Marglin on Taste

Wine drinkers tend to be creatures of habit, which is why 10 leading red and 10 leading white grape varieties account for an overwhelmingly vast percentage of the wines made in the world. There’s some room for quibbling over which varieties these are, but most wine folks would probably concur with this list: cabernet franc, cabernet sauvignon, grenache, merlot, nebbiolo, pinot noir, sangiovese, syrah, tempranillo, and zinfandel for reds, and chardonnay, chenin blanc, gewürztraminer, muscat, pinot blanc, pinot gris, riesling, sauvignon blanc, sémillon, and viognier for whites. These grapes are the most flavorful, and the wines made from them may well be the best: they are the easiest to find, they provide the most value for the dollar, they go great with food, they are familiar. They are what we drink.

Then there are the rest of the grapes used to make wine, most of which neither you nor anyone else who is not a certified wine expert has ever heard of.

Why should you care about all these obscure grapes when there are so gosh-darned many wines to choose from in that Top 10 list? It’s a good question, and the short, honest answer is, maybe you shouldn’t. We like to drink what we know, and there’s nothing really wrong with that. But for many of us, every glass of wine is an adventure. We don’t care so much what the name of the wine is but, rather, how it tastes. Indeed, before Robert Mondavi and his followers introduced the concept of labeling according to vine variety, most wine drinkers weren’t as interested in what grape the wine came from as in who made it, and in what year.

Besides, many of the Top 10 were not tops at all a century or two ago. Tastes change, new vineyard sites are planted, diseases and glassy-winged sharpshooters wreak havoc on certain vines. What we drink so fondly and incessantly now may not be what our grandchildren will serve us someday. It is nice to have a sense of what other grapes are growing around the world. So I have made a list of the “Next Nine” “” grapes that have some historical significance, or that make unheralded wines, as well as the up-and-coming varieties that may eventually produce some of the world’s greatest wines.

Among red grapes, the Italian barbera “” particularly those from Asti and Alba “” makes very meaty wines. They have a sour finish, like unripe garnet cherries, but are coveted for their food-pairing potential. Bonarda is another Italian variety now rocking people’s worlds in its Argentine embodiment (Tikal’s Corazon is probably the finest Argentine wine made primarily from this grape): it yields a bright, chewy, fruity wine that’s easy to quaff. Carignane is the commonest grape in France, and is most often used for blending; but when well cared for, it makes some delicious, earthy wines, with thick, dark fruit flavors. Catawba is native to America, and was the key grape in the country’s first wine region, Ohio, where sparkling catawba is made to this day. Charbono is another American native; Summers Ranch in Napa uses it in an excellent varietal, with a fruit core and an awesome finish. Cinsaut, like carignane, is a popular blending grape; it adds earthy notes to syrah and grenache-based blends. Gamay is the grape used to make Beaujolais; it’s light, but it can make wines of seductive complexity or bold fruitiness. Mourvèdre, like carignane and grenache, is a widely produced grape that blends nicely with deeper and more flavorful varieties. Finally, teroldego, from the north of Italy, makes a deep, licorice-like wine, with plenty of green around the gills but the ability to age.

As far as whites are concerned, albariño makes one of northern Spain’s finest wines “” a wonderful companion to seafood, shellfish, even stews like a cioppino or paella. Aligoté is the number-two white grape of Burgundy (after chardonnay) and yields the proper wine for making a kir “” it is fruity and light, not particularly distinguished, but a nice glass nonetheless. Arneis is an Italian variety that always reminds me of fennel. Folle blanche, a workhorse that’s the third-most-widely-planted grape in France, used to be the premier component of cognac, but it has been supplanted in that respect by ugni blanc. Marsanne is a Rhône native, yielding wines that are fleshy and flowery upon release but achieve, after a decade or so in the bottle, a pleasant nutty-citrusy flavor favored by Rhône lovers. Melon de Bourgogne makes Muscadet (and was often confused in the US with pinot blanc), and at its best gives us some of the most refreshing beverages known to man. Müller-Thurgau, a notable German variety (also grown in Austria and Northern Italy), is fruity and on the lean side (it’s often crossed with riesling to make hybrids). Roussanne, another Rhône white, can be redolent of almonds and apricots. Trebbiano, also called ugni blanc in France (where it is the backbone of most fine cognacs), is the grape in Orvieto, Soave, and Frascati, a mild variety that in skilled hands can make winning wines.

