Marglin on Taste

“If music be the food of love, play on;/ Give me excess of it”
[Shakespeare, Twelfth Night]

Musical “taste” and actual sensory taste are two quite different beasts. Taste and smell are, literally and figuratively, acquired tastes. Think about it: when you are young, you have not tasted much, you do not want to taste very much, and learning to taste can be quite unpleasant. I, for one, never really got the hang of eating cheese (although I am lactose indifferent, not intolerant). Musical taste, however, is something we seem to lose over time: we like what we know, and we leave it to the younger folks to listen to new music. When I reach for music, it’s usually something I am familiar with, not something new, and I consider myself to be in the music business (at least, peripherally).

We literally acquire taste: and good tastes usually don’t come cheap. Expensive restaurant, fresh ingredients, fine wine, all need to be acquired. And if interested, we find ways to expose ourselves to new taste sensations. We literally learn new tastes.

Younger folks, they want to discover new music. They live to discover what is new, and to be on the edge. And one place where it’s easy to discover a whole lot of new music at once is at one of the several mega-music festivals like Lollapalooza, Austin City Limits, Bonnaroo, and Coachella, all of which offer fans the opportunity to hear literally dozens of (new) bands over the course of several days. Here’s an analogy: music festivals are to single-venue concerts as buffets are to sit-down dinners. At a festival, you get “excess of it” (if you want it), and that allows you to learn and experience the thrill of bands and artists on the rise. Cutting edge music is a young person’s birthright in the US. And, when you go to one of the big festivals, you either feel young again, or very, very old.

All those new, up-and-coming bands don’t really draw the ticket-buyers, so festivals have learned how to mix the ingredients of old and new. And the bands that draw, they know what they are worth, and they don’t really “need” the festival (though I think they often genuinely love the exposure), so, they cost real guaranteed money to play. In a way, the less-known bands (who get paid less) get to ride on the coat tails of their more established peers. But in some ways, of course, it’s the other way around: the more famous acts drawing some modicum of cache from all the hips bands, and the fans who are there for them.

The most costly music festival for the promoters (but certainly NOT for the ticket-buying patrons) in the US these days may well be Chicago’s Lollapalooza. Note the possessive. Chicago’s. While Lollapalooza, the brain-love-heart child of Perry Farrell (Jane’s Addiction, Satellite Party), was once a touring concert, with a handful of acts on the bill, it is now more-or-less permanently ensconced in Chicago’s Grant Park. Grant Park is Chicago’s “front lawn”, right on the lake front, with Windy City’s diverse and impressive skyline pressing up against it.

I say “more-or-less permanently” to describe Lollapalooza’s “Chicago-ness” only because a large part of the appeal of rock music lies in the perpetual impression it seeks to cultivate of impermanence. While lasting can be a positive for rock and independent bands, in general, the younger crowd wants it meat fresh. And while “Lolla” bridges and harbors many kinds of music (and musical tastes), it is, and will likely continue to be, first and foremost about rock, especially the independent, buck-the-system kind. Nabokov would’ve been proud.

Lately it seems there is a major music festival happening somewhere in the States almost every weekend during the summer (and I am talking here only about contemporary music festivals like rock, punk, folk and “indie”, as opposed to classical music, or even, at this point, jazz, which while vibrant as an art form, now has a whiff of the historical about it).

Some fans may be getting “festivaled out.” But Lollapalooza, despite having relinquished its itinerant past, continues to be about what’s hip and happening now in music. It’s the epitome of the au courant, as those chic French might say. Even Bonnaroo, founded as the leading festival for so-called “jam” bands, with anchor tenants like Widespread Panic, Phil Lesh and the Dead, and Trey Anastasio in whatever water-out-of-Phish incarnation he finds himself flowing through, has become fringier and far less jam-band oriented. It has been “forced” to update its line-up by becoming more progressive and less “classic”.

Indeed, most music festivals have recognized that their current and future success (and these are franchises that are being built, make no mistake) is and must be built on the hard foundation of the “kids”, which means featuring music that is most of the now…

And “now” ain’t cheap. And it ain’t easy to program (kids being fickle, and their tastes changing as fast and as furiously as they are wont to). And then, of course, it’s one thing to do a festival on a farm or desert in the middle of nowhere (or in your own backyard): Chicago, being a big union city, can be, ahem, somewhat spendy. Pleasing the kids ain’t easy.

While Bonnaroo may have the highest attendance (reportedly topping off at about 85,000 or so in 2006) of any music festival in the US, it can’t cost nearly as much as Lolla does to put on. And Bonnaroo, you’ve got the camping, which winds up being profitable, with that captive audience there day and night, needing beer and pizza and whatever else the kids consume. Lolla has curfews, it has hotels, it has convenience stores up the street. It lost big money in its inaugural Chicago try last year. But this year, well: Lolla did well.

Let’s begin at the end. As host Perry Farrell (the founder of the whole Lollapalooza concept) said in his introduction, the closing act on the main (ATT&T) stage, Red Hot Chili Peppers, are America’s biggest rock band right now. And they were on the bill many years ago at the second Lollapalooza, back in 1992. The first Lolla, somewhat ironically, but fittingly, had been conceived of as a farewell tour for Jane’s Addiction; Perry would probably confirm he thought that that band of his was getting rather old, a smidge long in the tooth, even then. So them Peppers were solid ‘06 headliners, regardless of whether you like their music or not. They bring the cache. Look for other bands from that year’s line-up to headline Lolla in the coming years….

The Chili Peppers set was smattered with covers, including snippets of Neil Young’s The Needle and the Damage Done and London Calling by The Clash. They looked like major rock stars, Flea with his tattoos, Anthony Kiedis with his needy, needly voice, and they have taken enough time off that you don’t realize they’re halfway through their third decade. And a highlight for me was hearing John Frusciante, one of the best living rock guitarists, play a spot-on cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her. He may be the most important member of the band (not that Dave Navarro wasn’t great during JF’s six-year hiatus, but Frusciante adds a certain frisson). And I don’t want to say I was disappointed, because I didn’t really have any expectations. But, I highly doubt they will be headlining too many festivals for the CSE/Cap guys again, based on the uniformity of luke-warm reaction they received. The Chili Peppers, to my ears, were totally eclipsed (& out-hotted) by two decidedly smaller acts immediately preceding.

On the Q101 stage immediately across from where the Chili Peppers did their triumphal closing (and to be fair, the Peppers’ve come a long way since 1983, baby), Canada’s own super-group, Broken Social Scene, absolutely shredded during their 45-minute set (short, but they were literally right before RHCP). It’s hard to describe the Social Scene’s sound (although I would liken it to a darker and more complex Polyphonic Spree, without, of course, the “Spree”…). BSS has a deeply loyal Canadian following, and anyone who was lucky enough to catch those 45 minutes was likely to have been blown away by their sound (and by them””they are some catchy folks, with like 20 people on the stage at one point making their music). And while it was over all-too-quickly, it felt like the sound of the present effortlessly blended with both the past and the future. And Jeffrey Remedios, co-owner of Ontario’s Arts and Crafts Records, which houses BSS, Feist, Stars, Jason Collett and the Apostle of Hustle, has definitely got to be a leading contender to inherit the 21st-century David Geffen mantle. The crowd seemed almost ready to riot (in a Canadian kind of way) when the BSS were denied a brief, 5-minute encore. Harsh.

Definitely read this compelling article about Broken Social Scene and the new Canadian sound from the Sunday Times Magazine by a former “student” of mine at Brown, Alissa Quart (I was her TA in a literature course). http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/26/magazine/26toronto.html

Across Grant Park, on the other end, far, far away (almost a mile) from the field where BSS and Chili Peppers closed the festival, were local heroes Wilco, on from 6.30-7.30. On the day of lead singer Jeff Tweedy’s 11th wedding anniversary, it was a full-on family affair: a celebration of Chicago’s modern sound. The Chili Peppers have California (and the hit, Dani California), and Broken Social Scene’s got Canada covered. But Wilco is all about the country that might be called the Great Midwest””of which, of course, Chicago is the capital, and Lake Michigan provides the “Coast”. Wilco is Chicago, and the Chicago faithful greeted them as their very own headliners: hail conquering heroes.

Sunday had a whole lot of good music. I enjoyed Chicago’s up-and-coming The Redwalls with my first cup of coffee, and both Ben Kweller and Nickel Creek did arresting sets (at opposite ends of the venue, meaning I only got to hear a few minutes of each). These are both fresh young bands, just making it, and about to make it even bigger. On a small side-stage (the AMD, and I don’t even know what company that is), the eclectic Benevento-Russo Duo, who’ve been around for a while, soared with their jazz-ish, improvised sound; they are together and individually gaining quite a bit of notoriety based on their numerous “side projects” (with members of Phish, and Ween, and Umphrey’s McGee, etc.). To the extent that in some ways, one could argue that the Duo itself has become their “side project”. I also got to hear a few moments of alt-alt legends Poi Dog Pondering (whose lead singer, Frank Orral, has been moonlighting, leading Thievery Corporation’s band on its current tour). And Perry Farrell’s latest Satellite Party song, Celebration (does everyone have a song with that name these days?). I am not sure if I caught any cover’s of Gnarls Barkley’s summer blockbuster Crazy, but I know I heard at least 3 different versions of it over the course of the weekend, not including Gnarls Barkley’s own version, with its band and dancers in full tennis whites.

Bands I would have like to have seen but didn’t: deadboy & the Elephantmen, who opened the festival at quarter to noon on Friday. The Subways, who killed at SXSW. The afore-mentioned Stars, of Quebec. And the up-and-coming Editors (who played opposite them). Umphrey’s McGee, Secret Machines and Jack White’s new side gig, the Raconteurs. Sleater-Kinney, on what may be their last tour ever, as they go on indefinite hiatus this month. Odies the Violent Femmes (opposite them). And, of course, the post post-modern Ween. One thing about Ween: you can never tell how much of their music is parody, and how much is just appreciation. But, they always seem fucking sincere to me.

