I just read Neal Rosenthal’s Reflections of a Wine Merchant, in which the importer — who is well-known by his fans to be a master of the geographical intricacies of French Burgundy — confesses that he learned from Barolo to appreciate the influence of the land on wine. So it was Barolo, not Burgundy, that made him appreciate terroir.
 
I guess that kinda makes sense. Barolo is a red wine made (like Burgundy) in very small quantities, usually from single vineyards, in the north of Italy. And like Burgundy it’s made from only one, very temperamental, highly sensitive grape called nebbiolo. So, as in Burgundy, the character of the site where the grapes are grown tends to shine through.
 
Click here for our trip to the training camps in the foothills of the Alps that turned Mr. Rosenthal into America’s most notorious home-grown terroirist: So in part because Rosenthal’s book instilled in me a thirst for Barolo and in part because we were splurging on a special menu at Restaurant Gary Danko for my birthday all organized around truffles from northern Italy — now that’s terroirism — we ordered Elio Grasso’s Barolo “Ginestra Vigna Casa Mate” from the 2004 vintage. “Ginestra” refers to the village nearest to the “Case Mate” 12-acre or so vineyard where all the nebbiolo fruit that went into this wine came from.
 
We loved it. It showed really lovely aromas of crushed violets and berries. And although it was not a particularly concentrated or fruity wine — more delicate, dry, and minerally — it still had a distinct sweet berry taste in the middle. Our waiter decanted it, but still we had the pleasure of watching and tasting it unfold, getting darker, bolder-flavored, and more interesting over time in our glasses. I managed to save a few sips for our cheese course, and was handsomely rewarded.

Last night the Ladies Tasting Society met to blind-taste five red varietals, that is, wines made primarily from, and named after, one grape variety (for example pinot noir or cabernet sauvignon). It was an exciting and highly competitive tasting, since not only did the ladies score ourselves based on how many aspects of the wine we could detect correctly (grape? vintage? French or Californian?), the wine types were also vying with each other to be our favorites of the evening.
 
One lady and one grape prevailed. Click here to find out who and what :
 
Each member brought one example of five red varietals: syrah, pinot noir, cabernet sauvignon, merlot, and zinfandel. We were allowed to bring blends, but the grape in question had to represent at least 70 percent of the mix. Otherwise, the wines could be from anywhere, any vintage, and any price point.
 
Not surprisingly, we picked out the pinots and the zins immediately from the line-up. The former gave itself away with the varietal’s characteristic bright ruby color, silky texture, and vivid cherry flavors. With the latter, zinfandel’s tell-tale garnet shades, slightly viscous mouthfeel, and rich black fruit tastes were its calling cards. Pinot and zin, too, aren’t particularly tannic wines, so their softness on the palate helped us distinguish them from the others.
 
But oh, those others. They really tripped us up.
 
First of all, cabernet and merlot are sister grapes, the cornerstones of the red Bordeaux blend, and often matched up in California too because they complement each other so beautifully. Indeed, our two runner-up favorites of the evening were a 1999 Lynch-Bages from Pauillac (mostly cab, the rest merlot, with a smattering of other Bordeaux varieties) and a 2005 Pride Mountain Merlot (90 percent merlot, the remainder “cab sauv” as they say in the business), textbook French and Californian examples of how, respectively, a burly cabernet can benefit from merlot’s softer influence, and how merlot can gain some structure from a dollop of cab.
 
But boy are they hard to tell apart. Plus we threw one bottle of syrah in the mix, helping to further confuse things. Those of us who know and love syrah tried to single it out by means of the varietal’s prominent smoky, meaty, brambly flavors. But the syrah we were dealing with, it turns out, was from California and showed a purer, fruit-driven profile, so much so that a bunch of us, including yours truly, mistook it for a merlot, a couple even for a zin.
 
At the end of the day, the beautiful Lady Diana took home the crown for the most wines guessed right (she missed on only two varietals!). With an equally gorgeous Howell Mountain cabernet sauvignon from Dunn Vineyards getting “Best of Tasting,” the cabs and merlots generally outdid the other varietals.
 
