What to drink during the World Cup.... Does soccer immediately suggest beer the way that baseball does (or football, or hockey for that matter)? Not really, though now that I think about it, I have noticed that in England there is much imbibing of beer during soccer matches. I suppose this is what usually leads to the tragic stampedes at stadia around the U.K. that we hear about every so often. Let's hope no one gets trampled, but I guess you can--to quote one of my rugby-loving friends--"give 'em a beer afterwards and they'll shake it off." Clearly beer and soccer do have a history, but what about all the cross promotion with wine that has been going on in South Africa? I've never seen anything like it. I don't remember it being such an important facet of the marketing blitz when it the World Cup was in Germany four years ago, and I was just as rabid a consumer of soccer then as now.

Clearly I'm going to be guided by a glass of wine as I negotiate the games of the World Cup (when work doesn't interfere, of course), so I already plan to have some fun. A plan for wine consumption occurred to me as I was drinking the marvelously delicious Ridge 2007 Zinfandel Carmichael (which BTW, makes an excellent pairing for Oreos with the green mint creme): each of the Groups, save one, have at least one major wine-producing country, so you could, were you so inclined, drink wines associated with each group. People often ask me how should they go about learning about wines from other countries, so here is a great way to get to know the wines of the world, and at a minimum, it would be lots of fun. So when you watch a game in Group play, you might drink a wine from one of the sources in that group. Here's the breakdown:

Group A
France
South Africa
Uruguay (a younger, usually forgotten sibling of its South American neighbors, Chile and Argentina)
Mexico (produces a fair amount of wine that makes it to the States, and even England)

Group B
Argentina
Greece (Skip the Retsina...there are many other excellent Greek wines in the market--have fun with these)

Group C
United States of America

Group D
Australia
Germany

Group E
SAKÉ!!!! Japan's rice wine (I know, it's brewed like a beer, but has more in common with wine) that is not just for sushi, and it shouldn't be served hot. Or you could skip saké and get a beer--The Netherlands puts out plenty of it, as does Japan.

Group F
Italy
New Zealand

Group G
Portugal (There are plenty of table wines that you can drink besides the more famous Port, or you could open a bottle of port and call up your inner-Robin Leach and break out the cigars, Stilton cheese, and walnuts and pretend you're living someone else's dream)

Group H
Chile
Spain
Switzerland (Swiss wines are hard to find, but Chasselas is a great white alternative, if you can locate one)

I hope that you watch the World Cup, whether you drink any wine or not. I'll probably be drinking an obscene amount of rosé (stretched out over many days, not all at once...I hate being drunk), and that'll be as fun as the soccer.

Is it me, or does Wayne Rooney play like someone used his head for a soccer ball? One minute he's an incredible player, another he's doing things that'll get him arrested. I'd just as soon he wait until AFTER the match with the USA to get arrested, because I would prefer the U.S. to beat England WITH him, then I could really pour some high-acid Riesling in my Brit friends wounds....

Popularity: 8% [?]

Humans and beavers are the only two mammals that alter their environment to suit their needs. Humans are the only ones that do it, on a large or small scale, out of curiosity AND necessity. Marselan, a hybrid-crossing of Grenache and Cabernet Sauvignon, is one of those environmental tweaks that hasn't had much impact on the world, but it looks like it may actually be catching on. Hybrid grape varieties are genetic oddities created to result in a grape with specific characteristics. Playing with Mother Nature in this usually just results in an identity crisis of the Hermaphroditic sort.

An Unlikely Union
Marselan was created in 1961 in France. You might be wondering why such a variety doesn't fit into the realm of genetically engineered grains that Europeans so famously calumniate (is dwarf wheat really so different from a man-made crossing of two grape varieties? Grenache and Cabernet Sauvignon are not native to the same regions, and so would never have reproduced with each other on their own). Not that Marselan is so warmly embraced by French growers, though there is no suspicion surrounding it in comparison to other more genetically modified plants. Grape varieties naturally procreate through cross-breeding: a strapping and multi-faceted grape like Cabernet Sauvignon comes from the union of Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc in what I hope was a particularly torrid affair. Marselan is a botanical researcher's attempt to combine the breadth and heat-tolerance of Grenache with the lithe but muscular and well-structured qualities of Cabernet Sauvignon. Oh, and they wanted the vine to yield heavily at harvest...my favorite thing. As never fails to be the case, things didn't go as planned.