Saturday I got to the Park too late for Feist, and barely caught hard rock fury that is Wolf Mother (for which I missed the newly re-vamped Partcile and Lyrics Born). I was awed by the loyalty of the Dresden Dolls fans (from my hometown of Boston””the duo reminds me of Morphine on steroids, but without, as yet, the finesse); we got a treat when Amanda’s shirt came off, and we got to see her breasts, which are real, and like Sidra’s on Seinfeld, quite spectacular). She took it in stride and simply quipped, “wardrobe malfunction.” And the ubiquitous Flaming Lips did their colorful show (sans strip-tease, but then, you can’t fake that). But the highlight of the night for me was watching Manu Chao blow Kanye West all the way back to Soldier Field. Kanye’s sound sucked ass, and it was pretty clear he knew it. And I know, Kanye is another hometown hero, and he probably brought in a lot of “day traffic” to the event to see his show (including some of the club kids fresh off their Chicago Scene party on boats on Lake Michigan’s Playpen). http://www.nytimes.com/2006/08/13/fashion/13BOAT.html. But my man Manu Chao is an international star who’s not played the US in several years, and his hip world music and utterly danceable, hip-shake-able tunes were an absolute revelation.

Manu Chao v. Kanye West in many ways embodies the glory of the current Lollapalooza. You have your hometown hip-hop hero doing his thing down at one end of the Park, and almost a mile away, a far-less familiar world star who, for most Midwesterners would be, well, a discovery. While the discovery may have been missed by many in Chicago that nice Saturday night, it’s one they just might make eventually, just because he was on the bill. That’s what a great music festival is all about: discovering music. Having the luxury and time to hear a tune or two by bands you’d probably never go near, otherwise.

So if you make it to one of these summer extravaganzas (Austin City Limits Fest, put on by the same CSE/CAP team, is coming up on September 15-17th in Austin, Texas), my advice would be this””make time for the bands you’ve never even heard of. You never know which of those unknowns may wind up being the next Wilco, or the Red Hot Chili Peppers. And if you love music, discovering the new shit is, quite often, its own reward.

You don’t have to be a kid to acquire taste in new music. Indeed, at least 80% of your “success” in discovering new things you like is “just showing up”, to quote Woody Allen.

http://www.aclfestival.com/default.aspx

1. Get A Grip On It

This may seem obvious, but if you don’t grip the club properly, you can’t swing it properly. Most people who play golf will NEVER properly grip the club. And, while there are many grips you might employ, there is pretty much only one grip that is right for you. And like so many things about golf, gripping it right can be counter-intuitive.

To get a good grip, if you are right-handed, you need to start with your left hand. You left hand must be on top of the grip. Let me repeat that: your left HAND must be on TOP of the grip. Put your hand out flat, palm down. Note the back of your hand. Put your left hand on the club. On top of the club. It may or may not feel right. The intuitive thing is to put the left thumb on top of the grip. But, you can only do that if your left hand is on top of the grip.

Your left hand is the key. The golf swing requires your left hand, namely the back of your left hand, to work in synch with the face of the golf club. When the golf club, moving at about 100 mph, makes contact with the golf ball, the back of your left hand is going to be transmitting all the power in your body through the grip to the club face.

It sounds simple. It is simple. But if you don’t get your left hand on top of the grip, you will forever be playing with one hand “tied behind your back.” To play golf well, you need to get the proper grip, and that is all about the left hand.

As for the right hand: once you have a good grip with your left, fit your right hand over it. You can interlock (I used to, but I switched recently””this is the grip used by Tiger and Jack); you can overlap (that’s what I use, it makes it easier to hit the ball right to left), or you can put all ten fingers on the club (I do this for explosion shots from the sand). But in any event, your right palm should wrap comfortably around and over your left thumb. The two hands will fit together, like two rhombbi. The diagonal lines should be parallel, and pleasing to the eye. The hands should feel comfortable.

2. Play From the Ground Up

This is advice from Jack Nicklaus, and his golf teacher, Jack Grout. The essential nature of footwork cannot be emphasized enough. Playing from the ground up means standing up to the ball well (recognizing that, in the main, the ground upon which you will stand is not level, as is it on a driving range). The key to good footwork, and to using your body’s strength, is to be able to use your right leg (if you are a rightie, which all these tips will now just assume). You use your right leg to provide resistance on the back swing. You must be able to turn back without “reverse-pivoting”. The reverse-pivot is the kiss of death for any golfer. It means when you turn back, you don’t resist properly with the right leg, and your weight therefore shifts first back and then, alas, forward to your left leg. Good footwork, playing from the ground up, means taking a comfortable stance, with the proper amount of resistance in your right knew and thigh, that when you make your backswing, your right side will “catch” your weight. This allows for a proper “weight shift.” The weight is shifting from balanced, usually 50-50 at address, to something like 90% of your weight on your right side at the top of your backswing.

Some teachers have invited me to test my proper weight shift by picking up my left foot. Obviously, if you are standing on one foot, your weight is all on your right foot. Duh. But that won’t really help you to feel a proper weight shift. I find that you can help achieve a proper weight shift by turning your hips a bit to the left. This will allow you to feel some tension in your inner right thigh at address, which is where a lot of the resistance is going to come from when you turn back.

Now bend your knees. Nick Faldo says that at address, you should feel like you are sitting on a bar-stool. I guess that says plenty about Nick Faldo, but anyway, you need to get your knees bent so that you can resist properly on the back swing.

Waiting for the other shoe…

And, it might not surprise you, your left side will provide some resistance on the down swing. When you swing into the ball, your hips are going to lead (more on that later) and you will be turning them left. Not left as in at the target, but your left hip will turn left, as in 90 degrees to the target line. Your inner left thigh should feel a bit of tension at address. This will be useful when, in swinging down at the ball, your left foot provides resistance against swaying. Swaying involves your left hip moving “left” down the target line: as opposed to left, 90 degrees from the target line. Swaying is bad. Resistance, both on the back swing (your right knee and inner right thigh) and on the downswing (essentially your whole left leg, from your foot up to your hip), is key. It is NOT futile.

3. Let The Club Head Do The Work

You are not likely a golf expert. If you were, you wouldn’t really need to read any of this. You see these things called golf clubs, but you don’t think too much about the science of their construction. That’s ok. Golf can be way too complicated. But you do need to think about the club head. The club head is “weighted”. It is heavier than the shaft. It is weighted for a reason. The “heavy” club head opens and closes, and that opening-and-closing action is what makes the ball go far. And on target.

Your intuition tells you that you need to manipulate the clubhead. You want to do the work to open and close the club head. To turn it. You want to drive. You want to be in control. That’s all ok, but it won’t help you, and under pressure, it will hurt you.

A good golfer, ALL good golfers, learn to let the club head do the work. It is designed to be weighted in just the right way to open and close properly. You just have to create the proper setting in which that action can occur. So, if you have taken a proper grip, with your left hand on top, your right hand comfortably over your left, then you should be in a position, upon swinging back, low and wide, for the club head to open properly. The weight of the club head induces it to open. It will open without manipulation. It will open more if you try to turn it. But it will open the right amount if you just swing it back without gripping it too tightly, but with a proper grip. Once it has opened properly, again low and wide being the keys, it will close properly without you having to “turn it back”.

Why? Because it is weighted. The “heavy” club head is designed to close. It opens when you take it back just the right amount, and it closes, back to square, when you swing back down through the ball. The preposition is key. THROUGH the ball. Not to the ball. Even at the ball is misleading. You will be swinging the club head through the ball, and if you are swinging well, and your swing is holding up under pressure, it means you are letting the club head do the work.

4. Back To The Target

Ok, so you have a proper grip, left hand on top. You are standing up to the ball nicely, your hips turned a little left so there is resistance in your legs,and your knees are bent (what will you be having to drink?). You are of a mind to let the club head do the work.

Now you need to make your back swing. As far as the club head is concerned, low and wide are your key thoughts. But what about your body? Your body is, as far as I am concerned, all about your shoulders on the back swing. Your shoulders need to make a big turn. Every swing. A big turn means your left shoulder will literally be pointing behind the ball (right of the ball). Your left should will make this big turn, while your right leg will resist, preventing a reverse-pivot, and catching your weight on your right side. A big shoulder turn will culminate in the feeling that your back is to the target.

If you are limber enough, your back should be to the target. At address, I actually have my shoulders pointing a bit left of the target””because you will recall I advocate you turning your left hip slightly left, to get the proper resistance in your lower body. So a full shoulder turn is slightly more than 90 degrees. You can settle for 90 degrees, but a full, back-to-the-target turn comes from just slightly left of the target line (by a few degrees) to just behind the ball (by a degree or more, whatever you can handle without reverse-pivoting). Take as big a shoulder turn as you can, without letting your weight shift back to the left. Your weight catches to the right and at the top, your back is to the target. You are COILED. Now, you are ready for the down swing….

5. Lead With The Hips

You have a good grip, a good stance, you are committed to letting the club head do the work, and you have taken a low wide back swing that has culminated with your back facing the target (the hole, the spot in the fairway, wherever it may be). Now what?

I believe you need to lead with your hips. That means your left hip will turn back to the left. You are “uncoiling.” Left does NOT mean towards the target. Left means to the left from the direction your left hip was pointing at address. Let me repeat this. On a clock, if the target is at 12, and the ball at 3, your left hip points at address somewhere between 11 and 12. When you uncoil, your left hip is moving back along the clock.

It is not “swaying” down the target line. It is turning left, so that at impact, it is pointing somewhere between 10 and 9, and at completion of your swing, following your “follow through”, your left hip is pointing at 9. You will now be facing the target. So I say lead with the hips, though I mean lead with the left hip. Your first move down is uncoiling your hips, and your left hip turns left. To apply power, you can feel as though you are firing your right hip. Watch Tiger, or any golfer: watch his hips. Watch how from the top of the back swing, he clears his hips. He moves them left, through 10 at impact to 9 at completion. You don’t need to focus on firing your right hip. But, the faster you turn your hips, not swaying down the line but turning them “in the barrel” (to use a common image), the fast your will swing. Arm strength helps. Letting the club head do the work with a proper grip is key. And you need that resistance with your legs, as you play from the ground up. But a good hip turn is what supplies the power.

If you have one swing thought for the down swing (and it is easy to have many, which is too many), you would do well to make it “lead with the hips.”

“Today’s tom sawyer,
He gets high on you,
And the energy you trade,
He gets right on to the friction of the day.”