Best of Tasting
Dunn Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon “Howell Mountain” 2004 ($80) ****1/2
Even as it was pouring, this wine caught everyone’s attention with its deep purple-black color. “A monster! Sexy!” cried one lady. I liked its very distinctive nose, full of camphor, licorice, and smoke, which made me mistake it for a Bordeaux. Serious blackberry, plum, and black cherry flavors, with muscular tannins. Definitely a keeper. (Interestingly, only one of us didn’t peg this as cabernet sauvignon, but a number of us goofed by saying it was Old World.)
 
Best Value
Rex Hill Pinot Noir Willamette Valley ($25) ***1/2
Bright ruby color, with aromas of fresh-picked, ripe red cherries. Some tasters detected a little funk (“car oil,” said one) on the nose, but to me the Rex Hill’s soft mouthfeel with vivid, pure, sweet flavors of cherry, raspberry, and a little chocolate, instantly identified this wine as a pinot.
 
Pride Mountain Merlot 2005 ($46) ****
Set off from the powerful Dunn Howell Mountain by its rounder, more balanced mouthfeel, most of us nailed this as a merlot right away. Pride’s merlot is no shrinking violet, though: rich aromas of cedar, cassis, and black fruit are followed by a delicious, medium-dark wine, with all its parts — cherry, licorice, chocolate, gentle tannins — in perfect balance.

Lynch-Bages, Pauillac 1999 ($90) ****
I detected a little orange around the edges of this wine in my glass, which should have tipped me off that we were dealing with an older vintage. Reserved on the nose but, especially upon second taste, this mostly-cabernet blend from Bordeaux opened up into a plummy, wild-strawberry flavored, deliciously dry wine, with lots of interesting scorched earth and asphalt notes. Great finish, great ride.
 
JC Cellars Syrah “California Cuvée” 2007 ($28) ***1/2
Pretty in purple! We all liked the look and feel of this wine, but not one of us could figure out what it was. Smoky, dark fruit aromas should have led us down the path toward syrah (as should one taster’s declaration, “different!”), but the JC Cellars’ sweet, almost jammy palate full of red fruit flavors, with a touch of cedary vanilla, sent many tasters spinning off base.
 
Château Monbousquet, St. Emilion 2000 ($89) ***1/2
Most controversial was this predominantly-merlot blend from the St. Emilion appellation in Bordeaux. “Tannic and repelling,” said one lady, “fishy” said another. But what some of us found wierd, others found inspiring: “Mocha chocolatay yah-yah!” sang one fan after first sniff; “stinky barnyard, leather shoe, but nice style,” wrote another. Alcoholic and tannic, this merlot has years to go.
 
Haywood Winery Zinfandel “Morning Sun” ($30) ***
Darkly colored, with a big black fruit nose. Intense plum and blackberry flavors, with soft tannins, and a jamminess on the palate that gave way to some pleasant tannins and a nice finish. Almost all of us pegged this Hawyood as a zin.
 
Ridge Zinfandel “East Bench” 2006 ($29) ***
Light-to-medium color, with bright cherry aromas. Big dark cherry flavors, with some anise and pepper notes. But it was a slightly viscous mouthfeel that forced this Ridge zin to show its hand.
 
George Chicotot, Nuits St. George 2006 ($33)
It’s not that we didn’t like this red Burgundy. It just got out-muscled by the Californians and the bruiser Bordeaux in the bunch. Its light, almost rosé-territory color, its fruity-peppery nose, and its delightful strawberry flavors identified it as a pinot — all real red Burgundy is 100 percent pinot noir — but it was as if this featherweight contender stumbled into the wrong ring.

Used to be that when one heard “Rhône,” one thought, “red.” That’s because 90 percent of the wine that comes from France’s Rhône River valley — and all the really famous stuff, like Côte Rotie — is indeed red. Châteauneuf du Pape, although it can come “blanc,” is hardly ever seen in stores or on wine lists as such, and most people would be hard-pressed to name one grape variety that’s used to make a white Rhône.
 