The Main Character
I've now had four wines made of Marselan (one of which was a blend), which is a relatively wide sample in the scheme of Marselan. They each have a few characteristics in common: Marselan is a medium-bodied wine that lacks the sense of an endoskeleton that Cabernet almost always has (unless it's been heavily manipulated), it's fruit is not so cherry-oriented as Grenache commonly is, and the vine does not yield any heavier than either parent variety. Or looking at it with a less Socratic eye, it has Cabernet Sauvignon's fruit expression with Grenache's easy, open feel. In other words, almost the exact opposite of the initial goal. You can try for it yourself, because it has been imported into the U.S. for a couple of years now, and it makes good wine.

A New Red for Your Glass
Since Marselan didn't turn out the way growers had wanted, nothing really happened with the vine commercially. Marselan has been grown in the Languedoc ever since it was first crossed, and over the course of four decades, some estates made single-variety Marselan with leftover fruit, but these weren't made for commercial release. In 2002, Domaine Devereux made the first one I'd ever seen (a gift from a friend from France), and it was pretty good. Château Camplazens 2006 Marselan is widely available and delicious, if a little too polished (it strikes me as having an 'international' character, and is therefore less distinctive), but the Domaine de Couron 2006 Marselan is first rate, with brilliant black fruit and a pure, unfettered expression. The one I found most interesting, however, was a blended wine from Domaine de la Mordorée, the great southern Rhône Valley producer: 2007 Re:NAISSANCE, which was fifty-fifty Merlot and Marselan. The soft-core luxury of Merlot gave the Marselan a velvety richness that prompted me to buy another bottle. I would've bought a case of this one, but I was in Paris, and schlepping that across the Atlantic wasn't my idea of fun. Yeah, the Mordorée was good...but not that good.

Popularity: 15% [?]

I've been drinking a fairly old wine this evening--middle-aged would be a better description, as it is but 14 years old, in its prime, and not likely to improve further: the Château de Beaucastel 1996 Châteauneuf-du-Pape. It is really quite beautiful, and as this wine is unlike most Chateauneuf-du-Pape anyway (it is mostly Mourvèdre while the preponderance of Chateauneuf is principally Grenache), its silken expression is not entirely a surprise. It has a lovely and much lighter texture than it did when it was young, but that is not uncommon with mature wine. The aromas and flavors have clarified themselves over the years, simplifying the experience of the wine while showcasing and magnifying its complexities. It has become an open transmitter of the growing season and the efforts of the people making the wine. This wine has entered a fascinating phase: there are some notions that swirl in and out of the overall picture of the wine, while other elements--expressly the gossamer luxury of its red fruit qualities--are constants. Its character is volatile (though not scary volatile) and exuberant, yet mature and graceful. Think Cuba Gooding Jr. as he ages--that'd be this wine.

Matching for Dinner
So I've got an unusual food pairing here, one I chose based on having tasted the wine first. I made grilled butterflied chicken alla Diavola, which was an even better match than I had hoped. That might give you some indication of the "weight" of this wine--it feels like (but does not remotely taste like) a fine Pinot Noir at its peak, and this opened the door to the pairing with the grilled chicken. The essence of lemons inherent to Chicken alla Diavola united the flavors with such succulence that dinner seemed to fly by. It was like a ray of sun through the experience, lifting our spirits, which we needed because...

Matching with Entertainment
...as we ate our late dinner, we watched Children of Men, which isn't necessarily (if you knew nothing about the film) the feel-good movie that the title might imply. I had seen it before, but my wife had not, so I soldiered on. It turns out this wine was an excellent pairing for the movie, too!

Popularity: 12% [?]

Earlier today, I saw Marcel Guigal sitting in a Toyota Avalon. The luminary of the northern Rhone, right here in River City driving...a Toyota? I rolled down my window and said, "Excuse me, but aren't you--"

"Marcel Guigal?" he finished for me, without a trace of a French accent.

"Um...yeah."

