One of the best wine tasters I’ve ever met is from the Philippines. One the face of it, that doesn’t seem like a particularly interesting statement.

But think about it for a second.

Even if you’ve never been to the Philippines, you could probably guess what kind of fruits and vegetables grow there. Coconut, pineapple, banana, mango, squash, taro, bamboo shoots, okra…the usual tropical suspects. And the Philippines being an archipelago in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, you might imagine it would be tough and expensive to import fruits and vegetable that don’t grow there. So if you’re living in the Philippines, most of what you eat probably comes from the Philippines.

So with that in mind, let’s take a look at some recent Daily Wine Picks from The Wine Spectator:

ZENATO Amarone della Valpolicella Classico 2005 (90 points, $70) Pretty aromas of boysenberry and sliced plum lead to a full body, with unctuous ripe fruit. Round and ready.

SANTA BARBARA Chardonnay Santa Barbara County 2008 (87 points, $17) Clean, fresh, ripe and pure. Medium-bodied, with a mix of lemon and citrus-laced green apple, spice and floral scents.

Boysenberry. Probably not a lot of berry cultivation in the tropics. Ditto for plums and apples. None of these fruits are likely to be in heavy rotation (if at all) in the average Philippine diet. The “floral scents” my friend likely grew up with–ylang-ylang, hibiscus, jasmine, etc. –are worlds apart from the rose/honeysuckle/violet aromas that I (and, I’d venture to say, the author of this tasting note) know well.

Not surprisingly, my friend found tasting in the U.S. really hard at first. She had no idea what a boysenberry tasted like. When she moved here, she spent hours training herself on what boysenberries, blackberries, blueberries, cranberries, strawberries, cherries, apricots, plums, peaches, red apples, yellow apples and green apples tasted like in fresh/cooked/preserved form. She tested herself constantly, and was eventually able to recognize and talk about these aromas and flavors in wine with impressive accuracy and eloquence.

So why am I telling you this? To call attention to the Eurocentrism of wine tasting notes? Hardly. I’m sharing this for two reasons. First, as a reminder that every person’s palate is different, due to biology, culture and experience. If your wine-savvy friend is waxing rhapsodic about the aroma of green papaya emanating from her glass of Chardonnay and you can’t smell it, don’t freak out. Maybe she backpacked around Thailand when she was 22 and dined on green papaya salad every night. There’s probably  something you’ll be able to spot that she never would have noticed.

And second, I want to assure you that it’s possible to train your palate. Cook with a new spice or fruit or vegetable. Eat at that Ethiopian/Nepalese/Honduran place down the block you’ve always wanted to try. And don’t just do it once. Come back to these different aromas and flavors repeatedly, talk about them with your dining companions, take notes on them, whatever it takes to get them fixed in your mind. You’ll accumulate a store of sensory experiences you can refer to when you’re tasting wine. You’ll find that some of these new aromas, particularly the ones you really love (or really hate), are easy to suss out, while others will elude you. That’s OK. Keep at it. Be patient, don’t be too hard on yourself–and remember that building a great palate is just as important (if not more so) than building a great cellar.

Take, for example, Bonarda. Several different grape varieties are known by this name, but chances are if you see the word “Bonarda” on the label, you’re drinking a wine that’s not made from Bonarda at all.

I know. I know. Let me ’splain: there’s “Bonarda” from Italy and “Bonarda” from Argentina. Three different grapes go by the name “Bonarda” in Italy. There’s the Bonarda that’s planted in north central Italy, particularly the Oltrepò Pavese and Colli Piacentini regions. That’s actually the Croatina grape. (If you see the word “Bonarda” on the label of an Italian wine, you’re likely drinking one of these wines.) Then there’s the Bonarda that’s planted in Piedmont, in northwest Italy, that’s really the Uva Rara variety. Finally, there’s the real, and very rare, McCoy: Bonarda Piemontese (also, somewhat obviously, from the Piedmont region). As you can probably guess, nomenclature in the wine world can be imprecise, and nowhere more so than in Italy.