The other reason whites from the Rhône are so underappreciated is because, for a long time, they deserved it. A red winemaker’s afterthought, they suffered from all kinds of horrible-sounding blunders including volatile acidity, oxidation, or just plain old funky flavors.
 
All of that has changed. Partly thanks to new winemaking technology like stainless steel tanks, winemakers in the South of France are making crisper, more balanced, delicious, and fragrant white wines. More importantly perhaps, American drinkers are increasingly fanatical about grapes native to the Rhône such as syrah, mourvedre, and viognier (“anything,” as the so-called Rhône Rangers put it, “but chardonnay”), and more people are looking to the original whites of the Rhône — Condrieu, Châteauneuf du Pape blanc, Côtes du Rhône blanc — to escape the ennui induced by having to order one, more, glass, of, pinot grigio, please … zzzzz.
 
The Ladies Tasting Society popped the cork on a pile of white Rhônes, with divided results:
 
Some ladies were delighted with how different the wines tasted from the whites we’re used to: these tasters noted floral aromas, flavors of apricots and tropical fruit, minerals, and a pleasant waxy feeling on the palate, especially with the wines that were made with marsanne in the blend. But a couple of us were expecting an even more dramatic departure. We ended up being disappointed, mainly, with the high level of oak treatment some of the wines had clearly received. One of us complained that overall, the wines lacked “typicity,” that is, the characteristic flavors lent by the grapes they were made from or the regions they came from. “This could be a California chardonnay,” said one lady of the Guigal Condrieu 2005 ($52), “it’s jacked up on so much oak, I can’t tell what’s lying underneath.”
 
Interestingly, we all agreed that the more inexpensive, “every day” examples were the most delicious. Perhaps this is because for $7.99 — the price of our much-loved Perrin Côtes du Rhône Réserve 2007 — the winemaker can’t afford to be throwing brand new oak barrels at it. Also, these less pricey blancs are intended to be drunk young and fresh, and sure enough we tended to unite behind bottles from the 2007 vintage (which is also happens to be a very highly rated one by the critics).
 
In the end, we didn’t see any reason to discontinue this growing interest in the whites of the Rhône, despite our minority crankiness. So be brave and go with a Côtes du Rhône blanc the next time you’re in the store — especially if it’s cheap. It’s not often I have the pleasure of giving that advice.
 
Best of Tasting
Le Vieux Donjon, Châteauneuf du Pape Blanc 2006 ($42) ***
Sweet jasmine and honeysuckle aromatics, followed by a rich, though balanced, palate full of apricot, melon, and citrus flavors. Some mineral notes. “The most restrained,” said one lady appreciatively; “complexity without flabbiness,” said another. A blend of grenache blanc, clairette, and roussanne.
 
Best Value
Domaine de la Bécassone Côtes du Rhône Blanc 2008 ($13.99) **1/2
This domaine (owned by the quality Châteauneuf du Pape producer André Brunel) makes only white wine, which is very unusual for the region. The focus pays off: loads of pear and apricot flavors are draped over a mouthwatering, racy frame. “Young, almost effervescent!” said one lady. One of us knocked it for a short finish, but what the hey. Roussane, grenache blanc, and clairette.
 
Perrin, Côtes du Rhône Blanc Réserve 2007 ($9)
“Crazy fruity!” enthused one lady. Indeed, this yummy quaffer was very memorable for its vivid, fresh flavors of peach, melon, flint, and lemon. Some of us detected a little wax on the mouthfeel, so characteristic of marsanne. Altogether, we pronounced it delicious, typical, and (when we discovered the price) buyable by the case. 50 percent grenache blanc, 20 percent viognier, the rest marsanne and roussanne.
 
Château Grande Cassagne, Costières de Nîmes Blanc 2007 ($12) **1/2
Okay, Nîmes isn’t technically in the Rhône. But it’s close. And we were so seduced by this golden-colored, lavender-scented nectar, we were happy it was on the table. Because of its richness, some of us thought it was a viognier from Condrieu, but no, the soft mouthfeel and notes of vanilla are worn well by this roussanne-marsanne blend.
 