"I get that a lot." Really? I'd expect that if he looked like Clooney or something, but Marcel Guigal? I couldn't wait to see where this was going.

"So, when's the '09 Condrieu going to hit the shelf?" I asked.

"Soon. The Viognier came in more beautifully than I can remember in '09, you know."

"Yeah, but I bet you were saying that in '07 as well."

"True, but I still haven't had a hit such as this one since the one I had in '95--that was another amazing wine."

This guy could play along with the great masters. Was he a spy? Probably. He was sent, of course, to spy on me. Not that I can think of any knowledge I possess that would be of interest to a spy, other than the nuclear launch codes for the Ohio River Valley missile range. The codes change every time I think of a new number. Sometimes I have a hard time keeping up--I have to concentrate hard on NOT thinking of a new number every time we do a missile test, otherwise, unauthorized access alarms go off and you know what a pain that can be, with MPs crawling all over the place, looking at you with raised eyebrows, questioning your immigration status, asking to see your ID badge over and over.

"I hate to take exception with Your Eminence," I said, "but you've had several great vintages of Condrieu in the past 15 years."

"Yes, but none that felt like getting a letter from a lover you are desperate to see, but who has gone away...that '95 was a letter from Celeste, whom I haven't seen in thirty years."

"Unresolved love, huh? So who's the '09 a letter from?"

"Marie-Ange...I can see her now, as she was when we were 16. We were very much in love."

"What happened to her?"

"She moved to Paris."

"And never wrote you?"

"Oh she wrote to me--every other day! But I'm terrible at writing back, and she thought I was losing interest since I only wrote every three or four weeks."

"But did you write good letters?"

"Of course!!! Do you think that I could do anything other than commit my wounded heart to paper for such a one as Marie-Ange?"

This guy is good. "Sorry...I don't know Marie-Ange."

"Surely you have your own Marie-Ange?"

"I do."

"What's her name?"

"She's all around me."

"Her name?"

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"Even between my fingers."

"Her name?!? Is it Everywhere?"

"No. I cannot name her, but she is there, but only when I'm not looking for her."

"Ah," he said. "I see that you also have visions of angels."

Visions of angels.... I drifted. He continued:

"Mine keep drinking my wine before bottling."

"The angel's share...of course.... Mine give me a wellspring of happiness so consuming and profound...the overall feeling is, oddly enough, sadness."

"Which is how I feel as I see them crowded around my barrels. It's nice to see the angels enjoying my wine, but I could have sold that wine," he said with a laugh that quickly faded. "But that's not what you mean."

"No."

"Do you feel it now?"

"I feel the memory of it."

"That's all I have left of my wines and love letters."

"You're not Marcel Guigal."

"No."

"Then what do you want?"

"It was you who rolled down the window to speak to me."

"I think you're a spy."

"Can I have the launch codes?"

"Can I have some Condrieu?"

"All I've got is Cote-Rotie. They told me that's the first association you'd make."

"I've always been different. I like it now, but I didn't so much in grade school. It's one of those things that helps me keep secrets."

"Are there really launch codes? I was just trying to be clever."

"Is there really any Condrieu? I'm just getting thirsty."

"Fine." He produced, with slight hesitation, a green bottle with a gold label. Guigal La Doriane from 2007. "It's my last bottle. I'm taking one in the groin for you."

I pulled a glass out of my pocket, popped the cork, poured and took a long sniff. Honeysuckle, peaches, almonds, wheat germ?, white flowers...orange blossoms. And tangerine.

"You're also going to have to take one for me on the launch codes," I said, not without kindness.

He smiled a bland smile. "You--okay...why can't I have the launch codes?"

"Because the reason that I am the only one who knows them is that when I get flustered or pressured my brain starts racing uncontrollably. I change the codes so rapidly that even I can't keep up with them, so they're safe. I'm the ultimate defense. I'd've been terrible in the Army--who wants a guy freezing up on them in a foxhole?--but this...this is a job I can do. Who is 'they'?"

"I was just making 'them' up in the grand tradition of this whole conversation. Are you a pathological liar?"

"No. Just an engaging storyteller." I looked at him, a forlorn look growing on his face. "Got a glass?"

"Oh...um...," he reached over into his backseat, "yeah."