Tom Sawyer, Rush

The friction of the day (and dinner hour) plays out between classic French cooking and the new ways of approaching the loose collection of cuisines we tend to call “Italian”. For a long while, I thought French food would be where the action was here in SF. Living here by the Bay, my Russian Hill neighborhood is composed of a lower and upper arrondissement: it’s seen a veritable potpourri of French bistros popping up. France has, in my life, always set the bar for the very finest in wines; so, unsurprisingly, the cuisine of France was always the pinnacle to which top chefs aspired. Heck, the very words “cuisine” and “chef” are French. I speak some French, having lived in Paris, and I [cut my teeth on Burgundy wines]. I even went out on the limb and predicted that San Francisco food, perhaps to counter popular Freedom Fry sentiment, was “going French.”

When Les Bleues made their improbable way back to the FIFA World Cup Final, I thought sans doute that we were finding ourselves in the midst of a new French culinary Revolution. Especially since the Final was France v. Italy, and all through the tournament, no team seemed to me more despicable or less deserving of success than the Italians, known for their sky-blue shirts in most athletic competitions (hence their nickname: the Azzurri). During said Final, there came the head-butt (the butt heard round the world). And what do you know, but it was almost Shakespearian how, in an instant, my allegiance to the French evaporated (how very French of me, you say), and suddenly, it seemed that even though “poor” Materazzi kind of flopped on the butt itself, now Italian azure was more worthy of victory than tired, nostalgic, and superstitious French blue. See, food at its most interesting reflects the mood of the times, our zeitgeists. So, French Laundry may well be the greatest restaurant in California, and Auberge du Soleil may have the best appetizers, and 2005 Bordeaux may be the finest reds of the past 50 years: but, with the flick of a forehead, my stomach suddenly yearns for tastes of Italy.

Italian food in San Francisco flat out rocks. Much of it is fairly basic. And despite all those Jean-come-lately bistros, there are loads of pasta houses and Pomodoros ready to serve you a hearty Italian meal. I live literally above North Beach, so I know them.

More interesting, however, is what I will call neo-Italian, but others have dubbed Ital-ifornian. Whatever you call it, it involves taking classic dishes from regions in Italy, using traditional spices and recipes, and then jazzing them up by using fresh Left Coast ingredients. In terms of interesting dining, several SF Italian eateries deserve your dinero. Here are a handful that are practicing the craft and style of neo-Italian/Itali-fornian to nigh on perfection. I say “nigh on” because one of the differences between France and Italy qua cuisine is that the French truly believe in perfection as attainable, while Italians would rather relegate perfection to religion, and settle for well-executed…

On Polk St., which between Broadway and Union is a bastion of French and French influenced cuisines, there are two enticing Italian places worth paying attention to, both owned by the same dude (chef/owner Ruggero Gadaldi, who also owns the Last Supper Club here in SF as well). The first is Antica Trattoria, on the corner of Union, which is Gadaldi’s modern take on Etruscan cuisine. What, you may wonder, is Etruscan cuisine?

Here’s what an Italian winery, Castello Banfi, has to say about it on its Web-site:

Their recipes showed they cooked fish stuffed with rosemary. They also roasted pork with rosemary or cooked pork liver with bay leaves. Honey was used to sweeten food and salt to preserve it. Meats were prepared on spits and grills; saucepans were used for boiling, and, of course, ovens for baking. Paintings found in a tomb near Orvieto depict a busy Etruscan kitchen. Beef, venison, hare, even a brace of ducks hang from hooks in the open air. One cook holds a frying pan over an oven’s flames, another readies a saucepan, while vessels brimming with sauces and gravies stand nearby. [Link]

Basically, Etruscan means “of Ancient Rome, before the Roman Empire”. The Etruscans were close to their gods, so the stories went, and sex and food were always intermingled. They were a passionate people, so it seems. Anyway, Gadaldi interprets truly classic Etruscan styles, and has given them a modern update. His ragus of boar, his rabbits, his meats in general are all stellar, and nothing is priced higher than $20. His use of capers and vinegars is exquisite, and I don’t know if there’s a better carpaccio in the city than this. I have never had a bad meal at Antica Trattoria, and that’s not for lack of attempts.

The service is friendly, and earthy, and if I were Italian, I might even tell you it feels like home. There is no bar, and hence only wines and beer are available, but the list is thoughtful, and you can cross Union to Tonic if you need a cocktail before dinner.

Less than two blocks away is Pesce, which is Gadaldi’s take on Venetian cuisine. It features cicchetti, which are essentially tapas: smaller plates of food. “little tastes.” But Pesce does serve main courses. And some of the best penne arrabiatta in town (a dish I confess an almost un-natural fondness for…). And I would be remiss if I did not mention the Dungenness crab linguini, which, when in season, I cannot get enough of. Pesce features a full bar, with good specialty drinks, and a host most excellent (he is also its manager), in Reza Esmaili. I give the smoked fish a try, and the oyster shooters (I normally like my oysters simply chilled on the half-shell, with lemon, but theirs is a particularly well loaded shooter). Pesce’s wine list is by no means as extensive as Antica’s, but on Wednesday nights, if you buy a bottle at Wm. Cross Wine Merchants next door, Reza will usually waive any corkage charge. So you got that.

Over in the Marina, the way to go for neo-Italian is A16. It’s a route in Italy’s southern Campania region (which I know very little about, but am keen to ride on). A16 has the finest selection of Italian wines in San Francisco, and some of the most knowledgeable wine people in the city: led by the ineffable co-owner Shelley Lindgren, who has put together an incredible wine list of 60% Italian and 40% American wines. She also has an awesome team of sommeliers in Skye La Torre and Andrew Mosblech: any of these three can not only help you find the right wine to pair with your order, but they would be a tremendous sommelier in any setting. A16 boasts world-class service. Now the food can be a bit hit-and-miss sometimes, though that may be somewhat attributable to their new executive chef, Nate Appleman, who is all of 26, still “feeling his oats”. What can’t miss are their pizzas: Nate and his predecessor, Chris Hille, were trained by the Verace Pizza Napoletana Association, making them some of the very few certified pizzaiolos in the US. Nate’s got game, and he knows his meats, having trained in his “youth” as a butcher. They smoke some salumis right on the premises. In general, however, I lean towards pizzas and pastas, and then allow my companions to ride rough-shod over the menu, ordering as they will. In the past, lamb has alas let me and my tablemates down.

Nevertheless, I love the vibe at A16: it feels like Italy, more than any other place in SF. It may be in the Marina, but it is closer to Naples (a city to which I have yet been””but hey, it seems like Naples would feel). And then I sit at the bar, or back in the dining room with the open kitchen, and I revel in the theater of dining. Food is not just about taste: it’s about the taste of the people with whom one is dining. Dining alone, truly alone, with no one else around, never fully satisfies me. Dining by myself at a place like A16, I never feel alone””it’s always bustling, the staff is always there to make you feel, if not “at home”, then at least welcome (my home rarely has so many beautiful people in it). It’s fresh, in a way that makes it San Franciscan, but it draws on the classics of Campania (which I will confirm when I get there, how close it may be to Napolitan dining…).

All the way across town, in southern Noe Valley, a part of town that barely counts as being in San Francisco, sits the new La Ciccia, which means “belly” in Sardinian. Sardinia is an island off the Western Coast of Italy, very rugged. They have their own language, and their own cuisine. Of course, they have pastas and pizzas, and they use a lot of coarse salt. Indeed, coarse would be a good word to describe the cooking at La Ciccia, and not just because Sardinia lies but a few kilometers south of Corsica. Another word would be salty. La Ciccia’s wine list is an absolute gem, which makes sense since its chef/owner Massimiliano Conti has spent the better part of the past two decades in the wine business as a sommelier and importer. Service is decent, though they have a lot of tables to cover, and the place seems fairly packed (we were there after 9 on a Wednesday, and every table was occupied). We had a delicious cabbage salad with marinated Vidalia onions: one of my favorite salads I’ve had recently. And a good, if chewy and not so crisp pizza a la Sarda (which adds pecorino and capers to your basic Margherita). And do try the signature tagliolini with artichokes and bottarga””fish roe.

La Ciccia’s got a lot of Sardinia in it, it seems (I’ve only been to Corsica, but now I am inspired to visit Sardinia). La Ciccia strikes me as an excellent date place, out of the way, romantic, the walls all azure. And Mas’s lovely wife, Lorella Degan, also goes to great lengths to make her guests feel comfortable. It made me want to romance someone. In general, Ital-ifornian cuisine excites me. Where French bistro food nowadays seems more about comfort, and a longing for a past I never really had, Neo-Italian makes me hungry for the future: for what’s next…

“I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they’d stand behind me
When the game got rough”

Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues, Bob Dylan

I first became a “wine guy” when I learned how to tell good Burgundy from bad. Note that’s “Burgundy” with a capital B. At some point, in good ol’ English slang, the word “burgundy” became a [metonym] for wine. This may have been due to all those jug wines being labeled “burgundy”””both red and white jug wines, even though there was nary a trace of pinot noir nor chardonnay therein. Bob Dylan’s “burgundy” (or is that Tom Thumb’s burgundy?) which leads like a gateway drug to the “harder stuff”, is not the fine wine from the Burgundy region of France. Not so much.

Ironically, for a while at the outset of my “wining” experience, Burgundy, the Capital “B” wine from the hallowed eastern French region, literally was wine for me. True Burgundy is grown and produced only in that particular region, and there is no blending of varietals allowed: the reds are all pinot noir, the whites are all chardonnay. Many would say that both varietals reach their apex in this particular region, where soft power and great style meet and hang in harmony. The region itself is seen within the wine world as the sine qua non of the very concept of terroir.

Exemplars of pinot noir and chardonnay hail from Burgundy (and, some might add, for these varietals, only there). For a variety of arcane reasons, I was blessed to be drinking some of the Best Burgundies, with two capital Bs, really, at a time when a mere twenty dollar bill would be enough to buy you a very good bottle of red or white Burgundy. Now, you have to spend at least $30, and even then, that just enters you into Burgundy lottery: there lurks an awful lot of inconsistency in the wines produced in the land of Burgundy.

I owe the Burgundians. I first realized I had a decent palate and the ability to appreciate fine wine in Beaune, which is the beating and bleeding heart of Burgundy. There in Beaune sits the “Musée du Vin de Bourgogne,” which, I recall, was mildly interesting as a museum concerning wine, but eminently fascinating as a place to drink wine: they offered around 100 barrels of fabulous Burgundies from recent vintages, into which one could dip at will one’s tastevin (the small metal cup specifically used for tasting wines). As an 18-year old, let me tell you, that’s quite an adventure to be on, being in a place where one is able to taste, and retaste a hundred different quality wines. Yeah, I learned right then and there how to spit it out. And then, my friend Noah and his dad and I played the “which wine is this” game. And, being able to tell in a few guesses which wine was which…it felt like, man, I’m on to something with this tasting thing. Distinguishing: that’s what good wine writers and true tasters do.