Domaine Belle, Crozes-Hermitage “Les Terres Blanches” 2006 ($30) ** 
This light-to-medium bodied, fresh white pleased everyone more for what it was not (overly oaked, too rich) than what it was (a delicately apricot and melon flavored, pleasant wine). Again, some nice minerality and a tiny bit of vanilla spice. Marsanne and roussanne.
 
F&D Brunier Châteauneuf du Pape Blanc “Telegramme” 2007 ($40) **
The second wine of the famous Vieux Télégraphe, this straw-colored wine turned out to have big, vibrant middle palate full of apricot and melon flavors. Lots of vanilla and oak on the nose and finish, though; perhaps a little time will calm that down. 40 percent roussanne, 30 grenache blanc, 20 bourboulenc, and 10 percent picpoul.
 
Paul Jaboulet Aîné, Crozes-Hermitage Blanc “Mule Blanche” 2005 ($20) *1/2
Crozes-Hermitage comes from the northern end of the Rhône, and is like the little sister to the big, rare, expensive Hermitage blanc. Emphasis on “little” with this example from Jaboulet Aîné: “reserved nose, apples, lemony, crisper, with a juicy mouthfeel,” read my notes, but not enough to sink our teeth into. I should note that I opened a bottle of this same wine in preparation for the tasting, and it was oxidized.
 
Guigal, Condrieu 2005 ($52) *1/2
It pains me to write this tasting note. Guigal is one of my favorite producers in the Rhône; we’ve visited the brothers Guigal’s château; and the most exquisite bottle of wine I’ve ever tasted was the 1990 Guigal Côte Rotie La Landonne. But this Condrieu was so oaky, creamy, and jammed with vanilla and nutmeg flavors I felt like I was drinking a shake. I got none of the peach and apricot flavors I expect from viognier, and none of the structure I associate with French wines. Viscous finish.

Despite the attacks waged by Wine Dictator magazine on poor Dry Creek Valley, after visiting 10 standout Dry Creek producers a couple weeks ago during their Passport party weekend, I remain thoroughly charmed. Although the chief California editor believes Dry Creek lacks a signature varietal, I think it’s clearly zinfandel–in fact, two zins and a cab blend made from grapes from the Rockpile AVA at the northern end of the valley were favorites of the day, so I’d even go further and say that Dry Creek has a signature grape and at least one premier cru-ish terroir. Finally, the Wine Dictator insists the valley lacks a flagship winery, too, but after tasting our way through up-and-coming Mazzocco’s delicious line-up, I’d say that even if it’s true, it won’t be for long. Or was it just the belly dancers? I’m not sure.
 
For our faves of the weekend, click here:
 
Seghesio Family Vineyards’ “Rockpile” Zinfandel 2007 ($36)
A serious zinfandel! Smokey nose, raspberry-black cherry palate, definite tannins, and a long, long finish. Soft white pepper notes, structured for a zin. **1/2
 
Mauritson Wines’ “Rockpile Ridge” Zinfandel 2007 ($35)
A huuuuge zin, more on the hedonistic side than the Seghesio. Ripe, black cherry and blackberry flavors, strong notes of chocolate and vanilla. This wine tasted so good with sliders a la Charlie Palmer, we came back Sunday for more. **1/2
 
Mauritson Wines’ “Buck’s Pasture” Red Wine 2007 ($50)
We tasted this cab, cab franc, petit verdot, and malbec blend (all fruit from the Rockpile Ridge vineyard) from barrel, and were extremely impressed with the young wine. Powerful and graceful at once, with big blackberry, cassis, and other classic Bordeaux flavors like tobacco and earth. Oak very present now but should relax. **1/2
 
Other faves of the day:
 
All of Mazzoco’s 2006 single-vineyard zinfandels:
 
Lytton ($29) A real step up from the Sonoma County cuvee, this was the most accessible zin Mazzocco was pouring. Nice nose, with loads of fruit and pepper. Beautifully integrated dark-fruit flavors. **
Stone ($29) The darkest, sweetest of the bunch. **
Warm Springs ($32) The most serious zin we tasted here, very structured, with definite tannins, delicious fruit, chocolate notes, and a long finish. **
 
Ridge “Lytton Springs” Zinfandel 2006 ($35)
A darker fruit profile, notable balance, a classy zin with dusty tannins. From 115 year old vines. (My friend Jen and I are standing in front of them in the photo above.)
 