I poured him some and we drank in silence, there behind our steering wheels. The Fake Frenchman said, "Well this is quite a sight, drinking and parking. You know, I still have to drive home...mind if I take the bottle?"

"I do actually. I'll pour you an extra glass though."

"I'd have to drink it now, and then I can't drive home."

"That's the idea," I said. "It's time you saw your angels somewhere else."

Popularity: 12% [?]

Wine, even basic-yet-tasty wine, really fascinates me. This is why I loathe the 100-point scale for assessing wine. Scoring wines in this way is…you know, I can’t actually say what I’m thinking, because I want this to remain a family-friendly site.... Okay, how's this: giving wine a numeric score is the crowning achievement of the boundless limits of superficiality. Before someone raises the alarm and I have to start stuttering and backpedaling, I should say that those who engage in this practice are not themselves superficial (to my knowledge). My issue is that, even if you read the tasting note (which is supposed to illuminate the score), grading a wine so specifically is a perfunctory way of taking stock. Sounds like a paradox, I know, considering that spending the time and mental energy to award a score ought to allow you to get lots out of the wine, but it fails to take contextual usage into account. Does anyone--other than a wine critic--drink wine with a mind to a hierarchical score? Even wine critics (well, most of them, anyway) don't do this for pleasure. I can tell you what we (since I suppose I’m one, too) do is compartmentalize: we taste through a whole lineup of wines as a part of the job, little sips and sniffs at a time, no food, except for the occasional piece of bread or a cracker. For good old fashioned joy, however, we just pop the cork and go. Wine is (and has always been) meant for that much nobler pursuit.

Wine is part of a larger "something" than simply tasting through a group of wines. Certainly we drink wines without food, but in those situations we are--ideally--having a larger experience not fully dependent upon the wine. Wine is an obvious partner for food, but it is even better when shared communally, food or no. Scoring creates a hierarchy, placing some wines over others and pushing people to buy the “best”--which in the case of wine, is not only an extremely subjective notion, but is, more importantly, dependent upon the circumstances surrounding its consumption. Here you find a limitation on the relevance of such a detailed assessment of a wine’s quality based on its own merits (especially in relation to its peers). Speaking of peers, here's another problem that often arises with wine judging: how do you grade a sweet Riesling against a dry one? Why would you do that? The sweet wine's peers are other sweet wines, yet they are often the highest scoring wines out of a lineup of Rieslings that range from dry to sweet.

Score Your Wine with Thought for Your Food
You're not going to use a dessert wine with your chicken Tetrazzini, but you might be delighted by an off-dry German Gewürztraminer, especially a Spätlese. Is that twenty-year-old dry Riesling great with your steak? Believe it or not, of course it is! But the Riesling Kabinett from Germany is...well, not the right wine for a hunk of beef. What do you do with that Pinot Noir that is a little too acidic to drink on its own? Do you not buy it because it got an 84? No! Make the purchase and serve a crab salad powered by celery root and radishes! It'll be an absolutely sublime pairing, but the 92-point Pinot Noir that you may want to buy (for no other real reason than that it got a 92) is probably going to clash with the same salad. Judged by its own charms, “free” of outside influences the 84-point wine suffers, but if you serve it with food, it might taste like a wine which, at that moment, is so great that you can't imagine anything better. If that's the case, shouldn't it get 100 points? Oh, but you'd have to specify that it was only that way for the crab salad. Which is what should be said every time someone publishes a score for a wine, because it's only a 92-pointer (and then it’s actually only a 92-pointer for the critic writing about it) when you drink it without unusual external influences--the air quality in the room should be normal, there are no ancillary odors like mildew or a piece or Parmesan on the counter, and of course there can be no food.

Putting Points in Practice
That 92 is not real (oh, but is it ever seductive…). For argument’s sake, let's try to warm up to the 100-point system by applying it in (an imagined) real-time. Think of it as a pop quiz for your wine. Let's say that 92-point wine is not a Pinot Noir but a Côte Rôtie (Syrah-Viognier blend) from the Rhône Valley--Yves Cuilleron’s Terres Sombres, a very fine example from that appellation. However, you’ve chosen to have it at your favorite restaurant with sable in a white truffle nage, which is not a good pairing, so tragically, it'll only get an 81; move on to the leg of lamb with lavender jus and it jumps up to an 88; but with the venison steak and blackberry beurre rouge--it's a 96! But then you catch the eye of Jensen, the chump from your spouse’s office (every office has one) who just walked in the door right as you put a glistening morsel of venison in your mouth, and he decides to come join you, uninvited. You coolly take a sip to still your inner assassin and--oooh…I’m afraid that taste of wine is only going to get a 73…even a great wine can’t wash away the bitter taste of jackass.