Distinguish. To separate. To tell the difference. Great tasters not only have the ability to sense and recognize differences””they’re willing to take time to tell you the difference.

Today’s Times and last Friday’s Journal both coincidentally covered in their regular wine columns Burgundy (reds and whites respectively) of recent vintages. They drew the line at $70, but to their credit, both had a number of finds under fifty. Their takes were similar: lots of values, if you’re willing to spend the money. Power cloaked in velvety elegance. They said all the right words. Their similar passions “on their lips” and putting their “money” where their mouths are testament to the wonders we Burgundy lovers feel. Burgundy inspires passion. It seduces, says, as the Times tossed off””come hither.

Burgundy purists. From purist, it’s not a big leap to “elitist”. “Elite”, etymologically, is derived from the French verb “choose”. I have spent a wine lifetime trying to overcome the inherent elitism that comes with making choices, including a devoutness for purity. Pinot noir. Chardonnay. Ca suffit, as the French say. Dayenu, sayeth the Jew. We choose, we report our choices. Choice is what taste is all about.

Someone told me recently I need to own my elitism. In general, my preferences are on record for value wines: finding wines that have not been discovered, or have been discovered but for various reasons are nonetheless “undervalued” on the open market. In 1985, when I was dipping my new tastevin into those Burgundian barrels, red and white Burgundies could still be found at value prices. Seeking reaped some big rewards. Noah and his dad picked off some great cases at less than ten bucks a bottle back in the eighties. Now, that won’t even get you a wine with the regional “Bourgogne“ on it.

So, yes, my desire to tell the difference has led me to seek quality in many regions, and value above all. Fine wines that may be a stretch for many, but are eminently affordable. Burgundy by and large is not “real affordable”. And the ones that are””you risk being seduced by label and provenance into swill. Swill you will not denounce as such.

I seek quality, and over time, quality costs money. When people level the elitist charge, what they mean in the wine world is: you drink expensive stuff. Yes, over time, great wines will tend to become (more) expensive, because wine drinkers like me will pay bigger and bigger bucks for great quality wines. In seeking values, I am saving money, and discovering and learning. I am putting my tongue on the sharp, bleeding edge.

Still, I love my Burgundy wine. Despite the fine recommendations of wines from $35 to $50 of Asimov’s Pour panel and Gaither/Parker’s Tastings, it’s darned hard to find a lot of these winners. It’s just a lot harder to find values in Burgundy wines, because you are drinking the name. The problem is not the writing on the label, of course, but real estate.

Location, location, location. Burgundy locations are known: there’s no room for any new vineyards. Unlike other burgeoning wine regions, there will not be many new Burgundy sites any time soon. The good negociants are known, the deals are long-term, and the producers who get access to specific grapes from specific regions: all known, known, known. Values are found in “unknowns”. And less-knowns. We know too much about Burgundy for there to be too many values left to discover, even if the leading wine writers in the US would suggest otherwise.

Which means that, for the most part, I am not dropping dollars to feed my Burgundy fix. I let others buy the Burgundies, and I just enjoy them as they come. My money goes for a wide range of wines, nothing more than a $100, and even that seems like a lot for a drink, and a high ceiling as well (I feel much the same way about concert tickets…). Good wine comes from Burgundy are worth more simply owing to its point of origin. In short: Burgundy is, by and large, over-valued.

If, on occasion, the prevalence and popularity of chardonnay mystifies you, or if you want to comprehend why pinot noir appreciation is on the rise here in the US, look no further than the finesse and grace of Burgundy. (Sure, see Sideways””it’s a fine film about strong women and whiny men, and it helped pinot). Burgundy, for its varietals, remains, ultimately, the Archimedean point of reference. And Chardonnay is still by far the number one varietal consumed in this country.

One other factor that can dampen one’s enthusiasm for buying a lot of Burgundies is, moreso than any other wine, the succulent liquor doesn’t always travel well. So, you pay $100 or $200 for a bottle in a restaurant, and there may not be anything “wrong” with it, but it may not be great. It doesn’t “snap”. Because somewhere along the way, the journey has sapped your bottle of its magic.

If I could figure out some way of predicting which producers’ bottles traveled well, I could perhaps deliver some real value in terms of suggestions. But to date, it seems to me all red producers, and even some whites, have hit-and-miss qualities, pretty much across the board. And I chalk the misses up to the way the wine travels, and its reaction to the journey, more than faults in its production. I know for sure that most Burgundies taste better in and around Burgundy. But many things might account for that, aside from proximity and care. Still and all, Burgundies are quirky bottles.

Despite numerous misses, I still love my Burgundy. It takes me back.

Often, people ask me what my favorite wine is. What do they want to know? If they want to know my favorite varietal, well, it’s changed. Probably still pinot noir for red and chardonnay for whites. But, I know those two so well, having cut my wine teeth on them, so I’ve been off discovering the magic of shiraz loads of other white varietals like roussanne and chenin blanc and even Rieslings and gewurz. Sometimes, though, when people insist on my telling them “what’s the best wine I ever drank?” I know what I am going to tell them. Sometimes, I think what they are looking for is prospective: “what wine would you choose if you could choose just one, and you could pick anything in the world and have that bottle and only that bottle.” I think I am lucky in that my answer to those questions is the same.

I tell them: Le Montrachet. It is the pinnacle of chardonnay, and each sip of Le Montrachet has been precious to me. Memorable because it made to be so, and its soft power and elegant finesse has yet to disappoint me. Memorable because each sip rewards, with food or without. It is the Queen of wines, and I’ve always been the kind of guys who wants to court the Queen. I want to know what makes the best the best. What tells good from bad, better from good, and the best from all else.

As Lin Yutang asked: What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?

Well, my patriotism has a lot to do with the wines I imbibed when I was but a boy. I was born a Burgundy lover. I will go out of my way to drink fine Burgundy. Non-Burgundian pinots and chards may not always blow me away softly like great Burgundy does, but I love the true flavors of those varietals. Especially with edgy, spicier food, which I am also partial toward.

Being a connoisseur of fine wines, makes one’s life rough, I know…. But have some sympathy: one has created the expectation that one is always up on what’s new, knows what is hip, what people “should” be discovering and drinking. Well, we’re trying. But sometimes, it’s nice to come home.

I love having so many good folks standing behind me, when the tasting game gets rough. I am going to keep trying to find new and exciting wines, and values, for me and for you. But please, don’t hesitate to bring your big Burgundies when you come visit me….

A fine Burgundy to wash down the food I am eating. Or to sip on my deck at sunset. White or red, it makes no difference. Or it does, depending on what it is. But that good one will still hit the spot.

I want the tastes of my past, the things I have know were great. I think we all do. Taste can bring great pleasure, and drinking wines with excitement as much in the glass as in the history of how it got there””that’s why one devotes one’s life to helping others find pleasures.

After hundreds of years of making the best wines from the same perfect soil, with the same varietal and classy tradition, you expect them to be darded good, and plenty memorable. So I invite you, seeks values with me. But be willing to go back to what you know best, on occasion. Sometimes, the harder stuff can be made easy. And that, my friends, ain’t a bluff….

When “ordering in” tasteful food, the most important ingredient to a successful experience is determining how far that food has to travel to get from its place of preparation TO ITS PLACE OF CONSUMPTION. And, of course, how it gets there. The effect of the journey upon the taste of the food should be your primary consideration before ordering.

Need one mention that the closer the place of preparation is, the better the food is likely to taste..? And delivery is generally somewhat inefficient; usually the food is not going directly from the kitchen to a vehicle straight to your designated eating place.

Which is why certain ethnic foods: Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, even Italian (and including pizza) deliver better than most other foods. But better still if you can pick the stuff up yourself (and time your arrival to the restaurant to be just before or at the moment the food emerges, properly packed). Good packaging is key as well.

Care in packaging shows respect for what is being packaged. So, here in San Francisco, where I live, Indian food generally “travels” less well than Chinese. Thai and Vietnamese (and variants thereof like Mongolian and Indonesian) would fall somewhere in the middle. But you don’t want to be going too far with your food. Of course, most places are no more than 20 minutes away, which is not as good as 2, but is better than 30.

So, an ideal take-out experience, for me, on a Sunday, is picking up Tommaso’s in North Beach. It’s 5 minutes max from my house. It’s packaged well, and while all pizza suffers from being “boxed in”, this seems to suffer less, being a fluffy crust.

I like their pasta dishes, too, including the sleeper spaghetti with broccoli, olive oil, and garlic. Salads are less desirable. All the pizzas are worth trying, though seafood pizza still freaks me out. Try the spinach. And the Calamari pasta. A must. If your pleasure tends towards veal, they have several options undoubtedly worth the slightly less than $20 (and served up with a side of rigatoni marinara). And the vegetarian antipasto will light up your taste buds to start the meal off on the proper gait.

http://tommasosnorthbeach.com/ourmenu.asp
1042 Kearny (@ Broadway) 415 398-9696

We at ” Uncorked ” love it when readers suggest ideas for columns. Recently, one of you wrote to say that you wanted to drink organic wine, but you could find few, and you asked if I could recommend a couple. Yes, thanks, and here you go.

One reason it’s hard to find organic wines is that so few winemakers mark their wines as such. They farm organically and don’t use unnecessary chemicals in making the wines. But some chemicals are required (e.g., sulfur dioxide) to make wines. The few standard-setting bodies that exist differ in their requirements from region to region and country to country. One organic group in France, funded by manufacturers of organic-farming products, allows growers to use their organic label if they use the products, with no oversight beyond that.

All ” organics ” are not created equal. Because the word means so little, I’ve long resisted looking for ” organic ” wines, though of course I would never discriminate against a wine because it was organically made. It just never struck me as an important aspect of wine, on a par with, say, taste, color, or the story behind it.

