Read Online Uncorked by Marco Pasanella - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marco Pasanella
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of his most famous whites. The title is a nod to the U2 song—Jermann is a big fan—“Where the Streets Have No Name.” Rich, pure, and fanatically well made, Jermann’s wines are among the most expensive and sought-after Italian whites.
For those who associate southern Italian reds with cheap and cheerful, Feudi San Gregorio is a similar revelation. Gregorio is famous for coaxing Aglianico, a southern Italian grape varietal that can be bitter and recalcitrant, to produce powerful and mysterious reds that are as impressive as Jermann’s bewitching whites. These are also not cheap wines. We happily ordered both wines on offer.
For months, Matt came to our shop weekly, whereas most of the other reps dropped by once a month. I was always charmed by his knowledgeable but self-effacing manner. He was always very prepared, yet with a surprise, and never pushed anything in a jug. Only later did I figure out that Janet had encouraged his frequent visits because she had a crush on him.
In reality, the Charmer reps were scarier. They had some brand-name wines, but Charmer’s bread and butter was booze. Their salespeople were interchangeable guys named Vinnie touting specials on blueberry-flavored vodka. Invariably, they showed up unannounced to “move product.” “You gotta try this stuff,” they said. “Awesome!” “Whoa, talk about a Jell-O shot!” Rather than gifting 2005 bottles of Vieux Telegraphe, the storied French Rhône wine from a legendary year, these guys forked over fistfuls of airline-sized sample bottles “fuh laytah.”
The worst thing I ever tasted came from a two-man band of Argentinean entrepreneurs. The duo offered Chilean and Argentinean wines in a market awash in mass-market South AmericanMalbecs, an often bitter French varietal. Explosively popular in the last five years, Argentinean Malbecs tend to be plush wines with deep colors, intense fruit flavors, and velvety textures. With imports up over 60 percent in 2008, these inexpensive and unsophisticated crowd-pleasers are available through big distributors. To sip most Malbecs is to be charmed by a South American playboy’s stories, only to realize that he really has only one lovely anecdote repeated over and over again.
South America has a reputation for blockbuster wines: robust reds and oaky whites. The gregariousness of those wines is due in part to the warm climate, which makes for big, ripe grapes, and in part to what they perceive as American demand for heavy-handed flavors. Rarely would you mistake a Chilean white for a Grüner Veltliner, the light Austrian wine.
Although Victor, the front man, hawked like a guy eager to move merchandise falling off the back of a truck, he also promised something that no one else had: a crisp, refreshing white that he tantalizingly described as a “South American Sancerre.”
“Ju are going to luf this,” Victor promised as he flashed the bottle. What he then so proudly uncorked was a Torrontés, a white varietal indigenous to Argentina that just happens to be my least favorite grape of all time. To date, I have never tasted a Torrontés that I would want to have on my table or at my shop. I took a fat swish. The world’s foulest wine tasted like acetone flavored with grape SweeTart. I never before spit with such authority.
On a slow afternoon, a polite twentysomething woman with what my mom would call a “heaving bosom” strolled in and poured glass after glass directly in front of her revealing blouse. As she talked, I tried to ask smart questions, staring intently at the pricelist. A few days later, another rep poured an entire lineup in front of a bursting boob backdrop. By the time I met the husky-voiced blonde with the plunging neckline, I was starting to feel self-conscious. “Don’t look,” I told myself, only to find myself hypnotized by her cleavage magnified through the half-filled glasses. Over the following months, even more of these well-spoken and well-endowed reps showed
For those who associate southern Italian reds with cheap and cheerful, Feudi San Gregorio is a similar revelation. Gregorio is famous for coaxing Aglianico, a southern Italian grape varietal that can be bitter and recalcitrant, to produce powerful and mysterious reds that are as impressive as Jermann’s bewitching whites. These are also not cheap wines. We happily ordered both wines on offer.
For months, Matt came to our shop weekly, whereas most of the other reps dropped by once a month. I was always charmed by his knowledgeable but self-effacing manner. He was always very prepared, yet with a surprise, and never pushed anything in a jug. Only later did I figure out that Janet had encouraged his frequent visits because she had a crush on him.
In reality, the Charmer reps were scarier. They had some brand-name wines, but Charmer’s bread and butter was booze. Their salespeople were interchangeable guys named Vinnie touting specials on blueberry-flavored vodka. Invariably, they showed up unannounced to “move product.” “You gotta try this stuff,” they said. “Awesome!” “Whoa, talk about a Jell-O shot!” Rather than gifting 2005 bottles of Vieux Telegraphe, the storied French Rhône wine from a legendary year, these guys forked over fistfuls of airline-sized sample bottles “fuh laytah.”
The worst thing I ever tasted came from a two-man band of Argentinean entrepreneurs. The duo offered Chilean and Argentinean wines in a market awash in mass-market South AmericanMalbecs, an often bitter French varietal. Explosively popular in the last five years, Argentinean Malbecs tend to be plush wines with deep colors, intense fruit flavors, and velvety textures. With imports up over 60 percent in 2008, these inexpensive and unsophisticated crowd-pleasers are available through big distributors. To sip most Malbecs is to be charmed by a South American playboy’s stories, only to realize that he really has only one lovely anecdote repeated over and over again.
South America has a reputation for blockbuster wines: robust reds and oaky whites. The gregariousness of those wines is due in part to the warm climate, which makes for big, ripe grapes, and in part to what they perceive as American demand for heavy-handed flavors. Rarely would you mistake a Chilean white for a Grüner Veltliner, the light Austrian wine.
Although Victor, the front man, hawked like a guy eager to move merchandise falling off the back of a truck, he also promised something that no one else had: a crisp, refreshing white that he tantalizingly described as a “South American Sancerre.”
“Ju are going to luf this,” Victor promised as he flashed the bottle. What he then so proudly uncorked was a Torrontés, a white varietal indigenous to Argentina that just happens to be my least favorite grape of all time. To date, I have never tasted a Torrontés that I would want to have on my table or at my shop. I took a fat swish. The world’s foulest wine tasted like acetone flavored with grape SweeTart. I never before spit with such authority.
On a slow afternoon, a polite twentysomething woman with what my mom would call a “heaving bosom” strolled in and poured glass after glass directly in front of her revealing blouse. As she talked, I tried to ask smart questions, staring intently at the pricelist. A few days later, another rep poured an entire lineup in front of a bursting boob backdrop. By the time I met the husky-voiced blonde with the plunging neckline, I was starting to feel self-conscious. “Don’t look,” I told myself, only to find myself hypnotized by her cleavage magnified through the half-filled glasses. Over the following months, even more of these well-spoken and well-endowed reps showed
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