I love this wine because it reminds me of the sea. Indeed, the part of the world it comes from enjoys a strong maritime influence: warm summer days, but cool nights, with lots of fog and rain. (This region gets so much precipitation, actually, that in many of its older vineyards the vines are supported by trellises made of granite, because the weather will rot wooden stakes.) The example I’m drinking speaks clearly of its cool-climate, coastal origins: it’s a pale yellow, green-tinged, light-to-medium-bodied wine, full of refreshing, bracing acids, complete with a palate-cleansing wash of lemon and juicy summer melon flavors. In the mid-palate, I get honeydew, apple, and a distinct briny note, like the vineyard it came from looks out toward the Atlantic in the distance. This wine’s reasonable price makes it even more perfect to stock up on for the coming warm weather.

What could it be? Email me with your guess or click here for the answer:

Clearly this is a white wine, and its origins on the Atlantic coast help us zero in: only a few regions with any significant winemaking history border the Atlantic, including Bordeaux, Long Island, and … Rias Baixas, along the northeastern coast of Spain, just above Portugal. Bordeaux isn’t known for its whites or its constant rain, and with its hot days, warm nights, and strength in merlot and cab franc, Long Island doesn’t seem right either. (Nor are either of these regions known for bargains.) But Rias Baixas (say “REE-ahs BYE-shahs”) has an ancient tradition of making fruity, refreshing, affordable whites from the albariño grape. And perhaps no other wine expresses its maritime terroir — or goes better with fresh shellfish by the way — than a clean, cold, minerally Rias Baixas. Bingo, that what I’m drinking: a 2007 Brandal Albariño from Adegas D’Altamira, $16.

I ordered this fine, underrated wine to go with steak tartare at the upscale bistro-style Resto in San Francisco. Its enticing aromas of ripe plum fruit and loamy earthiness got everyone excited, but the real treat lay in the mouth: huge, focused flavors of plum, licorice, and black cherry fruit belied its medium-bodied weight and sound structure. A lush mouthfeel, for sure, but some grip. Its endless finish was edged with Asian spices, white pepper, and loads more of that ripe cherry richness. I was surprised at how pure this particular example tasted, since wines from this area are known for their brambly, peppery notes. Many grape varieties are allowed in the blend here, but we detected a dominance of one, probably from older vines, that gave this example its sweet palate and depth.

Can you guess what it is? Write me, or click here for the answer:

Let’s start with the fact that this wine is obviously a red wine, since I ordered it to go with raw red meat and it’s got flavors of red fruit. And let’s guess it’s French, since we were at a bistro and because (despite the purity of its fruit flavors) there’s a touch old world earthiness on the nose. (Also, French wines are highly regulated, hence the reference to the grape varieties that are “allowed” in this wine’s blend.) Now, what fine French red is “underrated” and consists of many possible grape varieties? There can only be one answer: Châteauneuf du Pape. But which could this be? We know surprisingly pure, that it tastes mostly like one of the 13 grape varieties allowed in the blend, and that taste is super-ripe cherry, round and a little sweet. Gotta be grenache, which is usually the less serious, more fruity grape in this appellation, but here is lent some heft by the fact that it comes from old vines. There are a few producers in CDP who are very famous for their grenache-based blend, but Les Clos du Caillou has been stealing the spotlight lately for the spectacular results they’re getting from their 70 to 100 year old granache vines. And indeed, that’s what we have here: the 2006 Châteauneuf-du-Pape Le Clos du Caillou “Les Safres,” made by Domaine Vacheron-Pouizin.

This wine is the perfect pairing for a pulled pork sandwich. For a wine of its kind, it’s unusually dark in the glass — probably due to its hailing from an extra good, warm vintage in its somewhat northerly locale. Blue-black-red color, with aromas of sour cherry suckers, strawberry compote, and tell-tale green pepper. This is not a sipping wine. It is a food wine. Here, as in all great pairings, the food and the wine tease out hidden characteristics in each other and make them sing. First, the wine’s knife-like acidity cuts right through the sweetness of the barbeque sauce. Then, red and black stone fruit come through, with spice, roasted red pepper, and a certain appealing meatiness. Tight as a drum, but with a certain heft once it gets to wash down a bite of sandwich. Best of all, only $7 by the glass.

