribly wrong. I looked, I sniffed, and then I tasted.

The things that stick with me the longest, I’ve noticed, are the things that at first I didn’t really like. The poetry of Alexander Pope, the Talking Heads’ album More Songs about Buildings and Food, that one time I had really serious Beluga: all of these things that I now appreciate, even champion, at first made me inexpressibly churlish. This Barolo was the same.

It tasted of BBQ pork, of a field of flowers, and of dirt all at once. It was a confusing—if slightly oxidized—mess in my mouth, and the fact that I’d just eaten pineapple wasn’t doing it any favors. Around me people were smiling and gleaming bright with descriptions, and all I got was an unmistakable desire to eat ribs. I sniffed, I swirled, I drank, and I did my best. There was pork, there were flowers, and there was dirt, and I was done.

Except I wasn’t. Because of all the many millions of things I’ve put in my mouth, that Barolo is one of the few that sits in my memory still. It bothers me like Pope’s “Epistle to a Lady,” a work that I hated upon first reading but now love with an extra-flamey, white-hot burning passion. I suspect that when I die, I’ll have a few sensory memories rolling around my head, and that Nixonian Barolo will be one of them.

It had nothing to do with context. It had nothing to do with company (no slight to my coworkers). It had everything to do with one transcendent wine, a wine whose astounding character made me understand wine in a new way. It was an apotheosis of wine. It was my epiphany, and damn that slightly oxidized Barolo, but I want you again.

When we consider the differences in a wine from one vintage to another, we may find it very difficult to ascertain the actual quality of the wine.  We have already addressed in earlier blogs how inaccurate a critic’s perspective may be, and this issue certainly poses a considerable challenge to laypeople. To add to their confusion, there is the reality that wines continue to evolve after they are released. For years the collectible wines like Barolo, First Growth Bordeaux and Grand Cru Burgundy were made with such developed tannic structure that they did not show their true majesty for years, particularly in the great vintages. Indeed in many cases, the vintages that were good to very good provided more immediate drinking satisfaction than those that would later show themselves to be great.

To add further to this confusion about drinkability, there are other external factors that can negatively affect the manner in which a wine is drinking. Delicate wines like Pinot Noir don’t like to travel. They will often go into a “dumb” or “silent” period, and they won’t show their full spectrum of components as they are adjusting to the bumping and jostling from being shipped. Then there are some people who contend that Burgundy and Barolo simply never taste as good as they do in their native land. But aside from all of these various quibbling points, the vintage variation continues to provide its own not inconsiderable challenge. Consumers are taught to look at specific vintages and typically follow that doctrine as though it were gospel. However, at IWM we hold a very different belief: we follow producers, absolutely and religiously.

We know that great winemakers will always make very good wine, even in off years. We also know that in extraordinary years there wines will provide a transcendental experience. We know that while it is helpful to be aware of vintages, it is more important to understand what role producers take in creating a wine. Because we really “get” producers, who they are, what they do, and why they do it, we are not afraid of “off” years. For one thing, we understand that wines from those vintages often provide more immediate satisfaction. We are more concerned with popular producers making consistently high alcohol, fruity, over-oaked wines. Because those are the ones we want to avoid.

To know a producer and to love his or her wine is to choose well—year in and year out.

Of course, opening a wine store in New York City is no easy feat, and this task was made especially difficult due to Sergio’s commitment to stocking the store full of wines that weren’t the mainstream.  It was a very stressful period marked by Sergio’s flying back and forth to Italy fifteen times a year to continue scoping out the best possible producers to showcase in his store.  The narrative of the memoir now takes the opportunity to highlight some of the greatest producers of Italian wine that Sergio knows as friends, compatriots and, occasionally, adversaries.   In reading this portion of his journey, we are all able to experience and begin to understand some very eccentric and exciting masters of wine. I’m going to showcase a few of my favorite moments and producers below:

Paolo Scavino, whose estate is currently run by his son Enrico Scavino, is a pioneer in Piemonte for going against the grain and making Barolo into a modern, technological masterpiece.  He was one the first in the region to institute temperature-controlled winemaking and storage facilities, and has led the way with the use of new rotary fermenters and small barrels.  He made the biggest leap in 1993, when he decided to switch from Slovenian oak aging to 100% barrique.  He is a prime example of what a modern producer has done to make Barolo more accessible and attractive to our current market and shows that Barolo is capable of expressing itself with vigorous vineyard care and less age.

