Just in case? you were wondering; Matt Kramer (winespectator.com) writes:
You've probably been in this situation yourself. You're the one choosing the wines for a dinner with friends. You look at the menu and perform the usual mental matchups about what goes with what. But then, much more subtly—even furtively—you also do a mental matchup about which wines go with, ahem, the guests.
If you're a lover of Italian wines, especially traditional-style? versions, you might find yourself in this situation more often than most.
This subject is not much discussed because it makes you feel like, sound like, or realize that you actually are, a snob. Nevertheless, most people who know their way around wine pay as much attention to the "who's drinking" as to the "which dish."
This lesson is often first (painfully) learned at the family Thanksgiving table. You trot out some of the treasures you've been hoarding for that special moment. Big? mistake. Emergency wards are filled with wine lovers traumatized by watching guests guzzle their prized bottles like elephants at a watering hole.
I thought about this when deciding recently which wines to bring to a high-end Italian restaurant. A good host, by definition, wants his or her guests to feel comfortable. Our guests were, thankfully, wine lovers. However, that's not the same as wine savvy. No crime there, of course. But when the time came to reach for Barolo or even Barbera, my hand hovered over those bottles and then, Ouija board-like, moved to red Burgundy and California Pinot Noir.
Now, maybe it was timidity on my part. Perhaps I've lost my belief in the redemptive, even transformative, power of fine wine—never mind the grape variety? or region?. Surely a traditional Barolo can move not merely the uninitiated but even the unreceptive, especially when served with the right food.
I used to think so. Ask any of my long-suffering friends who have been subjected to my evangelical enthusiasm for, say, Gattinara. Or Recioto? della Valpolicella. Or more bizarrely yet, the caramel-colored, sediment?-rich delights of Italy's new-wave/old-way whites, fermented with skin contact?, from Radikon, Massa Vecchia, Castello? di Lispida or Josko Gravner, among others.
But now I find myself hesitating. I've come to the conclusion that really characterful wines—none more so than traditionally made Italian wines—often require a certain receptivity, maybe even a little study. That you can't just spring upon an unsuspecting, not-especially-interested-in-Italian-wines guest the magnificently traditional likes of, say, Giuseppe Rinaldi Barolo or even the easier to understand but still true-to-its-old-school Brunello di Montalcino from Tenuta? Il Poggione.
This flies in the face of today's wine democratization—a belief that anybody should be able to understand, without any fuss, any wine put in front of them. And if they don't, well then, it's the wine's fault, not theirs.
This, of course, is why so many Italian reds today are so modernistic, slathered with the creamy? vanilla? toastiness of new French oak??, miscegenated with Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah and practically hot-waxed to a tannin?-free smoothness. Do they sell? They sure do. They're easy to understand, familiar-tasting, and—here it comes—you can serve them to anybody.
Do these wines represent the best of Italy? For me, they do not. But they are ambassadors of Italian wines, and for that reason alone they're worthwhile. Italian wines at their best—the reds especially—are different from all others. And this difference, which lies at the very root of Italian wine greatness, is not an instantly seductive one.
The taste? of France is rich and smooth? in the mouth (think foie gras) while that of Italy—classically anyway—is about a slight, mouthwatering bitterness (think Campari). It's easy to see why France's seductive model has become universal, including in Italy. The rigors of traditional Barolo, Brunello, Barbera and Aglianico, among others, are formidable and not immediately come-hither.
So that's why I stayed my hand in choosing the traditional Italian reds I've come to love when deciding what to serve my guests. They're not instantly likable (the wines, not the guests). Of course, I could have chosen modern-style Italian reds, wines that I know are made for just this very easygoingness. You can use instant polenta? these days, too.
Maybe I didn't give my guests enough credit. Or maybe—just maybe—it's fair to say that some people just aren't ready for some wines. Is that snobbish? Or is it a fair reality?
» Full Story
... brilliantly written article, which is why I had to reproduce it in its entirety. You understand.
Tags: melgab, wine, choice, taste, italian, south-africa, South Africa