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We can venture right away that this is a European wine, since I made such a bid deal out of its being a food wine from an “extra good, warm vintage.” (In California and most other New World climes, most vintages are extra good and warm.) France? Germany? Both had superb vintages in 2005, and wines from those years are on the market now … We can also surmise that this wine is a red wine, that it’s characteristically tightly-structured, and has a “tell-tale” aroma of green pepper. Let’s rule out Germany then, which is known more for its whites, and think northern France: Alsace? Loire? Ah-hah: the pepper notes in this wine should make us think of the wonderful red wines of the Loire river valley, which are made from cabernet franc, a grape that likes to show off peppery and veggie notes when vinified. The two key reds from the Loire are Chinon and Bourgueil — let’s choose Bourgueil since it’s the lesser-known of the two and more likely to be sold at this appealing price point.

And we’d be right. It’s a lovely Bourgueil “Les Vingt Lieux Dits” from Domaine du Bel Air, vintage 2005.

“A rosé? I’ve never heard of that.”

Okay: we were in West Hollywood, rooftop-poolside at our hotel, so I admit I wasn’t swimming in a deep demographic pool of enophiles. I’d been shocked all weekend, in fact, at how un-wine-savvy the Los Angeles scene is. Even at the popular sushi spot Koi I felt like a big thirsty fish in a little pond stocked with cocktails and sake, but not much in the way of fruits of the vine. All I could devise to drink with my jalapeno hamachi was a California sparkler, one of only two offerings by the glass. Not a riesling or a gewürztraminer in sight.

But to overhear a waiter say that not only did he not have any rosé but he hadn’t any idea what it was — click here to find out what I wanted to do.

It took all the self-restraint I have not to stand up and shout, “It’s a WINE! And it would be perfect for this man who’s standing chest-deep in the water!”

Poor rosé. Already it must struggle to transcend the evil associations many of us still have with “pink” wines like white zinfandel or (going way back here) Lancers. That’s assuming we even know what it is. Here, I was witnessing a rosé trying to bloom in total obscurity.

I’ve said it before, but I will say it again: a real rosé–that is, a blush wine made from red grapes (usually grenache or pinot noir), fermented completely dry, and hailing ideally from France–is one of the wine world’s greatest, cheapest, and most refreshing joys. It’s not sweet, so it’s delicious with food and thirst-quenching in the heat of summer. And the best of it is not an afterthought: it’s made with the same care a winemaker puts into her whites and reds.

My recommendations? Any rosé from the south of France. Languedoc, Bandol, and Lirac are some areas that are known for exceptional rosés; wineries to look out for include Chateau La Roque, Domaine de l’Hortus, Gros ‘Noré, and Tempier. (Caveat emptor, though, in the case of the Domaine Tempier rosé. This year’s release of this benchmark, very distinctive rosé will set you back around $30, which twice what I think anyone should spend on a rosé.) Californian versions tend to be too full-bodied for my taste, but I won’t turn down a Vin Gris de Cigare from Bonny Doon or a Ramona Rosé from Nicholson Ranch. Finally, the Goats do Roam from South Africa is a lip-smacking steal for $9.

Setting: Stylish steakhouse in Napa, California.
Occasion: Valentine’s Day
Food: 16-ounce bone-in rib eye, medium
Wine: Shoulda, coulda woulda decanted, since this big young red is brand-spanking new. But we couldn’t wait, and the forward-thinking winemakers behind this wine have made it in a modern style, so we have no trouble guzzling it with our huge hunks of delicious beef. Indeed, this wine seems made for the menu: it’s got a blood-red-purple color; aromas of ripe fruit, cigar box, and cedar; and a viscous, full-bodied consistency. More plushness comes from the prominence of the grape that plays the main part in the so-called “right bank” Bordeaux blends; its supporting cast of varietals lend structure and deep, sweet flavors of blackberries, plum, and black cherry. Distinct chocolate notes, and a nice long finish begs to be the step up to another bite of yummy rib eye. We got almost as much pleasure from its amazingly restrained price tag.