Sbragia Family Vineyards’ Home Ranch Chardonnay 2007 ($26) 
A full-throttle California-style chard, with plenty of vanilla notes and some creaminess on the texture. But balanced, with lots of tropical fruit flavors and good structure. Delicious with the seafood bisque the winery was serving up. **
 
Mazzocco Chardonnay Stuhlmuller Reserve 2006 ($36, but on sale at Passport 50% off per case)
I had to laugh at myself: after a full two days of the big red wines of Dry Creek, I went home with a case of chardonnay. I just couldn’t resist the beautiful tropical fruit flavors and spicy complexity (nutmeg, clove) of this chard–not to mention the sale price. I like how only half this wine saw new oak, and only 40 percent underwent a second fermentation. It’s like you got the best of both chardonnay worlds, the big creamy California style versus the crisp fruity Chablis style.
**1/2

“Weird.” That’s what I thought when I first tasted Glen Carlou’s 2005 Grand Classique, a Bordeaux-style red blend from South Africa. It displayed such strong notes of game, doused campfire, and rusty iron, it made me think of an old farm. So I had a glass, vacuum-stopped the bottle, then revisted the next day — and a much less rustic wine had emerged. Still a purple-black wine and totally opaque, but with a decent nose of black cherry, brambles, and only pleasant little reminders of what was, yesterday, an overwhelming smokiness and minerality. Pure, vivid flavors of black cherry liqueur, a mouth-coating velvety feel, and a decent finish all added up to a delicious red wine to be had for $15. Just be sure to decant.

I’m still scratching my head over the 2005 Orin Swift “Papillon” we ordered at Elway’s Steak House in Denver — and almost rejected because the bottle is so repulsive! It would have been the first time I’d sent a wine back because the label made my stomach turn.

Good thing we tamped down our revulsion, because out of this beastly bottle out came a beautiful purple liquid, glittering with ruby highlights. A decent nose with fruit and cedar was followed by an absolutely delicious drink, bursting with blueberry, licorice, and blackberry flavors, with nice vanilla and some sweet oak in the background. The Papillon is definitely a big, ripe, Napa cabernet blend, but it’s not over the top. I was struck, actually, at how sleek and balanced it tasted, considering all that fruit and glycerin. It was silky, vivid, and even a tad juicy in the mouth, not jammy. We went home and promptly ordered a case.

But why the filthy fingers with dirt-encrusted nails and prison tattoos? Clearly the winemaker at Orin Swift, a young guy named Dave Phinney, has some interest in the theme of incarceration, since his Zinfandel blend is called “The Prisoner.” The Internet is divided on whether “Papillon” is a reference to the Steve McQueen movie; but everyone agrees that the Greg Norman photo would be more appealing on a gallery wall. All I can say is that Phinney must have a lot of confidence in this wine (which retails at about $55) to top it off with this image — and he’s 100 percent justified.

A bottle of 2001 Cornas from August Clape got me wondering recently about a thing called bottle variation. You see, the Cornas was a show stopper. My notes read: “Mouth-watering aromas of green olives and black fruit. A huge syrah, rich, maybe a little monolithic, but with loads of ripe plum and distinct olive and grilled meat characteristics. The clear favorite at the table, where we enjoyed it with homemade pasta and red sauce with sausage.”

Problem is, I’ve had a bunch of this wine (I originally bought a case) and I don’t remember loving it. To find out why, perhaps, click here for .

First I theorized I drank the other bottles too early. Cornas, a 100 percent syrah made in the northern Rhone in France, is a very traditionally-made, sometimes hard and tannic wine that famously requires lots of bottle aging.

But then I looked at my fellow tasters’ notes on cellartracker.com and was amazed to see how deeply disappointed half were, versus how passionately enamored the other half read. Same wine, same vintage! “Red, flat, and boring,” said one. (How uninspired do you have to be, to say only “red” when summing up a red wine? Plus, in Cornas, red is the only wine they make!) On the other side, tasters confessed they’d unequivocably fallen in love.