Josko Gravner, however, shows an opposite side of the wine story.  He was one of the first producers to experiment with technological advancements and became a mentor to producers who wanted to be skilled in modern winemaking techniques.  He rigorously taught himself each new machine and method until one day he realized he was losing something in his wine.  He began exploring ancient wine-making techniques and in time transformed his entire philosophy.  He is currently a pioneer in the biodynamic movement and produces wine in 4,000-year-old clay amphorae, dug into the ground for natural temperature control.  Gravner’s philosophy is expressed in a nutshell: “Wine and food have to be natural products.  In flying a plane, one needs technology, but it’s absurd to think that man can ever improve what is natural.  Wine and food we put in our stomachs.  How could I continue to do my work if I have the knowledge that what I make was slowly poisoning my children?”When asked to describe his wines he said, “I don’t have the words for that, how can you describe a soul? I can tell you only that these wines have real spirit.” These quotes are enough to make anyone want to drink Gravner’s wine; the man is as spectacular as his products.

Movia’s Ales Kristancic is another top biodynamic wine producer from Friuli, though his vineyards border Friuli and Slovenia.  He is quite a character, and Kristancic has talents that seem to burst at the seams; he’s a whirlwind of energy who can’t help but inspire the people he encounters.  He has very strong ideas about wine and life, showcased in how he describes his vineyard and wines.  Sergio recalls a moment where Ales metaphorically compares a newly planted vine with a growing young woman.  He also describes the vine as our closest counterpart in the plant kingdom:  “You must understand this—if any plant in the entire plant world were to rise up into the animal kingdom and become a human being, it would be the vine.”

Kristancic continues, “It is the plant closest in character to man.  If it has this comfortable life and this undemanding land, it is never challenged.  It’s like a spoiled socialite: healthy, beautiful and vapid. It’s a machine, not a thing of natural beauty- just eating and producing fruits. And yes, absolutely, you can make something from this fruit. You can mix it up in a barrel and get drunk from it — but this thing you make is not wine.” Kristancic is close to his land and what he creates—his energy is infections and you can’t help but catch his enthusiasm.

Sergio then brings us back to Barolo to the estate of Maurizio Anselma, a young man who leads Famiglia Anselma, an estate that has the goal to produce traditional Barolo reminiscent of his history.  Maurizio first met Sergio at IWM as an inexperienced, but eager young, producer.  His family had an advantage, having been purchasing vineyards since the late seventies. Established in 1993, the Anselmas went forward to produce some of the best traditional Barolo of today.  Maurizio avers, “We will only make Barolo because this is the history of our land.” Reading this section, I felt I grew to understand the connection between Barolo and history even better, and to understand Barolo’s history seems tantamount to understanding Barolo.

“No barriques, no Berlusconi, no California,” is the motto of Bartolo Mascarello, a humble, yet iconic Barolo producer.  Considered by many to be the master of the trade, Mascarello embodies his values and belief in his work in everything that he does.  Sergio claims that Mascarello belongs to “a rare sub-species of human, the members of which are entirely uninfluenced by external sources of energy.  His emotional state persisted despite those around him, as though he were surrounded by a force field of resolution that insulated him from all external anxiety, desire and chaos.”  This could very likely be the reason why his wines are so revered.  He sticks to his guns, making Barolo the way he believes he should make it, in the time it takes to make it.  Nothing seems to be able to penetrate his stability and sense of tradition.  He is the supreme example of what a Barolo can express.

Currently run by Franco Santi, Biondi Santi represents the discovery and creation of Brunello di Montalcino.   Tancredi  Santi, Franco’s father, discovered a replanted clone of Sangiovese during the phylloxera epidemic, a serendipitous moment that lead to the creation of Brunello and Rosso di Montalcino.  Tancredi and Franco showed themselves to be expert entrepreneurs as well as wonderful winemakers, transforming a lonely, dusty spot in the road to one of the most important winemaking regions.  And the beauty that Sergio describes is trance-inducing.

If Biondi Santi founded Brunello di Montalcino, then Gianfranco Soldera mastered it.  Soldera was an industrial insurance broker from Milan before trying his hand at wine.  He appeared to be quite prescient; Sergio recalls that Soldera told his colleagues, “If I find a great piece of land in the next year, I’m making the best wine in the world.” Quite a statement for a former insurance broker! He bought the Case Basse estate in1972 and went on to fulfill his prophecy of becoming one of, if not the best, Brunello producers of today.

If  I had read Passion on the Vine a year ago, I would have been quite entertained by these unusual characters, but I might not have taken them very seriously.  For example, biodynamics in itself is a controversial idea, with many wine cognoscenti thinking it’s mystical and useless, and before my days at IWM, I probably would have agreed with these naysayers.  Now with my experience at IWM and the ability to taste wine every day, I think differently. I’ve enhanced my knowledge and palate, and I notice major differences between various styles and methods.  It’s like every single bottle has its own personality and character, with its own story to tell—and reading Passion on the Vine illustrates how that feeling came to be.  Each of these producers is a unique individual who makes his or her wines with private convictions and idiosyncratic philosophies. These bottles are like their children.

It’s what makes the wines of IWM so beautiful, and it’s what makes the book so good. We only have one more blog to finish this book club. I’m eager to know what you’ve been thinking. Who is your favorite producer? And why?

