The grapes less traveled: Auxerrois and Pecorino

Some of you probably think it’s strange that we buy wine at other stores, even though we’re a retailer ourselves. Sure, we get access to some good wine, at the store, at trade events, and through distributors and such. We’d venture to guess, though, that folks in the wine business buy from entities other than their own more often than you’d think.

For us, we’re motivated by our desire to try new things, in quantities greater than the small pours we’re given to sample when distributors show off their wares. Sometimes we want a whole bottle of something, to enjoy at our leisure, with a meal, and without the pressure of the sales pitch. In these cases, we go to shops like John & Pete’s and keep up our memberships with Winery clubs like Eric Kent. Or, as we did on Saturday, we head to Larchmont Wine, Spirits and Cheese.

Our request for Simon, the wine buyer, was simple: we were roasting a chicken with lots of garlic, and we were looking for a white wine to enjoy with it. He first steered us to a 2004 Chateau Puligny Montrachet Bourgogne Blanc, but we’ve had this before at a tasting, and we also wanted to get away from Chardonnay for an evening.

We asked for something off the beaten path. Simon switched things up and handed us two wines: first, the 2005 Albert Mann Auxerrois Vin d’Alsace, and, second, the San Giovani “Kiara” Pecorino from the Offida DOC within the Abruzzo region of Italy. Armed with two single variety wines from regions we weren’t overly familiar with, we left the store very pleased. Oh, and each wine cost about $20, so we were within budget (mind you, the chicken cost less than $3 on special at Costco. How a whole fryer chicken can cost $3 is probably worth its own blog post).

We opened only one of the bottles on Saturday, and the one we chose was the minerally, dry Pecorino. As we drank the wine and ate our food, we were reminded of our attempt last year of pairing a $60 wine with a $6 chicken, back when we popped open the Pax Venus Roussanne to disastrous results. That wine was over-oaked and lacked acidity.

The Pecorino fared much better in terms of both of these elements, though it also included flavors we associate with Southern Rhone varietals like Roussanne and Marsanne. Most notably, it had some tropical and floral components, such as elderflower (though without any hint of sweet). This wasn’t a food pairing disaster, nor was it a match made in heaven. We just found the Pecorino to be average.

That is, until we finished our main course and pulled the onions and garlic cloves that had been simmering in the drippings in the bottom of our roasting pan. They were finally ready, and our favorite part of the meal. Okay, some of you are probably disgusted by the thought of us scavenging the bottom of a pan in search of carcinogenic-charred, fat-infused bulb vegetables. To you we say, you don’t know what you’re missing. No, you really don’t. Burnt onions and garlic nuggets are da bomb. Try before you judge.

More important, the true revelation was what happened to our wine when we sipped it after downing some onions, and garlic especially. No longer bland and dull, it became lively, supple, almost dessert like, and oh so quaffable. It didn’t lose its backbone, but it had a grace to it that hadn’t been apparent. This wine started to strut its stuff. We realize, it’s not the wine that changed but our experience of it. And this was the most dramatic transformation we’ve witnessed in our perception of a wine, presenting itself to us first as mousy librarian and ultimately as beauty queen in the course of a single meal.

(Note, we prefer our wines to be more like Tina Fey, a smart girl with consistent sass from start to finish; but we’ll certainly take a strong third act over a dull whole.)

Last night, we cracked open the Auxerrois, an Alsatian grape variety considered a sibling of Chardonnay, and paired it with Haddock (the first we’ve ever seen in Southern California) poached in olive oil, white wine, herbs and a touch of butter and lemon. The wine was slightly off-dry and perfectly drinkable.

We had the same initial reaction as we had with the Pecorino: it’s a serviceable wine but with no remarkable pizazz. But within a half hour we noticed something strange. No onions or garlic were bringing out unexpected flavors this time. Why? Because the bottle was empty. The wine gone in record time, we must have enjoyed it more than we initially thought. Like, a lot more.

Note, to those of you seeking Wine Century Club status, both of these varieties are listed as qualifying grapes, so seek them out!

what's all this, then?

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