Now I’m thinking that my 2001 Clape Cornas is the victim of bottle variation, which happens when some samples from the same wine simply turn out better than others. Bottle variation isn’t something that lots of people run into, especially casual drinkers, because most wine is made in large quantities and at pretty modern facilities that have a lot of control over their overall quantity. But some wines, especially artisanal ones like my Cornas — August Clape makes only about two thousand cases annually from a mere 10 acres — can show marked differences between individual bottles. Some of the production might have been fermented in older, funkier wooden vats; some grapes might have been picked riper than others; some vats might have gone into bottle later than others, etc. And although Clape blends the final wine after fermenting and aging each vineyard lot separately, the individuality of some of the original batches might still shine through.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to my next Clape Cornas, just to see if I’m depressed or elated by it. I’ll let you know.

Although it’s the most widely-planted red wine grape in Italy and serves as the main ingredient in Chianti, sangiovese is a really misunderstood piece of fruit. Part of it is the fault of Chianti, actually, since many people think it’s a varietal made of the chianti grapes. Actually, there’s no such thing: Chianti is not a grape but a region in Tuscany, and like many European wines, Chianti takes its name from the place it comes from. And although Chianti does consist mostly of sangiovese, a vast majority of Chiantis are blends, with all sorts of other varieties allowed, some of them (like canaiolo) fairly obscure.

For my tasting group’s complete evaluations, including a winning wine with a Kelly Moore bouquet, click here:

Add to this that sangiovese is notoriously difficult to grow, nearly impossible to cultivate outside Tuscany, and totally tricky to pronounce (try “san-gee-oh-VAY-zee”), and you have a serious underdog situation. Even the Italians seem to be having trouble throwing their complete support behind their traditional, flagship grape. First you had the rise of the Super Tuscan, where winemakers in Tuscany began widely blending French grapes like cabernet and merlot into their wines. Then last summer we saw “Brunellogate,” where winemakers in Montalcino were accused of sneaking illicit varieties into Brunello di Montalcino, which is supposed to be 100 percent sangiovese.

The Ladies Tasting Society decided to narrow our focus straight on to pure sangiovese, and to compare a handful of Italian selections to a couple of Californian versions. Finding the wines wasn’t easy: most sangioveses coming out of Italy are (like Chianti) blends, though there are a few delicious exceptions, including the aforementioned Brunello; Brunello’s little brother, Rosso di Montalcino; Rosso di Montepulciano; and the rare but worth-it Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. In California, the problem lies in both quantity and quality. Not much sangiovese is planted in Napa and Sonoma — in fact, many of the old Italian houses (the most tragic example being Charles Krug/Peter Mondavi Family) are pulling up acres of ancient sangiovese vines and replacing them with cab and merlot. The few brave souls who are still trying to cultivate and make wine out of sangiovese in California find themselves struggling with a climate that that’s too perfect, soil too rich, and rain too predictable for this crabby, contrary fruit.

But we managed to find seven bottles and overall, it was an interesting blind tasting, in the best sense of the word. Although we weren’t always charmed by them, the classic characteristics of sangiovese shined through: violet-scented aromas, medium-bodied weight, fresh acidity, softly bitter cherry flavors, and tell-tale notes of leather, herbs, and even tomatoes.

After the labels were revealed, we found our favorites tended to be from Italy, confirming the rumors that this grape is hard to have success with in the New World — until we pulled the brown bag off a wine we were thinking of as the “sangiovesiest” of all, which we were sure was from Tuscany because of its classic profile, only to discover it was actually the Frey Vineyards’ “Masut Vineyard” from Mendocino County (also our Best Value at $16). “House paint, celery salt, and V-8 juice,” my notes start out. “Tomato juice. Great mouthfeel, light, fresh, and with a long finish. ‘I taste flowers,’ says one Lady. ‘Spaghetti sauce and oregano,’ says another. Later, raisin flavors emerged.” Hard to believe that a wine that smelled like Kelly-Moore would top on my list, but the Frey was so interesting, and so sangiovese-esque, I couldn’t resist falling for it.