But recently I came across a definition of organic so compelling that it made me rethink the whole concept. Millennium, in San Francisco, is a completely vegetarian restaurant. This presents an initial challenge to wine lovers, because so many wines seem best paired with meats and fish. But Millennium more than rises to the occasion, and its wine list notes that ” [m]any people are unaware that organic wine is not a new product that exists only in fringe markets. In fact, organic winemaking is simply a new name for an artisanal farming method; as the great winemaking regions of Europe would not have survived the centuries without the practice of sustainable agriculture. ”

It makes great sense to define ” organic ” as sustainable agriculture, with minimal chemical intrusion. Forgoing chemical fertilizers is a new notion that’s really old. Wineries do not in most cases feel any need to shout or market the fact that they make their wines ” the old-fashioned way ” when it comes to farming and what gets added to their wines in the cellar (in terms of fining agents and other additives); they just do it.

A similar concept is ” biodynamic. ” Think of biodynamics as the ” New Age ” of organic techniques. Based on the work of Austrian Rudolf Steiner in the 1920s, biodynamics propounds a philosophy and practice of ” living agriculture, ” whereby no chemicals are used to farm. Rather, taking into account light and heat, animal and vegetable matter are introduced into the soil, so that natural rhythms allow certain bugs and pests to fight off other bugs and pests. Some of it sounds sort of kooky, such as suggestions of burying a dung-filled cow horn, and burning the pests you find on the vines and spreading their ashes over the vineyards. One must also apply a number of homeopathic sprays and infusions. But let me put it bluntly: some of the best wines in the world are made via biodynamic techniques, including Bize-Leroy and Chapoutier, two of the most respected producers from Burgundy and the Rhône, respectively.

Plenty of US winemakers are going biodynamic/organic, too, including Cooper Mountain, Staglin, Niebaum-Coppola, Shafer, Joseph Phelps, and Robert Sinskey. Mendocino is the leading American organic-wine region, but many in Napa and Sonoma are coming around. All grapes grown by Fetzer, for example, are certified organic.

So, in the end, why do you care if a wine is organic or biodynamic? You care because how the grapes are grown and the philosophy behind how any fine wine is made are a part of its story. Whether it makes much difference to the taste, I can’t truly say (I’ll note again that to the best of my knowledge I’ve never disliked a wine because it was organic or biodynamic). But as frequent readers of this column know, wine is about a lot more than taste. It’s about what goes into it. Here are some Web sites with more information about organic and biodynamic wine, as well as some wines worth tasting.

“¢ www.millenniumrestaurant.com/restaurant/index.html

“¢ www.roxraw.com/html/winelist.html

“¢ www.organicwine.com

“¢ www.fetzer.com/about/stor_envi.html

“¢ www.coopermountainwine.com/biodynamic_wine.htm

2000 Fetzer Eagle Peak Merlot California. With 81 percent merlot, cut with carignane, syrah, and other varietals, this is a revelation at about $8 a pop. Fetzer makes more than 100,000 cases of this wine from sourced grapes, so no, not all the grapes in this wine are necessarily organically farmed; but since Fetzer is so organically conscious in general, I think it’s worth noting that this is my favorite merlot under $10 right now. Dark cherries, blackberries, some vanilla; it’s just bursting with flavor, making me want to grill some grass-fed beef and chill with it.

1999 Shafer Merlot Napa Valley. Top-notch, my favorite of the 1999 Napa merlots: stunning blackberry, dark smoky cherry. A beast! Best with grilled meats or creamy wild-mushroom pasta.

1999 Robert Sinskey Pinot Noir Los Carneros Vineyards Napa Valley. Strawberry, cheesecake, some wet, mossy bank; not big, but charming, persuasive, calm. Soothing wine to enhance a tuna slab, grilled salmon, or even (more!) mushroom pasta.

2000 Chardonnay Château la Canorgue Vin de Pays de Vaucluse France. Light, fruity, classy, chard; less oak, but none of the flint or mineral of Chablis. Juicy green apples; user-friendly wine for roast or fried chicken, a tamale, or grilled turbot or swordfish with papaya relish.

Gewürztraminers make for lively and unusual wines. Stunning, unique, sensual, and spicy, the varietal has its origins in the Alto Adige region of Northeastern Italy. Located near Austria, the region surrounds the village of Tramin that gives the grape its name. Alto Adige whites tend to be lively and zesty, with a distinctly racy cast; in Italy, gewürztraminers are called either Traminer Aromatico (gewürz means spicy or aromatic in German) or just Traminer. In Austria, they can also be called Roter Traminer or Gelber Traminer (red and yellow, respectively). But, though Italy still makes some fine exemplars, gewürztraminer’s best expressions now hail from Alsace.

Just as pinot noirs and chardonnays are associated first and foremost with Burgundy, gewürztraminers are the pride and joy of Alsace, which lies in the French Rhine valley, along the German border. Like the premier Burgundian varietals, gewürztraminers are now made around the world. Like pinot noir, they take quite an effort to get right. Both gewürztraminers and pinot noirs have extremely distinctive tastes, with nuances and subtleties, and both allow winemakers ample room for expression.

Gewürztraminers start with flowery notes on the nose “” some detect rose petals, but I smell honeysuckle. They’re fruity, but not necessarily sweet. In Alsatian vintages, minerals and litchi nuts predominate both up front and on the finish, with tropical fruit, minerals, grapefruit, musk, and other fragrant flowers in the middle. Gewürztraminers made in other parts of the world echo some of these qualities, while never quite capturing all of them, and they tend to be drier, without the Alsatian sweetness or pronounced tropical fruitiness. But no matter, because to my palate, all gewürztraminers “” usually pure and unblended “” taste pretty darned interesting.

These are excellent wines for both bland and spicy foods, as incongruous as that may seem. Their fruitiness cuts through Thai, Indian, and other Asian and Eastern spices; because they like to be chilled, they’ll refresh and cool your mouth. But turkey, a rather bland meat, is also well set off by the combination of fruit and dryness, and gewürztraminers have long been a Thanksgiving favorite of mine.

So these wines present contradictions and complexities, they pair well with a wide range of food, they’re unique, unusual, seductive, and at their best silky-smooth. Then why aren’t more folks drinking them?

The name may be one impediment. The fact that few Alsatian wines are expensive or marketed very well may be another. It’s possible that many wine people just haven’t caught on yet. But I’m not the only wine writer willing to tout gewürztraminers, and more are bound to follow. I’m predicting a sharp rise in popularity for this quirky grape in the coming years.

For this column, I sampled gewürztraminers from around the world. Not surprisingly, one favorite comes from the Alto Adige in Italy, while another hails from New Zealand, which tends to be competitive in all the varietals it attempts. British Columbia makes some at least one nice ones. Oregon, Washington, and New York have all made eminently drinkable bottles. California has dozens, though they don’t tend to sell very well. While none of the gewürztraminers from outside Alsace matches that region’s best in depth, complexity, or quality, even relatively average attempts still impress, and they accompany many cuisines excellently.

So if you’re feeling a bit spicy, or you’re eating spicy food, give gewürztraminers a go. This eccentric-tasting varietal may be hard to pronounce, but its wines are delightfully delicious and easy to drink.

1999 Lunare Gewürztraminer Cantina Terlano Alto Adige Italy. Blind, you’d guess Alsatian. This is deep, with all the usual taste suspects, including a dash of vanilla to go with the gingerbread, litchi, tropical fruit, and honeysuckle. For spicy mustard or a spicier Mediterranean fish dish. More expensive than many, but well worth it.

2001 Husch Gewürztraminer Anderson Valley (California). Almost too fruity, but so affordable! It’s perfect with well-spiced Indian dishes, like chicken vindaloo or a nice lamb biryani. Green apple, white peaches, and a fresh and efficacious finish. We’ll see more good efforts from Husch and the Anderson Valley.

2001 Finhorn Creek Gewürztraminer Okanagan Valley British Columbia. Go, Canada! A revelation at under $15, this could be my new house white for the summer. Light, fruity, refreshing, almost a hint of lemon zest, but still tropical. Some might consider it a pétillant (lightly sparkling wine), but I say it’s just a mouthful of flavor that will wash down fish nicely.

2001 Spy Valley Gewürztraminer Marlborough New Zealand. There are those rose petals! Litchi, tropical fruit, Turkish delight, it’s frighteningly good, again for spicy Thai fish or Indian dishes.

2000 Bargetto Gewürztraminer Monterey California. Sharp, tight, tingly, not overly fruity, but still has enough peach notes to flatter spicy foods and shellfish. Try it with kung pao delights of three.

2001 Chateau Ste. Michelle Gewurztraminer Washington. Washington loves these white varietals. If anything, they can come out a bit hot “” shallow and quick, with too much fruit. This is a recidivist, but it delivers on the finish. For me it’s good with pizza, fried oysters, or Cajun food.

Just a wee bit south of France’s northernmost wine region, Champagne, and 300 miles east of Paris lies Alsace. Protected on its west by the picturesque Vosges Mountains, which shield its vineyards from rain, Alsace is pure white-wine country.

Oh, some pinot noir is made there, but as my father might say, Alas, it isn’t all that good, I’m afraid (and Dad knows “” he’s been married most of his life to an exceptional Alsatian). Pinot noir is the only red varietal grown in the region. It’s used in the Crémant d’Alsace sparkling wines, which are made with the méthode champenoise technique perfected in nearby Champagne.

No, whites are what Alsace is all about. Gewürztraminer, riesling, pinots gris and blanc, plus some muscat, are the main characters. By law, chardonnay is allowed in the Crémants only; some writers suggest this rule gets violated, but in any event, it’s far from the focus. The emphasis on these few whites probably has as much to do with the region’s soil, limited rainfall, and very northern-ness as it does with its proximity to Germany, even though Alsace has been intermittently owned or at least occupied by Germany for the past few centuries. The Rhine separates the two countries, and its dramatically wide valley not only affects the grapes; visually, it’s just stunning. Like Germany’s quite-white-centric vineyards, Alsace’s are real fairy tales.

Strasbourg is Alsace’s capital, renowned as a most international and cosmopolitan city. In this culinary heaven, as is so often the case in Europe, you’ll find that the region’s cuisine marries perfectly with its wines. Cooks use lots of eggs, butter, and cheese. Escargots are a delicacy, drenched in garlic, parsley, and oil/butter, while a staple is the flammekueche, a cheese-onion tart. And Strasbourg may well be the world’s asparagus capital.