Now for “Bonarda” from Argentina, which you’re much more likely to see at your local wine store. This is–surprise!–a completely different grape. It’s actually Charbono (also known as Corbeau in France, for those keeping score at home). Nonetheless, we’ll call it Bonarda here because, well, that’s what they call it in Argentina, where it’s the second-most-planted red variety after Malbec. And like its much more famous compatriot, Bonarda is a terrific value. I’ve never seen a Bonarda for more than $20, and they often come in around $15 or less. However, Bonarda provides a very different taste experience than Malbec, whose primary appeal is its deep, chocolate and plum flavors and soft, smooth texture. Bonarda, on the other hand, offers bright fruit, spice, and earth. What it lacks in body, it makes up for in acidity. Bonarda produces straightforward wines, meant to be drunk young. I can vouch from experience that Bonarda-and-burgers is a winning combo.

Paul and I enjoyed this Colonia las Liebres 2008 Bonarda along with some hamburgers straight from the grill. Made by Malbec mega-producer Altos los Hormigas, this Bonarda is a bit softer and rounder than most other versions I’ve tried. Still, the characteristic red fruit and spice flavors are there. It reminds me of one of my favorite quick desserts, strawberries macerated in some balsamic vinegar and topped with a few grindings of black pepper. If you were to distill the essence of that dish — fruity, tart, and peppery — you’d have this Bonarda. This is not a remotely complex wine, but it is a satisfying one. I found it at my local wine store for $12, but I’ve seen it online for as little as $9.99.

It’s understandable. The wines are rarely cheap. The word is hard to pronounce (Vee-o-NYAY, for a rough approximation). And the flavor profile isn’t an obvious sell for people who like their whites crisp and refreshing. These are wines with meat on their bones. The aromas are rich and honeyed, and what the wines may lack in acidity, they make up for in body and alcohol. The relatively low acidity of Viognier means it’s never going to be my absolute favorite variety of all time. As I’ve said before, I’m a sucker for acidity.

Viognier shines in the northern Rhône, particularly in the tiny Condrieu appellation. The small size of Condrieu, as well as the difficulties of growing this grape (its yields are low) help to explain the high prices these wines fetch. Fun fact: Viognier can also be blended with Syrah to create the powerful, intense red Côte Rôtie wines that are close to my heart–a very, very rare example of white variety being allowed in a red wine.

There are also some good Viogniers stateside, from California and Virginia in particular. This 2007 Praxis Viognier ($20) from Lodi, in California’s hot and sunny Central Valley, is one example. (Full disclosure: this wine is carried by wine importer/wholesaler Todd Wernstrom of Ice Bucket Selections, an avid STBNY commenter and newish Twitter friend. Todd recommended that I try the wine, which I paid for myself.) The Praxis, which is a side project from Napa Cabernet specialist Bill Arbios, has a pretty golden cast, a distinctive feature of the grape. The nose is orange-blossom honey and grapefruit, with a hint of musky fruitiness too, a little like unfiltered apple juice. There’s more honey on the palate, plus some apricots (a tell-tale sign of the grape), as well as some almonds on the lengthy finish. The wine is fermented entirely in stainless steel, which provides some welcome restraint. (Fermenting the wine in oak barrels would make the wine more unctuous — and increase the price.) It’s full-bodied, and it wears its 13.6% alcohol well enough. This an unabashedly pretty wine, and one that would go nicely with, say, scallops in cream sauce or a pseudo-Moroccan chicken dish with dried fruits, nuts and cinnamon. I opened this wine on a Thursday night and it tasted just as good when I pulled it out of the fridge on Monday evening. In part because it’s sturdy enough to hold up nicely for a few days, but also because after a weekend of tasting racy, high-acid and light-bodied Finger Lakes Rieslings, this full-bodied, lush wine was just the ticket.

One final fun fact: Viognier is the sole grape allowed in Château-Grillet, one of the only French appellation that consists of a single wine estate.

Many of these wines are, like sherry, made with deliberate oxidation. That means the winemaker intentionally, and very carefully, exposes them to oxygen during the winemaking/aging process. (Too much oxygen is usually the enemy of wine–think of how a cut apple browns when it’s exposed to air and you get the idea.) But if you carefully manage the wine’s exposure to oxygen, you get a nutty, tangy, almost salty quality to them. The fanciest and most expensive Jura wine from the Savagnin grape is called vin jaune — literally, “yellow wine.” From reputation, I know that these wines are incredibly long-lived and oddly spicy. Sadly, I have never had the opportunity to try one (although if anyone out there has a bottle in their cellar they’d like to share, don’t be afraid to drop me a line). Happily, though, I did have a chance to try this Côtes du Jura Les Chassagnes Ouillé ($28) from Phiippe Bornard, a biodynamic producer. A few things to know about this wine before you dig in: first, it has this very cool wax seal, which you can easily cut through with the little knife attachment on your corkscrew.