I like to choose the freshest ingredients, preferably from the farmer’s market, and I choose a wine that I would actually drink. It doesn’t have to be an expensive Giacosa Barolo, so I choose something I would pop open for a movie night. My theory is if you don’t use quality ingredients from the start, you’re not going to end up with a quality dish. Even if I’m committed to using high-quality meat, I’m more flexible on the type of wine, and sometimes I even use wine left over from multiple bottles. Below is a Julia Child-inspired recipe you can use as a guideline, but don’t be afraid to modify it for your own purposes! I know I like mine with more carrots, and I add vegetables like celery and peas. I also like to pour mine over some delicious egg noodles.

Boeuf Bourguignon:

• 6 ounces bacon
• 1 tbsp. olive oil or cooking oil
• 3 pounds lean stewing beef, cut into bite-sized cubes
• 2 chopped carrots
• 2 chopped celery
• 1 chopped onion
• 1/2 cup of peas, cooked
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. pepper
• 2 tbsp. flour
• 3 cups full-bodied wine like Chianti
• 3 cups brown beef stock
• 1 tbsp. tomato paste
• 4 cloves mashed garlic
• 1/2 tsp. thyme
• 1 bay leaf
• 18 pearl onions, braised in stock
• 1 pound quartered fresh mushrooms, sautéed in butter
• 2 tbsp. butter
• egg noodles
• parsley

Directions:

Dice the bacon in small pieces and cook with oil in the casserole over medium heat until brown, about 3 minutes. Remove the bacon from the pan, drain it, and put bacon in a separate dish. Heat the oil and bacon fat until it gets really hot.

Make sure the beef is dry (to ensure a nice brown color), put it in the casserole and brown on all sides. Remove and combine with the bacon in the separate dish.

Lower the heat under the bacon fat, and then add the chopped carrots, celery, and onion to the oil and bacon fat and sauté until brown and slightly soft. Remove the excess fat.

Put the beef and bacon back into the casserole and add the salt and pepper. Sift in the flour and cook for a few minutes to reduce the starchy taste of the flour.

Add the wine and beef stock until it just barely covers the beef. Next put in the smashed garlic pieces, herbs and tomato paste. Turn up the heat and bring the entire mixture to a simmer.

Transfer the mixture to your crock-pot and cook on medium for three or more hours.

The meat should pull apart very easily when done.

While you wait for the beef, prepare the braised pearl onions, sautéed mushrooms, and peas—you’ll add all these at the end.

When the meat is done, strain the mixture over a saucepan and return the mixture to the casserole dish. Add the pearl onions, mushrooms, and peas to the casserole.

Bring the sauce to a simmer while skimming off the excess fat. Then—and I know this feels counter-intuitive-add the butter to the sauce mixture and cook until the sauce can coat the back of a spoon. If you prefer a thicker sauce, reduce it for longer, or if you like it thinner, add some beef broth.

While you do this, bring water to a boil in a pot and cook the egg noodles.

When the sauce is ready, pour it back over the meat and vegetables. Mix it all up and ladle over a bed of egg noodles. Sprinkle with some parsley. Delicious.

“Did someone forget to change Annabelle’s diaper?”

“Eww, why would you do that to me?”

We were off to another banner start for the Deas Christmas Eve dinner, and I was rewarding and/or torturing my family with wine and cheese finds from the field. Sitting captive, they were waiting for their safe, traditional homemade Gumbo to arrive. I surveyed all of them, my victims, my audience, my family, and my gerbils in my ongoing experiments in discovering the apotheosis of wine and cheese pairings.

My family’s exaggerated reactions were in response to the well-prepped cheeses that had sat patiently for hours, just waiting to reveal their hidden nuances.  Included in the line-up was the Keyser Söze of cheeses, the Vacherin Mont d’Or that, like Alba’s prized white truffles, makes a brief appearance each year to intoxicate the senses with its earthy characteristics that range from mushrooms and truffles to pine wood and alpine flowers.  Powerful but understated, and much like the white truffle or a Barolo, the strength of this cheese lies in its complexity and layers.  Think Camembert but with more nuances and a signature woodsy note—and “foot” note as my wife puts it.  If you appreciate white truffles and are a fan of aged wines, especially the likes of a Beaucastel, Chateau Musar, Bodega y Cavas de Weinert, Bartolo Mascarello, or Marques de Murrieta Castillo Ygay, the Vacherin could be a worthy stop in your next culinary adventure.

What makes this cheese so unique?  The French and Swiss argue over its eighteenth-century origin; it’s only available from December to February; and it’s impossible to find (especially my preferred raw milk version—the benefits of getting to know your local cheese monger). While most cheeses obtain their flavor from the spring and summer milk of cows (or goats and sheep), the Vacherin is made from the richer fall and winter milk, and it is these same cows that go on to produce the Gruyere cheese through the warmer months of the year.