What could this steak-friendly red be? Write me with your guess or click here to find out:

First, the vintage year: since the wine is “brand-spanking new,” let’s guess that it’s a 2005, the most current release for fine reds on shelves and in restaurants. That’s easy. But what other hints do we have? Well, since the drinking took place at a Napa restaurant, and since the wine is described as modern, fruit-forward, and ready to drink upon release, let’s rule out old world wines, which usually strive for age-ability and elegance. In fact, let’s guess the wine is a local, and that it’s made primarily out of merlot, since that’s the starring grape in Bordeaux blends from the right bank of the Dordogne river, and is famous for making red blends more soft and accessible. Cabernet sauvignon, for its part, is known to add structure and blackberry flavors; petit verdot for providing depth and color; so let’s guess they’re in there too. Since the wine’s price point is described as “amazingly” low for its pedigree, let’s guess it’s from Coho Wines, a new venture by a couple of industry old-timers in Napa, that’s making headlines for sourcing super fruit from celebrity vineyards and then pricing it sanely.

Coho’s merlot-cab-petit verdot blend called “Headwaters” fits the above bill, and retails for about $35.

The first thing you notice about this wine is its aroma. Even as the wine is poured, and even if it’s not decanted, you can catch a whiff of what’s to come when you get to immerse your nose in the glass: a fresh bouquet of charred wood, tar, violets, pepper, and the alluring perfume of cherry liqueur. Sometimes called the Burgundy of its particular region, this type of wine has a reputation for combining depth with “feminine” finesse. This example is no exception. Its beautiful nose is followed by a brick red color of medium opacity. On the palate, you’re struck by the wine’s exceptional balance — it’s got a clean, velvety mouthfeel that’s held together by ripe, soft tannins and a perfect, delicious wash of acidity. Intense cherry flavors come touched with coffee and cocoa notes. Somewhere there’s something distantly smoky and herbal, like basil on a BBQ. Quintessentially a food wine, this bottle was the perfect mate to a bowl of penne with a red sauce flavored by lamb sausage and chard. By law, this wine spends five years in new and neutral oak and then bottles before release. So although we drank it “young,” it was from a great, ripe, vintage, and we had no problem approaching it and getting a warm, sumptuous welcome.

Email me with your guess, or click here for the answer to the mystery:

If you guessed that the wine is Italian from the food pairing and my description of it as “quintessentially a food wine,” you are correct. But what kind? We can narrow our choices considerably by the fact that this is a wine that spends, by Italian DOC law, lots of time in wood and bottle before release. We know therefore that it’s not a Chianti, a Valpolicella, or a Dolcetto, well-known Italian reds that are made for immediate gratification. That leaves us with Barolo, Brunello di Montalcino, or maybe an Amarone — all grand Italian reds that are crafted for the long haul. We can rule out Amarone since this wine lacks the port-like consistency and raisiny flavors distinct to Amarone. And our mystery red is too feminine to be a burly, rustic Barolo. So let’s guess it’s a Brunello, the noble wine made from the vineyards around the Tuscan village of Montalcino, which is indeed sometimes compared to Burgundy. And let’s guess it’s a 2001, the latest and greatest vintage on the market.

We’d be right. It’s a 2001 Brunello di Montalcino from the great winery Argiano, and it cost us $135 off the wine list at one of our favorite Italian restaurants, Kuleto’s. Apparently its retail cost is $61.

A light golden-hued, ever so slightly green liquid is in my glass. If a color could be lively, this one would be — the wine looks like it’s about to rush forward with energy and flavor. Green apples and honeysuckle on the nose, but the real attraction of this wine is the way it tastes and feels in your mouth. It’s got everything a girl could ask for: a certain richness and even a tiny bit of creaminess balanced out by cleansing, fresh acidity. Both flesh and backbone in perfect proportion. Apple, pear, and some interesting, pleasing burnt-earthiness on the midpalate, and then orange peel and citrusy stuff on a long, clean, finish. Definitely a food wine. White fish, prawns, crayfish, and scallops would all go great with this, made (by the way) from a grape native to a region shared by two major winemaking countries, bordering the bounty of an ancient sea.

