Bernard Bouvier's Fixin, 2006

I didn't know this brand, but I bought it because I dig a good Bourgogne and also because it said "vieilles vignes" on the bottle. I've never seen a label that marketed the maturity of its vines - which makes a substantial difference in the maturity of the wine itself.

This is a delightfully rich and complex dinner wine - there's depth, but a warm little kiss of tart too, for personality. Whatever age those vines are, you can taste them, and they make good on the promise.

Beaujolais Nouveau Goes Plastic ... for the Environment?

Srsly.

Altos de Luzon, 2005

I'm partial to Spanish wines because so many of them taste carnal: close to the earth, close to the flesh.

The Altos de Luzon 2005, which hails from Jumilla, Spain, is no different. It has a striking fresh-pepper smell but tastes surprisingly dark and smooth, bringing to mind both warm chocolate and cool clay.

A good bottle to have around: it's cheap and doesn't take itself too seriously. (That is, it won't go straight to your head.)

Sober and unassuming, there's wit beneath the surface.

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.

Domaine le Sang des Cailloux Vacqueyras, Cuvée Floureto, 2004

I was excited about opening this bottle because I thought it was pretty. What can I say? I go for pretty.

Produced and bottled at the Domaine le Sang des Cailloux ("the blood of stones"), the Vacqueyras is 75 percent Grenache, 20 percent Syrah, five percent Mourvedre and Cinsault grapes aged in foudre, says Hudson Wine Merchants.

The color is a generous royal purple -- almost black -- and the nose is disarming, loaded with Mediterranean olive and pickled fruit, maybe plum, as well as black licorice (my least favourite jelly bean).

The 14 percent alcohol will go straight to your head without waiting for permission, so sip the wine slowly. I got more of that pickled fruit taste, but overall I found Vacqueyras regal and withholding. Its cards are kept close to the vest; if I'd known, I would have waited.

The keys on its bottle are quite apt.

We had the bottle with spiced pork, rosemary-seasoned rice and asparagus in olive oil and lemon powder. The variety of flavor complemented the olive aspect well, but I was feeling heady -- and a little cheated -- before I even finished my glass. Vacqueyras takes without giving back.

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.

Paul Jaboulet Aîné Côte Rôtie Les Jumelles, 1997

According to the Jaboulet website, the Syrah composing Les Jumelles hails from vines aged between 15 and 40 years. The wine is left to its own devices for 12 months in oak barrels, about 20 percent of which are new wood.

That probably explains the smokiness. To the credit of the growers, this seems to add to, rather than subtract from, the personality of the final product.

We had this bottle during Christmas dinner and I have never seen or tasted anything like it. (Then again, I am new to this.)

The nose is met with a sharp smell that brings Mediterranean olives to mind. The wine itself gives off a dull gleam, like dusty rubies.

It tastes distinctly like I would imagine roasted earth to taste -- smoky and sweet, like smoked holiday ham (crowned with a pineapple, like the ones Mom would get from Goldilocks and claim she cooked herself).

It paired well with the home-made chicken pie and young boiled carrots -- indeed, Côte Rôtie Les Jumelles seemed to add a garnet luster to the sweetness of the carrots and the creamy heartiness of the pie.

True to form, the wine left bits of sediment at the bottom of the glass, adding to its earthy feel.

I've heard it said that wine represents a kind of communion between man and the soil he tills, but before this particular bottle I've not felt so close to the land from which these grapes were gleaned.

Viña Bosconia Reserva Rioja, 1999

The official breakdown:

Tempranillo 80%
Garnacho 15%
Graciano 3%
Mazuelo 2%

The estate, R. Lopez de Heredia Viña Tondonia, SA, is located in Haro (Rioja Alta), Spain.

This bad-boy is the colour of communion grape juice and its 13 percent alcohol count says "Hello!" after half a glass.

First olfactory impressions include red berries, black licorice and raw meat -- in that order. Then again, I had it with lamb and potatoes, so maybe I was under the influence of my eyes. (I doubt it.)

I'm into Spanish reds because they taste and feel a little like blood. This one is slightly herby and was, at outset, overwhelmed by the meal (provincial lamb and plain potatoes -- it wasn't meant to be overwhelming!). It was like drinking weak club soda.

With time a slight meatiness developed, followed by the usual metallic taste -- which is where the thoughts of blood start coming in -- and a bitterness in the back of the throat, not unlike cloves, but with a slightly sweet upturn.

It didn't seem very interesting at first, but a bit of time and a few more sips betrayed a pleasant tang and blackberry aftertaste.

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.