The clear group favorite, though, was a Brunello di Montalcino from Sesta di Sopra ($45), a tiny winery on the south below Montalcino that produces only about 350 cases a year. The wine is made very traditionally with pure sangiovese and no new oak in the ageing process. “Very complex nose,” read my notes. “Lots of fruits, smoke, and earth. Then, mmmmm. Dried cherry, cedary flavors, good fruit, supple mouthfeel with a little tomato.” Other Ladies commented on the wine’s depth and appealing licorice notes.

In the end, we agreed that more sangiovese, especially in the form of Brunello, was worth drinking in the future. And we definitely felt the love for this cranky underdog.

Sangiovese: Italian meets Californian

Best of Tasting
Sesta di Sopra Brunello di Montalicino 2003 (Italy) $45 ****
This wine won over the group with its supple mouthfeel, depth of flavors, and complexity. Even though it’s not made with small, new-oak barrels, it had plenty of smoky, cedary characteristics. Great red and cherry flavors, licorice, and earth. Long finish.

Best Value
Frey Vineyards Sangiovese “Masut Vineyard” Mendocino County 2006 (California) $16 ***
House paint, V-8 juice, and celery salt were some of the comments that flew out of our mouths as we smelled this wine. Herbal and tomato noes announced that we were in the land of sangiovese. A couple of tasters were put off by “wierd” tastes, others loved its typicity.

Sesti Rosso di Montalcino 2006 (Italy) $27 ***
Ruby-red and rusty colored, this wine just shouted “sangiovese.” Cherry and blood orange on the nose, some pepper and plum. Tart, perrpery, brambly, dusty, loads of dried cherry and white pepper, with a long finish. One Lady said, “I smell puppy’s breath,” which we decided was better described as “meaty.”

Petroni “Rosso di Sonoma” Sonoma County 2006 (California) $24 ***
Cigar box, smoky tobacco, pepper, and dark fruit aromas introduce this agreeable wine. Although I felt it was well-made and I liked its ripe, black cherry flavors, it wasn’t my favorite because it didn’t taste like sangiovese — indeed, some cabernet and syrah help flesh things out here.

Podere Brizio Brunello di Montalcino 2000 (Italy) $49 **1/2
Ruby-colored, this fragrant wine smells like a field of violets. More fruit on the nose than the Sesti, but not as complex on the palate. Softer mouthfeel, but some ladies detected chemical and “synthetic” flavors.

Capezzana “Conti Contini” Sangiovese Toscana (Italy) $12 **
This wine has some body, and some interest on the nose, with a bit of barnyard and dark fruits. But overall it’s a disappointment: acidic, tannic, and with a clipped finish that made us think it was ill-made.

Altamura Sangiovese Napa Valley 2005 (California) $36 **
A darling of the wine press (Robert Parker gave it a 91, Wine Spectator a 92), this wine disappointed us. It had a nice, bright color, but then a sweet nose and sweet flavors on the palate were just too much — some Ladies were even reminded of Port. “Sweet and simple,” I wrote. Some cinnamon and clove on the finish. But this did just not taste like a sangiovese.

Why, oh, why didn’t I buy two bottles? I took a 2003 Sesti Brunello di Montalcino for a test run (in preparation for our all-sangiovese tasting tonight at the Ladies Tasting Society), loved every drop, and then didn’t have enough time to zip back to Berkeley to get another. If I had one to bring tonight to the LTS, I think my bottle would have come out on top — or maybe not, since the 2003 Sesti is not a bruiser of a Brunello, and more delicate vintages tend to get muscled out of blind tastings by the big guys.

Too bad, because the Sesti is a beautiful example of a Brunello. For my complete reaction, click here for .