While most Alsatian whites are not sweet per se, there are some sweet ones, late-harvest efforts that give you a giddy rush when you drink them with a tarte Tatin for dessert. Many of the dry wines have residual sugars “” these are fairly fruity varietals. Riesling is apples, green plums, firm peaches; gewürztraminers are litchi nuts, vanilla, minerals, spices, and honeysuckle. I like gewürztraminers for breakfast, or after a long night of partying while greeting the dawn, and they work incredibly well with spicy foods or dishes with sour notes not created by citrus.

Gewürztraminers, for my money, are not made better anywhere in the world than in Alsace (in my next column, using Alsace as a benchmark, we’ll follow gewürztraminers around the world). The rieslings can also be epic, and then there are the exquisite pinot gris and crisp pinot blancs. Most will work exceptionally well with fish, especially spicy sushi (they like the soy sauce). Again, arguments could be made that with the likely exception of riesling (a doffing of the cap in respect to the monumental rieslings produced by its eastern neighbor and erstwhile occupier), the other three varietals reach their apogee in Alsace. Worth observing is the fact that, by and large, Alsatian wines aren’t blended (although some fine noble blends “” blends of a number of the white-wine grapes of Alsace “” are made: try Hugel’s); rather, they are expressions of one and only one grape.

A lot of the wines will age well, and the ’90s were very good to Alsace, producing a spate of good and great vintages. But, being whites, most drink best on their younger side. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Trimbach, and the Domaines Zind Humbrecht, Schlumberger, and Weinbach, four of the most deservedly legendary white-wine producers in the world. Almost anything they make, at a wide variety of price points, is worth trying, especially in a good or great year. The blend of minerals from the soil with the elegant fruits “” and the spicy notes resulting from the pervasive use of indigenous wild yeasts “” make these wines a delight.

So if you want alternatives to chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, and the Rhône varietals, Alsace is a pretty safe bet: great, versatile wines (made by top winemakers who’ve had centuries to hone their craft) that tend to feature an incredible quality/price ratio, all topped off by rich history. If you go there and drink the wines, married so exquisitely with the local food, you’ll understand and appreciate how awesome and unforgettable Alsace can be.

1999 Kritt Gewürztraminer Les Charmes Marc Kreydenweiss Alsace. Stunning! Litchi, apple, apricot, vanilla, minerals. No need for food. Drink up.

Wine is about quality. But, like the film industry, on some level it’s also about marketing. In the early ’80s, a bunch of California winemakers, distraught that Americans were neglecting the Rhône varietals they loved, started collaborating, sharing information as well as vine cuttings, fruit, and winemaking facilities. They called themselves the Rhône Rangers, and they set about trying to bring honor and acclaim to the so-called Rhône varietals: syrah, grenache, mourvèdre, and carignane (the primary reds); and viognier, roussanne, and marsanne (the primary whites). As a fine-wine region, the Rhône Valley had long been overshadowed by Burgundy to the north and Bordeaux to the east. But in the mid ’80s, Robert Parker, who had yet to become the world’s premier wine critic, began touting Rhônes as the next big thing. Parker was right.

Those clever, maverick California winemakers “” including Jim Clendenen of Au Bon Climat, Randall Grahm of Bonny Doon, Adam Tolmach of Ojai, Bill Crawford of McDowell Valley Vineyards, Bob Lindquist of Qupe, and Joseph Phelps and Gary Eberle (and their eponymous wines) “” met informally. Soon, the wine press took notice and gave them that catchy Rhône Ranger moniker “” and, over time, the cachet to cash in on their dream.

Their dream, of course, was for syrah and the other Rhône varietals to stand on equal footing with cabernet and chardonnay. In 1997, the Rhône Rangers became an official group; its current president, Bill Crawford, believes that the dreams of the late ’80s are finally coming to fruition. The Rhône Rangers have more than 130 member wineries, and a second wave of Rangers includes the likes of Craig Jaffurs, Andrew Murray, and John Alban, whose wines are hot right now.

Crawford cites plenty of telling statistics. Looking at syrah as a kind of leading-edge indicator, he notes that 10 years ago, there were 867 acres of syrah grown in California. In 2000, this was up to some 12,700. In 2000, a total of 505,000 cases of syrah were sold in the US (including shiraz, domestic syrahs, and imports). In 2003, Crawford predicts that more than 4.4 million cases of syrah may be produced in this country. That’s astonishing growth “” partly, of course, as a result of improved marketing.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend the annual Rhône Rangers tasting in San Francisco, with 125 wineries and several hundred wines on hand. Rhône varietals take well to blending, which allows the winemaker to influence the wine more than any single varietal. The versatile Rhône blends tend to work well with a vast range of food flavors. While the original Rangers and the second wave are now fairly well established, there are a lot of newcomers who bring a passionate and experimental mindset.

Certainly not all the wines I tasted were great, but across the board, there was much to like. While 1998 was a difficult year in much of California, 1999 and 2000 were both excellent vintages. The red Rhône blends tend to be fruity and assertive, but with great depth of flavor. The whites are often floral, also fruity, with viognier reminding me of apricots, while roussanne and marsanne are more reminiscent of mandarins and almonds (or other nutty flavors) on the finish. Indeed, some herald viogniers as challengers to the dominance of chardonnay. But while they make a nice and refreshing alternative, I don’t see chardonnay being knocked off its perch as the leading varietal “” red or white “” in the US anytime soon.

Still, since Rhône varietals aren’t as well known as the other fine-wine grapes, they’re remarkably affordable. So you’ve got passion, excitement, versatility, and affordability: what’s not to like?

Crawford makes an excellent case in point: his McDowell Valley Vineyards has been around since 1978 (and received its own American Viticultural Area designation in 1982). Currently, it makes about 18,000 cases of Rhône varietals, but over the next few years, Crawford plans to double that number. He says one reason for the success is his old vines, but another is that Rhône varietals are adaptable to many growing conditions. He also thinks that the fruitier Rhône wines appeal to many palates, and they do drink well young, which is important because most restaurants and retailers don’t want wines sitting around.

So whether their success is due to their quality, versatility, or newfound marketing savvy, ultimately it doesn’t matter: these are wines whose time has come. Try some, and you may taste that rugged individualism infusing the Rangers’ blends. Hi-ho, Silver, and away!

1999 Le Cigare Volant Bonny Doon California. One of the first Rhône blends to gain prominence, its name was chosen because of the French law prohibiting flying saucers (flying cigars) from landing in the vineyards. It’s out of this world, celestial and versatile, laced with layers of fruit, plum, red currants, and loam. About equal parts mourvèdre, grenache, and syrah; can run the gamut from tuna sashimi to porterhouse steak.

1999 Novy Syrah Sonoma County. From an up-and-coming winery, this grapey, grippy wine packs a wallop of fruit flavor, mostly blueberries. It’s on the cusp of a bomb, but would be sumptuous with a beef stew or orange-flavored beef.

1999 Jade Mountain Mourvèdre Contra Costa County. Wild and woolly, it’s hippin’ and hoppin’, popping with plum, blackberries, and a mossy redwood finish. Good with pork dumplings or chicken with cashew noodles, but lots of foods will love it.

Sometimes it pays to state the obvious. Cabernet franc, as the name implies, is a particularly French varietal. But you probably don’t drink much of it. How do I know? Well, it’s so remote from the leading red-wine varietals sold in the United States that there aren’t even many meaningful statistics on it. I can tell you that the volume of American wines featuring cabernet franc is extremely low, although this number is increasing (and many Meritage blends have some cab franc in them, though only as a small percentage of the total composition of the wine). Still, cabernet franc, starring as a leading varietal, makes for one of the most interesting red wines.

Along with sauvignon blanc, cabernet franc is now thought to be one of the parent grapes of cabernet sauvignon. It originated in France, the country that remains the most devoted to it, and comes to life in two regions with distinct approaches. First, in the Loire Valley, delightfully light Chinons, Bourgueils, and Saumur-Champignys are made; though they can age 10 to 20 years, they’re usually best in their youth, two to five years from harvest. These full-yet-versatile wines taste of cherries and raspberries, with smoky, gamy flavors. Usually priced under $30 a bottle, these are true value wines. Most good wines stores will carry at least one or two, and while some say they’re an acquired taste, at these prices, they are a taste well worth acquiring.

Second, in Bordeaux, cabernet franc is one of the five main grapes. Most often it comes third in use, well behind cabernet sauvignon and merlot. An exception to this is Cheval Blanc, one of the world’s greatest reds, which is usually at least two-thirds cabernet franc (and one-third merlot). Because of the region’s terroir and how the wine is blended and aged (in new oak), Bordeaux cab franc tends to be somewhat softer, less bright, more woodsy, with tobacco and cedar notes as it matures.

Outside France, only the US focuses much attention on cabernet franc. Here, the grape is just starting to catch on; I predict that eventually it will vie with merlot, syrah, pinot noir, and zin for second place after its progeny, cabernet sauvignon. In Napa, there are more than 100 wineries making cabernet francs, usually in extremely limited quantities. Winemakers love it, as it produces soft wines with depth and focus that are more approachable than cab sauvs or zins. Washington winemakers have taken a fancy to it, too, and some of the best I’ve tried are from the exceptional 1998 and 1999 vintages. Some West Coast wineries I spoke to are extremely bullish about its future.

Unfortunately, cabernet franc gets little mainstream recognition. Wine freaks like me know and love it, but no one is really pushing it; you’ll find only a few on any wine list or in any wine store, and if you blink, you’ll miss them altogether. But there are so many good ones that I can pretty much recommend them all.

Still, although you want to get recommendations (see below, or talk to your retailer or wine professional), you also need a good reason to try cabernet francs. Here are three: 1) it’s one of best varietals no one is drinking, so you can be ahead of the curve; 2) the lack of marketing makes for plenty of good values; and 3) these ” easy-drinking ” and approachable wines are very soft and versatile, which means you can drink them with a lot of different foods, to which they will stand up quite well. The Loire Valley renditions will go well with a number of fish dishes, or even a bit of citrus (in moderation), so they can accompany a dressed salad. The more ” Bordeaux-esque ” renditions go well with red meats, like lamb or steak frites. They all tend to have ample fruit, but none are too sweet, so cab franc ” fruit bombs ” are rare.

These wines, like so many things in life, are better appreciated when you leave your inhibitions behind. Not only will you be blown away by the refreshing newness of cabernet franc, your derring-do will likely impress your friends and romantic interests alike. They’ve worked well for me.