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We can tell from the color (gold, touch of green) that this is a white wine, plus the fact that it longs to be paired with a good seafood dish should point us in the direction of a white wine that’s built for food. The presence of earthy notes and its origins by an “ancient sea” are a hint, too, that we’re dealing with an Old World Wine. Although it’s got the fruit flavor profile (apple, pear) of a chardonnay, we’ll rule that out since chardonnay (unless it comes from Chablis) isn’t known for its good acidity. The world’s next favorite white grapes, sauvignon blanc and pinot grigio, do yeild zingier wines, but not usually with this much weight and character. Let’s guess a grape that’s native to the Mediterranean area of France or Italy, because that would fit with this wine’s origins, plus its food-friendliness and liveliness. And let’s guess that it’s a recent vintage — how about 2005, the European vintage most represented on U.S. shelves now? — since this wine sounds sassy and young.

Fans of Provençal and Italian wines will have zeroed in on vermentino, a grape native to both regions (and called “rolle” in French). It’s sometimes known as the chardonnay of Italy since it shares a flavor profile with chard and yeilds wine with a pleasing richness. Vermentino is also known for its orange peel notes. Creative detectives might then have picked a birthplace for this wine that famously mixes both French and Italian cultural influences, and that lies smack in the middle of the ancient sea of the Mediterranean: Corsica. They’d be right. It’s a Corse Calvi Blanc 2005, made by Domaine Maestracci; this cuvée, which is 100 percent vermentino, is called “E Prove,” and costs $15.

This deep, dark red wine tastes really expensive. But it’s not. Thanks to its semi-obscure Iberian birthplace — how about that for a hint? — this old-school red delivers the quality of an old-vine, well-aged, and perfectly oaked Northern Italian Barolo or Barbaresco, but at $9.99 at about a tenth of the price. It’s got a rich nose of black fruits, tar, earth, and some crushed violet, plus a lush, soft mouthfeel with loads of blackberry liqueur, chocolate, and more of those freshly-laid blacktop notes. Good finish. Some sediment in my last glassful. Definitely a low-tech wine that’s had many years in cask and bottle before release, like a Rioja riserva, only more densely-packed with fruit. It’s got a tiny bit of rusticity to it, too, that tells me we’re not dealing with a well-known “international” grape variety like cabernet, merlot, even termpranillo.

If this wine were a faro singer in a previous life, she’d have had a mournful, alto voice. Send me your guess, or click here for the answer:

Anyone who likes the gypsy love songs of the faro will have figured out that this wine is from Portugal. The amazing price is also a give-away. Indeed: that country, once known only for its deliciously sweet fortified wine, Port, is increasingly making its mark with affordably-priced dry table wines, especially robust reds like this one, which I enjoyed with a grilled steak. We know, moreover, that this wine spent a lot of time ageing before it was released, so if you guessed a vintage in late nineties, you’d be right, since this one is a 1999. I told you it was less than ten bucks, so we know the price; all that’s left is the winery and the grape type, neither of which I expect anyone to have at the tip of her tongue. The grape, first off, is Castelão, which I hear from Weimax Wines, where I bought my bottle, is also known as periquita, or “little parrot.” It’s widely planted in the Palmela region, where the winery that made this wine, Pegos Claros, is located.

Says Gerald at Weimax: “I read in a book on Portuguese wines that the estate still does some ‘foot treading’ of the grapes and that the wines are fermented in stone lagares. The wine is matured in Portuguese oak barrels for about a year and then is given substantial bottle aging before release. This is certainly ‘old world’ wine, being a far cry from today’s wines-on-steroids. At ten bucks a bottle for a seven year old, mature red wine, this is well worth a look.”

Naturalmente!