But outside the history, part of the attraction of Vacherin is the issue of finding some wine to complement it. Conventional wisdom say to employ the adage “what grows together, goes together” as a guide. I believe that is a great guiding principle; however, part of food and wine is about discovery, and I was interested in going beyond the Jura Mountains’ Arbois or Vin Jaune for this match. I knew from earlier tinkering that something magical happens when the mushroom notes of the cheese are touched by Champagne, and the Roger Coulon Brut Reserve echoed the flavor profile just fine. Likewise, an earthy Pinot Noir is an obvious candidate and the Bodega Chacra 2006 Cincuenta y Cinco did the job, although the wine picked up more of its mushroomy aspects 36 hours later when the wine had more aeration, which made for a better pairing on day two.  I was also pleased with Marques de Murrieta Castillo Ygay 2001 Rioja Gran Reserva Especial.  It wasn’t the obvious pick, but this Rioja is all about soft fruit, earthy notes, and aged wood, and it provided a complement to the cheese.

I’m a restless inventor, however, and next Christmas I am looking forward to trying some additional Champagnes with the prized Vacherin; the Egly-Ouriet Les Vignes de Vrigny due to its richness, or Selosse Brut Blanc de Blancs Initiale for its nutty complexity.  What would you pair with the funkiness and complexity of Vacherin Mont d’Or?  Or are you not intrepid enough to try?

One night I had the opportunity to lead a tasting from an avid collector’s collection.  For the grand finale of the tasting, our gracious hostess had three Bordeaux wines for us to taste, all from the legendary 1975 vintage.  They were all astounding estates: Beychevelle, Cheval Blanc, and Petrus!  I tried to open each of these bottles with great care, but only one would let me. I figured I’d go for the big boy first and, man, the Petrus cork came out without a fight; it was in perfect condition!  I felt pretty optimistic when I next attempted to open the Cheval Blanc. However, the cork seemed to be glued to the bottle and would not move at all, so after trying my Ah-So double-prong corkscrew with no luck, I essentially drilled a hole down the middle! And the last wine was the worst for me to open-the Beychevelle’s cork crumbled into a million pieces even using the Ah-So!

Because of the state of their corks, I didn’t have high hopes for either the Cheval or the Beychevelle, but I certainly did for the Petrus.  The bad news is the Beychevelle was corked; the good news was that this was a learning opportunity for most people at the tasting.  While I was correct in my assumption in the Petrus, and while the wine certainly showed its greatness that night, it was not the wine of the night. There was very little hint of age on the Petrus, and I believe it was too early for this wine, which needs maybe fifteen more years for it to show its best self.  The Cheval, however, was astounding. This night was the night that I had my greatest Bordeaux to date!  The wine was incredibly balanced with deep, thoughtful flavors. It had a deep garnet color and was so rich without being heady.  Still sweet with fruit yet showing an older wine’s woody flavors, this wine held complexities that I had never tasted before. The Cheval won me over that night, but I have a feeling if we did this tasting again in ten years it may not have the same grace.

The second night of best wine came during a big celebration my wife’s birthday. The night started right with a 3L bottle of Billecart 1985 Grand Cuvee, which was going to be a hard wine to top. The earth and flowers in this wine melded together with its minerality to create a very exciting palate. Next, we drank a Felsina 1990 Fontalloro from another 3L.  What can I say about this wine? It’s Sangiovese the way it should be-a tremendous amount of black fruit and a finish that just did not want to stop. Finally, I had a trick up my sleeve: 7 bottles of  Giacomo Conterno 1969 Barolo.  This wine proved to be one of the hardest wines to pour for a group because every bottle showed a bit differently, so you couldn’t just refill someone’s glass. You had to make sure that person drank all of what was in the glass before adding more.  It was such a complex process that I had to take over the wine pouring for the remainder of the night.   I tasted each bottle, which I had opened at 4:00 p.m.  At around 11:00 p.m., I discovered I had a game-changing Barolo!  One of those seven bottles had the perfect balance of leather, spice rose and violets.  The beautiful amber color made me stare at the wine in awe, and the smoky nose kept me coming back for deep inhalations. It was a stunning, glorious wine-drinking moment.

I could talk about these wines for years to come. They were so good that they changed my standard of great wines. On the other hand, given a stellar enough experience, I could have a new standard tomorrow night. The one thing that I’m sure I’ll be talking about is which wine is the best-even if I don’t know the answer. It’s just such a great question and one that can be debated endlessly.  It’s the same as having to choose the best car between a Lamborghini or a Maserati, the best album between Exile on Main Street or the White Album, or the best director between Kubrick and Hitchcock. When viewing Picasso next to Rembrandt, which is best? I can’t say, and I’m not sure I want to.