1996 Villa Mt. Eden Cabernet Franc California. Sensuous and voluptuous, this wine’s a fickle mistress, yielding her fruit languidly and sporadically. The core of dark cherries carries through the oak, so this wine would flirt well with spicy beef and broccoli or a nice pad Thai.

1999 Georis Cabernet Franc California. Smoky and soft, soigné, yet easily gulped. Great with cheese by the beach, or with filet mignon by the fire. Mainly Monterey (made in Carmel), it’s fairly forthright and friendly, but still stylish, elegant, and austere.

2000 Bourgueil L’Echellerie Guy Saget Loire. Cheap and churlish, this is the light Loire extraordinaire, with smoke and delicate oak. Try it with franks and beans, chili, or barbequed-chicken pizza; all highlight the tomato and cherry flavors.

2000 Domaine des Hautes Troglodytes Pierre Plouzeau Saumur-Champigny. Soft, ultra-light, it goes with white meat or even a flavorful fish (such as Arctic char or John Dory). Hard to pin down its fruit, but dried cherries and cranberries come close. Delicate finish, so pair with caution.

1999 Walla Walla Vintners Cabernet Franc Walla Walla Valley Washington. Lush and long, wondrous dark fruit, creamy oak. I’d marry this with prime rib and horseradish sauce, or with a teriyaki stir-fry or yakitori.

may not know much about cabernet franc, but chances are you’ll like it

Well, they’re not quite red. Rosés are blush wines, difficult to classify because they’re a bit white and a bit red. They’re made like white wine, but from red grapes, and the juice remains in contact with the skins for 24 to 48 hours, which gives the wine its various pink hues (a very few rosés, particularly sparkling wines, are made by combining red and white wines, but these are the exception). While rosés are wildly popular among fine-wine folk outside the United States, for the most part, Americans tend to disdain and ignore blush vintages.

Every year I plead with readers to try rosés, and every year wine-store owners tell me the same thing: we can’t really sell them. (One, who shall remain nameless, carries but one rosé throughout the winter. He brings in a handful every spring, but even with his passion for rosé, he can’t move them, because Americans who spend a lot of money on wines refuse to spend their dollars on pink wines, except champagne.) The most popular theory behind this American rosé phobia posits that white zinfandel “” the fruity, sweet blush that took America by storm in the 1980s, coupled with pinks like Boone’s Farm, Italy’s Riunite, and Lancers and Mateus from Portugal “” killed the goose that laid the rosé eggs. Originally wildly popular, these wines eventually came to be looked down on as ” non-wines ” by fine-wine drinkers. Now, many wine drinkers have decided that rosés are beneath them, and it’s hard to teach those old dogs new rosé tricks.

So why do I plead rosés’ case so vehemently? For one thing, they please my personal palate “” I like their crispiness, the fruity rush. Their colors entice. Most of all, I love how versatile they are. Wine, for me, is usually appreciated best in the context of food, and in the multi-dimensional sport of pairing the two, rosés make for some pretty nice pieces of the puzzle. They offset spicy foods well, though I would argue that one reason Americans may not enjoy wine as much as they should is that folks who drink wine are partial to exotic and often spicy foods, but they are too often resistant to drinking the wines best suited to such dishes. When many people are dining together and many different dishes are served, a versatile rosé will often work best with everything (some can even stand up to red meat!). In addition to taste, color, and versatility, they offer variety: it’s a treat to drink something different than a heavier cab/merlot/zin/syrah/sangiovese or fulsome chard.

If you think you don’t like rosé, chances are you haven’t tried enough of them “” remember, they’re made from the same grapes as some of your favorite red wines. You can, of course, ” cheat ” by trying a rosé sparkling wine (I’ve recommended a couple below). Or have someone blindfold you and serve you a rosé or two in a flight with whites and reds at similar temperatures “” it may be that the pink color is throwing you off. And while rosés may not be for everyone, I would hate for such great wines to be overlooked simply because of their color. One might liken drinking rosé to affirmative action.

So trust me on this: if you like wine, in time you’re likely to realize that some of the best, most affordable wines to drink with a wide variety of foods are rosés.

2000 Domaine Tempier Bandol Provence. Very versatile, 40 percent mourvèdre, plus grenache and cinsaut. It’s copper in color, with strawberry and herbs, like a pie. Wonderful with bouillabaisse, spicy Thai, or a nice slice of pizza.

2001 Vega Sindoa Rosé Navarra. Bombs away! A fruit salad, 50 percent grenache, 50 percent cabernet sauvignon. I dig its bold fruit, but it’s not dry at all. Reminds me of a watermelon sherbet. Good with spicy Asian cuisines.

2000 Vinum Cellars Rosé It’s Okay Napa Valley. Despite the cutesy name, it’s actually more than okay. Cabernet that’s not deep, yet tasty and not too fruity; would be perfection at a picnic with turkey or pastrami sandwiches.

2001 Storybook Mountain Vineyards Zin Gris. Described on the bottle as the ” blood of zinfandel. ” Let’s face it: vin gris style or not, this is white zinfandel, made of bled juice run off shortly after crush. Unlike most white zins, however, this one was fermented in small oak barriques. Strawberry/raspberry flavors, high acid content, good with fried chicken or veggie chili.

1999 E. Guigal Tavel Rhône. One of the most consistent rosés in the world from one of the more reliable producers, this auburn-colored wine is bone dry and reminiscent of a lovely woman’s luxuriant locks. Berries, minerals, rhubarb, and a sensuous finish. Fabulous with a chicken caesar, cheese and crackers, potato salad, pâté, or your favorite cold cuts and mustard.

Roederer Estate Anderson Valley Brut Rosé Mendocino. At $20 a bottle, it’s the pink standard for sparkling rosé (sort of a poor man’s Bille). I could drink this pale-pink bubbly all day, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner (and yes, I have). Fleshy, full, ripe-pear notes, a fine beverage, beautiful with salmon (smoked or otherwise).

Come the warmer weather, my wine ” mood ” changes, and I start gravitating toward refreshing, quirky white wines. I tend to drink fewer whites in winter “” and according to many wine retailers, I’m not alone.

Chardonnay dominates the US white-wine industry as the most popular varietal by far, in terms of dollars and volume. It’s both an accompaniment to food and an easy bar drink. Chards are safe, and I happen to love them. But in early spring, during these days of renewal and promise for the future, my palate longs for new flavors, new twists. White wines are almost always served chilled, and chilling wine reins in its flavor. Then, as the wine warms in the glass or in your mouth, the rising temperature unleashes some of its flavors.

Quirky wines are those with unusual tastes and unexpected aromas. Such whites are a challenge to pair with food; they’re more delicate, so care must be taken not to overwhelm them. Most wine drinkers have a pretty good idea of what foods go with chardonnay. But what do you serve with a viognier, chenin blanc, or albariño? It helps, of course, to sample the wine once before trying to pair it with food. But even if the pairing isn’t perfect, it’s still worth your time and effort to seek out some of the more obscure white varietals and ascertain which suits your particular palate.

I’m a huge fan of the Rhône varietals viognier, roussanne, and marsanne. These wines tend to be floral, with peach or apricot flavors. They can be a bit sweet, they aren’t light, and the latter two often remind me of nuts “” almonds, pecans, pralines. I find Rhône varietals work well with garlicky, lemony pasta-and-seafood dishes, and they can handle most green vegetables. American winemakers are starting to put some attractive wines out there at reasonable prices, and I’ve recommended two below.

Chenin blanc, from France’s Loire Valley, South Africa, and a bit of the US, makes a delightful accompaniment to fresh shellfish like oysters “” it’s racy and lean, and its apple and mineral notes play nicely off brininess and salt. You can drink chenin blanc with spicy Asian food too, especially a crispy sea bass or snapper. Some have hints of sweetness, others don’t.

From Spain, there’s albariño, which grows mainly in Galicia. Again, this wine is light, crisp, and racy “” great for fresh shellfish, as well as paella, stews, lobster bisque, cioppino. It’s not a complex wine, but it loves washing down such food, and it’s always under $20. Another fine Spanish white, Basa from Rueda, is a delicious blend of sauvignon blanc with the Spanish varietals verdejo and viura (a/k/a macabeo). I find it irresistibly floral, almost laurelesque, with a fruit-nut finish “” great with fried shellfish, calamari, or bird.

From Italy, there’s vernaccia, which can be one of many varietals (the word vernaccia basically means ” indigenous ” ), most notably vernaccia di San Gimignano, although excellent vernaccia is made in Sardinia as well. I also like arneis, a grape that reminds me of anise, which nicely undercuts antipasti and smoked meats or stuffed grape leaves.

From Austria, grüner veltliners are delicious. These have been taking restaurant wine lists in Manhattan by storm, and they’re excellent with fusion cuisine, especially slightly spicy Thai-based dishes (grüners love lemongrass and those Vietnamese spring rolls with mint). Most wine stores sell only one or two grüners, and their price tags can be a bit steep, but trust me when I say grüner veltliners are as quirky as white wines come.

While you might not think of them as quirky, because they’re so well-known, the Alsatian and German white varietals “” riesling, gewürztraminer, pinot blanc, and pinot gris “” all make excellent accompaniments to food. Rieslings love food, but they can be hit and miss, and the best are way beyond tight wine budgets. Gewürz is great with spicy Asian foods; the lychee-nut and apple notes deftly undercut most heat. Pinot blancs are tightly wound, focused wines, not as expansive as chardonnay, but reminiscent thereof. Pinot gris tastes of pear, apple, and peach blossom; it does chicken, turkey, and other fowls proud.

More often than not, I advise people to stick to wines they know. But in springtime, my advice is to explore new tastes: find varietals you’ve never tried before and give them a whirl. There’s a whole world of quirky whites waiting for you to come along and discover their secret delights.

2000 Karmis Vernaccia della Valle del Tirso Contini (Sardinia). Clean and vibrant, slightly fruity on the finish, sort of a mélange, but crisp and delicious. Try it with a ginger-marinated grilled salmon, swordfish kabobs, or simple pasta with garlic.

2000 Zaca Mesa Viognier Santa Barbara County. Big flowery wine, loads of peaches and daffodils, well-heeled enough for ahi tuna, smoked salmon, or any fish with a lemony bite, or with Mexican food like guacamole or tacos.

2000 Vinum Cellars Chenin Blanc California. Fresh and lively, not sweet like a Loire, but apple, minerals, vivacious finish, great with raw oysters, chicken caesar, a turkey dish, even a mustardy sandwich.