I ordered the lamb; she had the duck breast, grilled and sliced. I was going to go for the Chateauneuf du Pape, a red from France that would have been the perfect mate for that duck. But my dining companion wanted something big, lush, and local. Plus, it was my birthday dinner and I was in line for something Aquarian: independent, deep, and contrarian. So we went for it: a dark, almost black liquid came pouring out into my glass for the first taste, and the bowl filled up with the scent of blackberries, earth, and a tell-tale, tiny bit of kerosene. Yes, this was a New World version of this varietal, jam packed with black fruit, grilled meat, chocolate notes, and some spice. But it had an Old-World ability to develop over the evening: as we sat, ate, and talked, first the wine buttoned up and showed more structure, including broad shoulders and a muscular frame. Then it relaxed again, letting spill all those gorgeous berry, ripe plum, olive, and bacon fat flavors. What a delicious ride. What could it have been?

Email me with your answer, or click here for the answer to the mystery:

The give-away is that this wine was an alternate choice to the Chateauneuf, which means it’s probably made of one of the key grapes that go into this southern French wine. So we can narrow it down to granache, syrah, or maybe a mourvedre. It lacks the cherry liqueur flavor so characteristic of granache, so let’s eliminate that. It could be a mourvedre, but there are very few New World wineries, even those contrarian ones dedicated perversely to Rhone varietals, that put enough time and resources into a special, expensive bottling of this obscure varietal. Syrah, though, is developing a real following among rock star winemakers, and this wine shows the dark fruit, diesel-y, meaty notes that often emerge from a good syrah, especially from a nice warm climate like California’s. The fact that this wine evolved so nicely should tell you that it’s not super young, but the rich fruit flavors say not old, either. So if you guessed a youngish Californian syrah you’d be right. It came from Robert Biale, a Napa winemaker known for his excellent Zinfandels, under his label Hill Climber, from a vineyard named Rolly Akers, vintage 2003. (It was $90 on the wine list at the Harvest Moon Cafe; I spotted retails prices between $42 and $53.) He lovingly crafted only 250 cases, so don’t blink.

This deeply garnet-colored beauty — is that a touch of black? — is introduced by a distinctly smoky aroma mixed with loads of black fruit. But the smoke turns out to be a mixed signal; I thought it meant we were dealing with a wine that had spent some time in oak, but no, it turns out that the toasty aromas are natural to one of the grapes in the blend that make up this wine. This alluring aroma is followed by a velvety mouthfeel with great black, red, and dried cherry flavors, black licorice, and a definite richness for what is undeniably a medium-bodied wine. Then, we have a bracing, cleansing wash of acidity (“no matter what, this is still a food wine,” I said) and a good, solid, bittersweet finish with returning notes of roasted cherries and a touch of almond. Hint: I tried this wine in my Italian wines class — but what could it be?

Write me with your guess, or click here for the answer:

True aficionados of Italian wine will recognize from its smoky characteristics the grape corvina, which lends to wines made in the northeastern part of Italy a smoky note — the same flavor that many winemakers spend thousands of dollars on oak barrels to get. But this wine spent no time in oak barrels: all you get is the wonderful purity of the grapes and the traditional techniques of the winemaker.

If you recognized the corvina, you’re in the home stretch. Corvina is the main grape in the blend that makes Valpolicella, the famous red of the Veneto region in Italy, on the mainland north of Venice. Even if you aren’t a Valpolicella insider, you might have got closer to the answer by eliminating other major wines of Italy: Chianti (not enough red cherry flavors, acidity, and tannins characteristic of its main grape, sangiovese) and Barolo or Barbaresco (no tell-tale tar or violet notes). In any case, the giveaway is the almond valence. Only Valpolicella, which is made from corvina, rondinella, and molinara will deliver the great combination of richness, bittersweetness, almonds, and roasted flavors I experienced with today’s mystery wine. Bingo: this wine is is Valpolicella Classico Superiore 2004 made by a winery named Buglioni. It’s named “Il Ruffiano,” or the thief, and indeed it stole my heart. I bought several bottles at $13 to take home.