New worlds are discovered by those who go looking for them. Try wines made from some of these more obscure grapes, and you’ll see what I mean.

What is my favorite wine? The truth is that wine lovers rarely have a definitive “favorite” because wine is so contextual. I may have one favorite wine to take on a picnic with turkey sandwiches, a second to accompany lobster, and a third to go with dripping red meat hot off the grill. My favorite wine at 9 p.m. may differ from my favorite at 5 a.m. (usually gewürztraminer, which often reminds me of apple juice). I have a favorite artist, a favorite film, and a favorite band (well, bands: live, studio, etc.). But context counts for so much with wine that it’s hard to isolate a single “favorite.”

That said, if cornered I will readily confess that I most enjoy pinot noir. It is a most versatile red, and it comes in many flavors. When young, many pinots have an appealing bright cherry flavor (cherries are my favorite fruit, and if you like wine, chances are you dig fruit, too). As they mature, after a few “dumb” years (perhaps like puberty) when the wine tends to go into hibernation, a more fragrant, earthy, velvety set of flavors comes to the fore, masking the receding fruit. I find young pinot noirs, with their tight, tart fruit, to be best at around three to five years old. Then I like to hold off for another three to five years, during which the fruit fades and the wine evolves and harmonizes, taking on softer elements and gaining complexity to become an elegant lady. Not all pinots improve with age, of course, but the best do, and this is part of their charm: they have two distinct “eras,” both rather appealing.

Pinot noir is one of the hardest wines to make well, and winemakers generally are enticed by the challenge. It shows terroir exceptionally well, meaning you taste the earth and the soil, and you get a sense of where the wine was grown. Burgundy, where pinot noir is the only red grape grown, has wonderful chalky soil and limestone subsoil, which impart their unique characteristics to the most revered (and expensive) pinots in the world. Nothing can touch the refined, delicate, “iron fist in a velvet glove” qualities of a great Côte d’Or (France’s “Golden Slope,” where the finest Burgundies are made) from, say, 1996 or 1990 (the ’89s and ’85s now are also showing all kinds of outrageous flavors and notes). But you have to be either rich or lucky to enjoy such luxuries.

For those of us on a budget, pinots from Oregon and certain parts of Sonoma do the trick quite nicely. Oregon has more clay in the soil and, like Burgundy, it has more average-to-below-average vintages than great years. But when these wines rock, they’re deep and gnarly, with vibrant red fruits, all the cherry you could want, and a forest feel that is nearly indescribable. Exceptional pinots also come from Sonoma, especially the Sonoma coast, the Russian River Valley, and Carneros (which straddles Sonoma and Napa). My American favorites come from Flowers, where the Camp Meeting Ridge vineyard rises just above the fog line and the limestone subsoil brings a depth and complexity to the wines that make them linger on your tongue. And of course there are many other fine California pinot noirs, including a handful from Monterey, some from Napa and Mendocino (particularly the Anderson Valley), and the renowned vintages from Josh Jensen’s Calera vineyard on Mount Harlan.

Williams Selyem, one of the country’s most illustrious pinot makers, produces about a dozen pinots from all over Sonoma and Mendocino. The winery recently changed hands, but the excellence of the wines remains consistent: the wood balances the fruit, the winemaking is unintrusive, and the resulting wines are resplendent, bold, concentrated, and alive. This year I will celebrate my birthday with a Williams Selyem pinot, possibly a 1997. These wines are hard to find, except on better wine lists; if you see one, jump at the chance to try it.

Pinots pair wonderfully with grilled tuna, swordfish, raw fish, and wasabi. Denser pinots match with red meat; pinots also go with plenty of pork dishes, or even a slice of pizza. Some writers call this grape capricious, perhaps because it’s so difficult to grow and ripen. But when everything comes together, the cherry, cola, and funk waft from the glass, and each sip is a revelation. The great ones will cost you a pretty penny, but California and Oregon produce many pinots for around $10 that are well worth your while (I like Beringer, Beaulieu Vineyard, Barefoot Cellars, Buena Vista, Pepperwood Grove, and Echelon). Both California and Oregon had good years in 1998 and 1999, and their 2000s are rumored to be even better.

So while no single wine captures every context, good pinot shows why folks like me drink wine. Try some. You’ll see.