Brunello, which is made painstakingly in relatively small quantities (hence the high prices) from a sangiovese clone called brunello, the best of it grown on the hillsides around a small hilltop village in southern Tuscany named Montalcino. After I poured my first sample, my glass was filled with a wondrous bouquet of violets, dried cherries, and new leather. It was so distinct, and the flower aromas so prominent, I said to myself, “I know I’ll be able to pick this baby out of a line-up!” (That is, if I had any left.) I noticed that the wine was not darkly colored, so what a surprise when I tasted it: the Sesti is an undeniably light-bodied red, with a fresh mouthfeel, but the flavors are so vivid and intense it tastes like a wine with twice the weight and concentration. Red and black cherries, lots of leather notes, savory herbs, plus wild berry compote on the edges. This is one of the most complex wines, with one of the longest, cleanest finishes, I’ve tasted in a long time. Worth every penny of the $58 I paid for it.

One last note on the Sesti and its place in “Brunellogate“: recently the guys (I’m sure it’s guys) who are in charge of enforcing Italy’s wine laws impounded hundreds of thousands of bottles of the 2003 vintage of Brunello di Montalcino, claiming that the wineries had blended in illicit grapes like cabernet and merlot. (By appellation rules, Brunello must be 100 percent sangiovese.) The wine police went after big names including Frescobaldi, Antinori, and Argiano. But not Castello di Argiano, which is the name of Giuseppi Sesti’s estate. (The name appears on the bottle just to confuse us.) No, no, no adulteration for Giuseppi. He farms his grapes using strict biodynamic principles and aims to use 100 percent sangiovese like a clear lens through which his vineyard can express its beauty and individuality. He is, in short, a purist.

Here’s a Greek wine that makes me want to hold my glass out for more, rather than throw it in the fire: Manousakis Nostos 2003, a red blend from a mountainside vineyard on Crete, rocked a recent dinner we enjoyed at the San Francisco Hellenic institution Kokkari Estiatorio.

For the story behind our encounter with this wine, including a discouraging footnote about its markup, click here:

We were initially intrigued by the Nostos because as the sommelier described the wine, I recognized it immediately as a Côtes du Rhône knock-off. Now, I confess it took me a while in my career as a wine lover to be able to detect, never mind to pronounce the grapes native to the Rhone river valley in France. But it’s going to take me a lot longer to do the same with the homegrown Greek varietals. For example, have you tried to order a nice Agiorghitiko to go with your moussaka lately? If you have, you’re a braver woman than I. (Just for kicks, wrap your tongue around “eye-your-YEE-tee-koh.”) So when I heard the wine steward say the Nostos was made from the holy Rhone trinity of syrah, grenache, and mourvedre, my mind grasped the remotely familiar and I cried out, “We’ll take it!”

We were very happy with our choice. The Nostos displayed the fruity and peppery characteristics of a classic Côtes du Rhône, but with a drum-tight structure and a depth that belied, perhaps, its origins on a sun-baked cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. It felt clean and fresh on the palate, and had a long, satisfying finish. Overall, I was amazed at how well-made the wine came off, especially since Greek wines have a reputation for being rustic. But the Nostos had some complexity (ripe bing cherry flavors, plum, and was that black olive, or did it come from the dressing on my perfectly-roasted whole sea bass?) and a lot of class.

The only problem is, I was annoyed to find out later that whereas I paid $60 for the Nostos at Kokkari, it should retail for about $20. I felt stung. Why the excessive markup? Shouldn’t Kokkari promote the Greek wines on its list by marking them up at less than the usual 100 percent over retail? In a world populated by people like me who are afraid of Greek wines, wouldn’t this help us work through our issues?

The answer is yes, of course. But then I realized too that I had fallen victim to a very common scheme at restaurants, which is to price the more familiar wines on the list well above the typical markup, knowing that the nervous boobs who come in will go right for the comfort zone — and shell out whatever is necessary for it. And that was exactly my story! Because it was similar to my beloved wines from the south of France, I went for the Nostos, and like Odysseus among the Lotus-eaters I was fat and happy, until I realized the price (literally) I was paying.

Next time at Kokkari, my fellow diners will have to tie me to the mast and force me to stay on my oenological course: to memorize and practice pronouncing the names of Greek grape varieties, and to order an unfamiliar, even more truly Greek wine — not to mention save my drachmas.