2000 Ojai ” Vin du Soleil ” Rhône Blend. Vintner Adam Tolmach scores again! Fresh, fruity, ripe peach, flirtatiously floral, bouncy wine that wows sausage pizza, Greek and niçoise salads, or fresh-grilled catfish.

2000 Frascati Superiore Conte Zandotti. Cheap, easy, reliable, dry. Made from a host of Italian varietals; really light and luscious.

When Americans think of wine, we tend to think of France, or our own burgeoning industry (especially the West Coast’s). But Italy, where wine may well have originated, is viniculture’s first nation. It produces more wine and consumes more per capita than any other country.

Italy is also one of the most exciting wine spots on the planet right now. To get a sense of wine’s importance to Italy (and Italy’s importance to wine), take note: the country, where wine has been made for several thousand years, has more than 1000 documented varietals and 900,000 registered vineyards, as well as 20 distinct wine regions and 21,000 wineries.

Impressive numbers “” but numbers alone don’t tell the whole story. For Americans, wine is a beverage, and yes, it does go well with food. In Italy, wine is food. And the complexities of a given wine are often revealed when it’s properly paired with the combination of flavors that unlock its (sometimes hidden) treasures. Italian wines inspire passion.

What makes wine so important to Italians? For one thing, grapes grow everywhere, and the microclimates throughout the country’s mountainous and hilly terrain help fine-wine grapes ripen properly. Italians have vast experience with their land, and with certain grapes, methods, combinations, and styles.

For more than three decades, Italy has been experiencing a wine renaissance. ” Supertuscans ” “” wines that do not conform to the regime of classifications “” were one of the biggest breakthroughs. The first Supertuscans came from Villa di Capezzana in Carmignano, where cabernet was artfully blended with merlot and/or sangiovese “” Tuscany’s main red-wine grape, the primary component in Chianti and Brunello di Montalcino. Sassicaia, the second Supertuscan, made since the 1940s, is a rough cabernet that started to impress internationally in the 1960s. In 1971, the renowned Antinori family made a Sassicaia based on sangiovese, but with no white wine in the blend. (Most Chiantis include white wine to make them more approachable.) Now more than two dozen renowned Supertuscans exist, all of which command prices over $30 and compete with the world’s finest wines.

But Tuscany, while perhaps Italy’s most visible wine region, is not necessarily its most impressive. That honor goes to Piedmont, in the north, home of the nebbiolo powerhouses Barolo and Barbaresco, as well as the Barberas d’Asti and d’Alba, Asti sparkling wines, and the low-alcohol frizzante Moscato d’Asti, one of my favorite summer beverages. Piedmont reminds many wine folks of Burgundy; both regions focus mainly on a single red varietal (nebbiolo in Piedmont and pinot noir in Burgundy) not normally blended with other varietals and often difficult to make.

Don’t try to make sense of Italian wine labels; you need a degree to figure out the producer, the varietals, the region of origin, etc. Indeed, one of the things that makes buying Italian wine so difficult is that you can’t rely on shortcuts that work with wine from other countries. Because Italian winemakers have such vastly different styles and attitudes toward modernization, it’s not enough to say, ” I like barberas or Veronese wines. ” You need to focus on producers, years, regions, and varietals. Now is a great time to try Italian wines; the last five years have all been either good or great, prices have essentially flat-lined, and wine stores and restaurants have stocked up. Be adventurous, and look to a passionate wine person for guidance.

Italians love details, and they love their land. As a result, many wines are named after specific spots on the hills where the grapes are grown: bricco means the sunniest part of a hill, while sori is the south-facing place where snow first begins to melt; one of Italy’s most famous and delicious white blends is called Ronco delle Acacie (made by Jermann), which means ” hilltop of the acacias. ” Appropriately, Italian wines have finally made it to the top of the world’s wine hill.

Zardetto Prosecco Non-Vintage Brut. This crisp and fruity sparkler, redolent of apples and lemons, is a wonderful refresher for under $10. Goes well with fruit, super-sharp cheese, salade niçoise, or spinach and bacon.

1998 Salice Salentino Taurino Apulia. This easy-drinking red blend (80 percent negroamaro, 20 percent malvasia nera) is smoky and fat, with plums and a raisiny taste. It’s a fun, round, smooth wine, great with garlicky red sauce or salty carpaccio or other antipasti.

1999 Nero d’Avola Morgante Sicily. Sicily is a major up-and-coming wine region, and this oaky and sweet fruit-bomb is reminiscent of a grenache, a zin, or an Aussie shiraz. Superb value. Perfect accompaniment to pizza, burgers, or an Italian grinder.

1999 Ripasso Zenato Valpolicella. Big, ripe, bold, slightly sweet, but stops short of ostentatious. This is a wine that loves lamb chops or wild boar pappardelle, because the black fruit wants a big, fatty meat flavor to open.

1999 Allegrini Valpolicella Classico. Fruity and smooth, this easy-drinking accompaniment to pasta Bolognese or spicy sausage has blackberries and a long finish.

1996 Cavalotto Barolo. Big nebbiolo, not yet fully developed, ardent and sensuous, but perfect with a veal saltimbocca or a filet mignon with béarnaise.

1995 Zardini Amarone Valpolicella. Sweet but not syrupy, cherry, dense, and chewy, almost a meal unto itself. Great with a jambalaya, spicy pork chop, or a meatball dish with your mama’s Italian ” gravy. ”

If you live in the United States and you love wine, it’s probably only a matter of time before you give in to the urge to visit wine country, usually defined as Napa and Sonoma Counties in California.

Now, I have nothing against Napa, home of those huge cabernet sauvignons and monster chardonnays, plump merlots and powerful zinfandels, most of which carry big price tags. It’s a nice place to visit: crowded on weekends, but you get to taste lots of impressive wines in attractive wineries.

For a long time, Sonoma was ” the other valley ” “” as in, not Napa. Its wines were inferior, and hence cheaper. It did not have the marquee names or the cachet associated with Napa, which had Mondavi and Opus and history.

But Sonoma has come into its own. Across the varietal board, the region produces wines competitive with Napa’s finest. So when you plan to visit wine country, I say you’ll have a better time and get more bang for your bucks in Sonoma.

At the valley’s northern end, you’ll find the towns of Geyserville and Healdsburg. As far as I’m concerned, Healdsburg, a town of less than 10,000, is the unofficial wine-country capital. It has the most charming town square, ringed by quality restaurants and quaint shops. These two towns have more than 50 wineries between them open for your tasting pleasure. Here, I’ll focus on two: Pezzi King and Simi.

Founded in 1993 by the Rowe family, Pezzi King has come a long way over the last decade. The tasting room is beautiful, set on terraces overlooking some of the vineyards. And you can’t fake the family thing: everyone here is friendly, knowledgeable about the wines, courteous, and eager to pour and please. The red wines, especially the zinfandels and cabernet sauvignon, receive more attention, but I very much enjoyed the white wines, especially the sauvignon blanc 2000 (labeled fumé blanc) and 1999 Sonoma County chardonnay. The 1998 cabernets show a lot of promise (and 1998 was not the best year for cabernet), and I was blown away by the barrel samples of 2001 zinfandel. Look for those to be released next February.

Simi Winery was founded in 1876 in San Francisco and then moved to Healdsburg in 1881. It continued to make wine during Prohibition, when only the sale of wine was illegal. When Prohibition finally ended in December 1933, the Simi folks not only threw one hell of a party, they also planted a grove of redwood trees around the winery, where you can picnic today.

Simi’s tasting room was Healdsburg’s most impressive when it was built in 1973. Although the winery was purchased in 1999 by the Canadian wine conglomerate Constellation Brand, it has retained its homespun feel. The extremely friendly tasting-room staff knows its wines and history, and Simi’s tour may well be Sonoma’s best.

So when you go to California wine country, take it from the top: start in Geyserville and Healdsburg and hit a handful of wineries (you needn’t visit more than five in a day). You too may wind up calling Healdsburg the capital of wine country.

2000 Pezzi King Fumé Blanc North Coast. Called North Coast because 48 percent comes from nearby Mendocino County, while 52 percent comes from the Alexander Valley (which encompasses both Mendocino and Sonoma), this tropical-pineapple sauvignon blanc has a plump gooseberry finish, strong in the mid palate. Its clean flavors would complement halibut or a Dover sole or cod.

1999 Pezzi King Zinfandel Old Vines Estate Dry Creek Valley. Plenty of Bing cherry and big alcohol (15.5 percent), balanced nicely by the American and French oak. This wine, with its layers of complexity and long, smooth finish, could someday become a cult classic. It’s restrained for a big zin and would work well with prime rib or short ribs, or even a flavorful barbeque T-bone steak.

1999 Pezzi King Pinot Noir Russian River. Sonoma is becoming known for its pinot noirs, and this wine shows why. Soft and supple, understated but elegant, with ample strawberries and raspberries and a hint of creaminess on the finish. Great with seared ahi tuna or a spicy pork chop.

1999 Simi Sendal Sonoma County. This is Simi’s reserve sauvignon blanc, cut with 22 percent sémillon (as are many fine white Bordeaux) and aged in new French oak. The sémillon shines through, balancing out the acidity of the sauvignon blanc. Vanilla and pear notes complement the racy tropical flavors and make this a wonderful companion to a spicy fish, paella, or oysters on the half-shell with mignonette.

2000 Simi Chardonnay Sonoma County. Made with 100 percent malolactic fermentation and judicious use of new oak, bridled apple, and pear flavors, along with some tropical notes. A touch of nuttiness on the finish. Great with a pecan chicken or any nutty fish dish.

1999 Simi Shiraz Sonoma County. A blend of 90 percent syrah and six percent petit verdot (the remainder is cabernet) makes this taste zesty and plump. ” Shiraz ” suggests a certain fruit-forward style, plus loads of American oak. Round and quite versatile, it should flatter anything from red meat to a spicy gourmet pizza. Huge finish.

1997 Simi Cabernet Sauvignon Reserve Alexander Valley. At $75 a bottle, this is pricey, but you can taste a glass at the winery for a few bucks. You won’t want to spit this wine, with its thick and opulent berry flavors. A powerhouse, big muscles inside a shimmery velvet dress. Depth, complexity, balance, and charm. You might want to bring some cold red meat with you, just to round out the experience.