I appreciate wine of all kinds, from the humble table wines of Tuscany to the extravagant Chateaux of Bordeaux; from New Zealand’s racy sauvignon blanc to delicate pinot noir from the Russian River Valley; from a juicy grenache from the hills of Spain to Dom Perignon and absolutely everything in between. And yes, sometimes I am willing to pay more for a more unique or prestigious bottle. But these extravagant occasions are rare, and I deserve a luxury every now and then the same as any hobbyist. Mostly I enjoy the experience of an exceptional bottle of wine, regardless of its price or origins. Do I generally enjoy a fifteen dollar wine more than a four dollar one? Yes. Because it tastes better. Given the choice between USDA choice ground beef or a prime bone-in filet mignon, I would likewise choose the latter, even if it means spending more. It tastes better. I also prefer Cold Stone to Dairy Queen, freshly ground Columbian coffee to stale generic, Sashimi grade tuna to a can of Chicken of the Sea, as well as my dad’s homemade lasagna to Chef Boyardee. It’s not because it costs more. It just tastes better.

I resent hearing degrading comments from those who are unappreciative of wine as an art form. I hear them all the time. I am no more a snob than the gentleman who spends 60k on a luxury vehicle or the young lady that carries a four-hundred dollar purse. That man gets to work every day safely, the same as I do. But his car is more comfortable than mine and has hands-free bluetooth capabilities. And as far as I’m concerned, the woman’s designer purse holds her wallet and makeup just as well as a cheap vinyl bag from Target. But she likes the way it looks, its prestige gives her confidence and the color compliments her shoes. So I don’t judge them; I don’t call her a purse snob. They are entitled to spend their hard earned money on something they value and appreciate. Why am I not entitled to the same?

Recently Decanter Magazine published an article about California syrah’s identity crisis.  While not altogether cutting-edge, I found the article poignant and topical.  It’s hard to find consistency in style in syrah from the Golden State.  Some are rich, opulent and flashy; some are elegant and nuanced.  It’s even more difficult to find consistency in quality.  Sure, there are stars: Alban, Stolpman, Qupe, Herman’s Story, Beckmen and, of course, the cult classic Sine Qua Non.  But many, if not most, are one dimensional and disappointing, especially considering the average bottle price is much higher than that of cab, merlot or even pinot.

I think it will be a very long time before CA syrah develops its own identity.  People can’t help but compare it to Rhône.  Look how long it’s taken American Pinot to step out of Burgundy’s shadow.  And that’s a freaking shame, because some vintners in Cali make wines that are true expressions of both the varietal and the terrior.  But with syrah, it’s rare.  But it is amazing.

Stop sending me paraphernalia with the cases of wine I order.  I am not spending my time hanging your shit on shelves or putting stuff on the necks of bottles.  Do your own merchandising.

No, I do not sell the wine you had on your cruise in Mexico/the Bahamas/the Mediterranean.  No, I can’t find it and order it for you.  Try one of the 6,000 that are distributed in the Midwest.

Also, if a wine you drank is the best memory you have of your $1500 vacation, you should probably just stay home next time.

Do not send the cheapest, least knowledgeable person you know to shop for wine for your dinner or party.  If you do, I will assume you don’t give a shit what you’re drinking and send your friend off with shitty pinot grigio and cheap pinot noir.

If you want good wine, come shopping yourself.

Here are some of the highlights:

California Wine Tasting

If you haven’t called on me in eight months, you are very bad at your job.  Do not be surprised when I don’t invite you to participate in an event I organized a month ago with reps who actually call on me regularly.  You clearly aren’t worth my time.  I don’t want to taste your wines, I don’t want to sell them, I don’t want to make you money.  Get out of my store.

Blizzaster!

It finally stopped about ten the next morning, and somewhere along the line we accumulated around eighteen inches of snow.    There were drifts in my yard about four feet high.  My mailbox was almost completely buried.

Blizzard

Then, to top it off, the temperature dropped and we had a windchill of -5 degrees.  Roads were closed for hours.  Schools all over Chicagoland were closed for two days.  Even the store I work at shut down for a full day.  It was total insanity.

On the plus side, I didn’t have to leave my property for two and half wonderful, peaceful days.  I turned into a cooking and baking machine. There was potato soup and beef stew.  Ghirardelli hot chocolate.  Pasta Bolognese.  And cookies- chocolate chip and assorted kolackies which I shared with our awesome neighbors who helped us dig out.

Blizzard Wine

And, of course, there was wine.  The first evening I enjoyed a nice but unremarkable pinot.  During the afternoon of the second day, after the shoveling and hot chocolate, I drank a lovely moscato d’Asti, which gets a bad rap in my line of work, but can be quite a nice little treat.  But it was a fabulous little Spanish number that has truly stayed with me and will, for the rest of my life, be my 2011 Blizzard Wine.

Barbazul, by the tiny bodega Huerta de Albala, hails from Andalucia, the region in southwestern Spain known best for sherry.  It is a blend of cabernet, syrah, merlot and a varietal indigenous to the area called tintilla de rota.  It was light to medium bodied, with ripe but balanced berry flavors, notes of baking spices and a hint of sweet vanilla.  I found it deliciously spicy and zesty, especially considering its modest $13 price tag.  It was incredibly juicy and tasty, a very nice accompaniment to the pasta; but most importantly, just right for a shut-in in February.

Get off the phone.  If you are even considering taking a call or texting while in the store, don’t bother seeking me out.  I will ignore you.  Seriously, I’m not going to waste my time with you if you can’t focus for three minutes.  I will actually go out of my way to avoid you if I see a cell phone in your possession, because that means I will get a wag of the finger and there’s a good chance you’ll only pay attention to half the things I say.  Plus, your conversation is annoying.  I really don’t care about your life, and neither do any of the other customers that are forced to listen to you.  Please.  You’re not that important.