Beaucastel Chateauneuf-du-Pape, 2005

After over a year pining over it, I finally got to try my first Chateauneuf-du-Pape wine, a Beaucastel 2005. I had it over a steak dinner last week at a restaurant in New York.

It was depressing in the degree of disappointment. The crimson was not so crimson, and while the smell rose up as a lively licorice -- and maybe some fruit leather? -- the taste was watery and flat. I downed the glass for its numbing value and did not have another.

The winemaker's notes on Wine.com state Chateau de Beaucastel 2005 needs about 7-10 years of aging. "I can't see it being close to drinkable before 2014 and lasting up to 30 or more years," said Robert Parker in The Wine Advocate.

Well, I certainly wish I'd known that. I could've put Beaucastel on hold and had another. A nice safe chianti, for example. (Not a fan.)

Paso Creek Merlot, 2005

Paso Creek Merlot hails from Paso Robles, CA, a place that brings grit and desert to mind. It's a few degrees hotter than hell most of the year, and there's not much to see unless you're into tumbleweeds (which are HUGE, and not much fun to touch).

I picked the bottle out for three reasons:

1. Reading Judgment of Paris made me thirsty for that California pioneering spirit
2. The label had a texture -- like running your fingers over smooth asphalt. And check out the owl!
3. The label promised "bold character derived from stubborn patience." Couple that with an alcohol level of 13.5 percent -- conservative, in my experience with CA bottles -- and I felt like I'd come across the fruit of a radical.

We opened the bottle a few weeks ago. There was no occasion; it just seemed like a good night to throw back a drink. But the moment we popped the cork, I was intoxicated.

Paso Creek Merlot filled the room with a fresh-baked cookie smell. And it reminded me of my favourite shampoo, TIGI oatmeal and honey. All this warm raisiny goodness fell in stark contrast with the stained cork and the rich purple treat that we poured into our glasses.

It was like being in heaven. With a lot of carbs. Drink slowly: If you gorge, you're going to feel the way you did when you were eleven and ate all the molasses cookies. It also bears a slight blueberry aftertaste, which does refreshing battle to the iced oatmeal overload.

We finished it off the next night with chili, something I'd be hesitant to eat with any wine, especially this one. But the wine and chili were so cheerfully well-paired that I'd actually go out of my way to make chili the next time we uncork a Paso Creek Merlot.


Must be that desert charm. From the back of the bottle:

Paso Robles, off the beaten path between Santa Barbara and San Francisco, lays claim to the wildest temperature swings of any grape growing region in California. The daily climate drama causes our vines to produce small clusters and tiny berries, resulting in world-class, deeply concentrated wines. Small lot winemaking and patient barrel aging allow the bold character of our wines to fully develop.

This is officially one of my favourites. I don't just like it because it surprised me with that whole Grandmother's Cookies vibe; it's also unusually casual for a wine of its quality. Take it over a meal with a few good friends, or share it at a bonfire on Ocean Beach.

Cristom 2005 Estate Pinot Gris, Willamette Valley

I just finished reading Judgment of Paris: California vs. France and the Historic 1976 Paris Tasting. It made me painfully thirsty for wine from California and Oregon.

So yesterday I hit Red Feet and picked up two bottles from CA -- which I'll open and talk about later -- and Cristom's 2005 Estate Pinot Gris.

Cristom took root in Oregon's Willamette Valley. The estate is owned by Paul and Eileen Gerrie. In the early '90s the Gerries tapped Steve Doerner, who studied at UC Davis, to make their wine. Wine Geeks says Doerner is big on Pinot Noir.

Cristom produces 8,500 cases per year from 65 acres of vineyard. Growths include Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris, Syrah, Viognier and Chardonnay.

Estate Pinot Gris hails from a special vineyard called Emilia. Emilia was planted in '93 with two different clones as well as two different rootstocks. Grapes are fermented in stainless steel tanks. The winemaker says a glassful brings a plate of Hama Hama oysters to mind.

I uncorked the bottle last night. It's easy on the eye: pale yellow, like hay, with a friendly sparkle. A glass of Goldilocks hair! The cork is made of rubber -- an embarrassing relief considering I broke the Vacqueyras one last time.