Now who is constantly scoring their wines like this, really? I'm sure someone does. It's probably Jensen.

Wine Assessment that Makes Sense
I don’t find anything wrong at all with tasting wine critically. I enjoy it very much, and do it as often as I can. It is stimulating and engaging, and can even offer marvelous emotional rewards. My view is simple: I don’t think that giving wine a numeric grade is a good idea. Perhaps there is a need to use some kind of system to readily communicate the quality of a wine. There are plenty of ways to do it, but I’m not sold on most of them. There is the commonly found 20-point scale, which I find only slightly preferable to the 100-point approach. I’m amused by the people who try to convert the score someone gives in the 20-point system into the 100-point system, as if that would actually tell them anything. A wine that gets a 16.5 would work out to about an 83. Usually the 16.5 is a pretty good wine, but an 83…well, I wouldn’t have wanted to get that score on a test (although, I got plenty of them)! I’m a bigger fan of the zero to three stars approach, because there is much more room for interpretation in this scheme. Of course, some will suggest that this is nothing more than a four-point scale, but that’s only true if you need to see wine assessments in point form.

In the end, I’d just as soon recommend a wine straight up, no ratings. I share how I experienced the wine and try to guide a customer based on their personal tastes, if I happen to know them. Wine is so useful, and even soulful…it seems shameful to me to place it in the straightjacket of a point score.

Popularity: 10% [?]

A couple of days ago, Cinco de Mayo to be exact, I drank a Scheurebe--a classic if obscure wine from Germany. Seems ludicrious, I know, when you consider that I had cooked honest-to-goodness Mexican food, and had even prepared the story of Cinco de Mayo for my kids. Turns out they learned about the Battle of Puebla in school, so once robbed of a tentpole for the evening, I figured that it didn't matter than I didn't have a Mexican beer or Tequila.

But Scheurebe? Many of you may be saying, "What the %#&! is that?" Well if you are unfamiliar with Scheurebe (SHOY-ray-beh), it's time to change that. Not that Scheurebe is easy to find, because too many outlets for wine retail don't carry one, or have never even heard of it themselves, but Scheurebe is available, and you can ask them to order one.

Anyway, since it seemed like the right time, I popped open the Lingenfelder 2001 Großkarlbacher Burgweg Scheurebe Halbtrocken from the Pfalz region of Germany. And it was good. [NOMENCLATURE: Lingenfelder is the producer; Großkarlbacher Burgweg specifies the vineyard known as Burgweg in the town of Großkarlbach; Scheurebe is the grape; Halbtrocken literally means 'half-dry', but for purposes of American drinkers, it equates to 'dry']

Scheurebe is a hybrid crossing of Riesling and Sylvaner [a common hybridization--other results of this cross include Ehrenfelser (a great but nearly impossible wine to find), Müller-Thurgau (completely uninspired in Germany, but tasty from Italy), and Rieslaner (which can be fabulous)] perpetrated by one Georg Scheu. Thank goodness this guy came along, because he gave us one of the lustiest wines around. How lusty? There are some versions of Scheu (shoy) that if you put it in a black glass, you'd think it was red wine, as the aroma is often dominated by black currants. The range of aromas for Scheu is quite wide, though: the Lingenfelder I drank with my chicken in red mole effused a beautiful, angelic scent dominated by candied pink grapefruit. It was a marvelous pairing.

I find Scheurebe--burlesque grape that it is (I say that because it strikes me as having a queen's bearing and stripper's sensibility yet has a rather gender neutral appeal)--so lip-smacking and tantalizing that I spread the word about it as much as possible. Have fun drinking it...or perhaps I should say don't have too much fun drinking it....

Popularity: 14% [?]