Then there was the smell! I got fuzzy peaches, hard green grapes and newborn clover. Nothing overpowering; the notes remained just long enough to welcome you home. This is a bottle I'd like to have in Monterey by the seaside.

The taste drew me to the day my best friend and I tried making butter beer, way back when we first started reading Harry Potter.

The butter beer experiment failed, but if we had been successful, this is how it might have tasted: dry and buttery with notes of vanilla and cream, tempered by a longing for the sea.

It's also light on the alcohol, an aid to well-being without stripping you to your coarser nature.

Cristom's Estate 2005 Pinot Gris is a lively bottle that would easily charm a San Francisco meal at the pier. Think fresh bread, newly-caught fish, sharp salty wind, cold stones, colorful parkas and familiar faces.

I miss the West Coast.

Update: We finished the wine this evening. On day 2, the Cristom Estate 2005 Pinot Gris is less buttery and more wild-grassy. Also, Benj used some of it as a base with egg and flour to coat chicken. Sides included organic spinach, oyster mushrooms and rigatoni. It was a feel-good meal; no aggressive flavours. Yum!

Le Gœuil Côtes du Rhône Villages Cairanne, 2005

The Domaine Le Gœuil 2005 Cairanne (Cuvée Lea Felsch) is a grenache-based red at 14 percent alcohol.

The women at Red Feet were excited about it because it's fun to drink and was also produced by Catherine Le Gœuil, who's -- surprise-surprise -- a woman.

In Adventures on the Wine Route, Kermit Lynch (who imported this bottle) speculates wine doesn't just take on the qualities of its terrain. It also inherits characteristics from the winemaker.

I can believe this about Le Gœuil's Cairanne; it can't have been made with a heavy hand.

We opened the bottle last night. First inhale is an explosion of ripe red, sweet fruit: strawberries and candy, maybe even grenadine. Deeper inhale betrays a yielding, saccharine quality with a faint alcohol sting.

Cairanne is the color of Welch's grape juice with candy red highlights. She's playful. The taste is young and fleeting, coating the tongue for almost too little time.

It reminds me of being a kid, sometime close to summer when the sun's kiss is still so light it hardly disturbs the dew on your face.

I think it's best had with beautiful things that don't weigh heavy: a bouquet of flowers, fruit and yogurt, maybe quail with baby spinach.

I'd like to buy another one of these and age it awhile. It's a delight as-is, but that very quality makes me suspect an equally compelling maturity.

Domaine de Durban Muscat de Beaumes de Venise, 2005

I will raise my hand before talking, do the dishes when it's not my turn, and skip dessert in exchange for a good Muscat. And if you aspire to make me the happiest person alive, at least for the evening, I don't think you can do any better than Domaine de Durban's Muscat de Beaumes de Venise.

The color of pale gold, this honey-and-rose-scented pleasure tastes like the first bite of a fresh chilled Fuji apple. A slightly substantial, honeyed sweetness lingers thereafter.

You hardly feel the 15 percent alcohol -- there is no wine shudder -- and, according to the site, the vineyards for the 2005 batch are 25 years old.

The grapes are pure Muscat à Petits Grains. Berry Bros. & Rudd says Muscat Blancs à Petits Grains are the most noble variety of the Muscat family and cites Muscat de Beaumes du Venise among the best vin doux naturels in France.

Sans doute!

Unless you have company by, I don't recommend buying a bottle for home. Once chilled and opened, this is best had quickly and in sparing portions. It's hardly something you want to have on hand all the time; that would be like Santa coming twice a week. Horrors!

Côtes du Rhône, 2005

No photos of this one; Benj ordered a glass of it the other night to go with his dinner at a French restaurant in Ithaca called Dijon. I can't say I'm crazy about it, though I couldn't quite tell you what "it" is -- according to this resource, the Côtes du Rhône appellation covers over 1500 wineries and 100,000 acres.

The area produces 95 percent reds, which (generally?) break down as follows: Grenache (topping the mix at 40 percent), Syrah, Mouvèdre, Carignan and Cinsault grapes.

The 2005 red is dark for its age, but the taste reveals a superficial kind of youth.

At first scent I got strong blackberry notes; a deeper inhale revealed something antiseptic. Rubbing alcohol?

A sip gave way to the taste of red currant. This came and went with sips that followed. Overall, the wine didn't much linger.