Second, the wine is not crystal clear. There’s definitely some cloudiness, here but it’s nothing to worry about — it’s typical of the wine style and this producer’s non-interventionist wine making approach.

The wine itself is tangy and saline, like the aftertaste of spending the day at the beach. There’s some citrus and stone fruit and honey here too, but it’s really the sherry-like twanginess that stays with you. It’s a terrific match for cheeses, particularly one of its mountain compatriots, such as Comté, or an aged Gouda.

Whether you’re at the symphony, in a room full of Rembrandts, or even watching a baseball game, it’s way too easy to let your mind wander. You start out with the best of intentions, but before you know it, your head is somewhere else–you’re thinking about organizing your receipts, whether you need to buy more Brita filters, what to delete from your Netflix queue. We get easily overwhelmed. A great solution is to just focus on one thing. What the cellist is doing, the artist’s knack for capturing an expression of wry amusement, or, yes, the way that wine smells exactly like mushrooms.*

Sometimes if you try to take everything in, it just becomes too much. By isolating one fact, or one sensation, you’re able to really get what’s going on. So the next time you’re feeling undue pressure to Appreciate a Wine — whether that pressure comes from a waiter, your wine geek friend, a favorable review from a critic, or, God forbid, me — take a deep breath, block out the noise, and think about one thing only. It could be anything: the color of the wine, how it feels in your mouth, the fact that it reminds you of cherry cough syrup. Keep it in your sights as you continue to taste and drink the wine. Does the wine taste more or less like cherry cough syrup as time goes on? Has that flavor melded into another one, say, strawberry jam? Or freshly laid tar? There’s often so much going on in a glass of wine — and in our own heads when we’re trying to evaluate it — that this helps to quiet the noise. Our own expectations (“I’m supposed to love this!” “I’m never going to understand wine!”) can be our own worst enemies. Beginners are most susceptible to this, but even people who have been tasting and studying wine for years (ahem) are not immune. Try it — and tell me what you think.

*Note: these analogies do not mean I think that wine is art. Wine is many wonderful, beautiful things, but it is not art. A topic for another post.

A final programming note: don’t forget that this Friday is the deadline for the ZAP Zinfandel tasting giveaway! Submit your haikus, people!

Yes, white wine should be cold — but probably not as cold as you think. A good rule of thumb is to take the bottle out 10-20 minutes before you’re going to drink it, depending on the kind of wine. (The one exception here is sparkling wine, which is at its brightest and bubbliest right out of the refrigerator.) Crisp, high acidity, lighter bodied wines that are all about refreshment — Sauvignon Blancs or northern Italian whites, for example — are better on the cooler side, say from 45-50 degrees. Heavy chilling is also a great way to mask flavors in case you’re stuck with a mediocre bottle. Fuller bodied wines like California Chardonnay, white Burgundy, or whites from the northern Rhone show best when they’re a bit warmer, for example between 55-60 degrees. Cold mutes smells and flavors, and since these wines aren’t intensely aromatic, they need to be warmed up a bit to show off their character. Feel free to cup the wine glass in your hands and swirl to warm up the wine if it still seems a little shy.

For reds, try sticking them in the fridge 10-20 minutes before drinking. This is especially important in winter, when many of us crank up the heat. The idea of serving a red wine at room temperature comes from an era when room temperature was closer to 65 than the toasty 75 or so where we like to keep the thermostat now. As with whites, lighter, higher acidity wines, like Beaujolais, a lot of Loire reds, Pinot Noir, Dornfelder, Lagrein, Zweigelt and the like, really shine when they’re cool, as in 60 degrees or so. More complex and tannic wines taste better when they’re a bit warmer, closer to 65 degrees.

With both the whites and the reds I encourage you to play around with this. Experiment, and see what temperature makes the wine tastes best. And by temperature, I mean time in or out of the fridge. No need to invest in one of those wine thermometers — I usually discourage people from buying fussy wine accoutrements. One of the few exceptions: a temperature controlled cellar unit if, like me, you don’t have a cool place for long-term wine storage. And by cool I mean somewhere in the range of 50-60 degrees.

And, finally, a temperature-related programming note: I’ll be in Puerto Rico in vacation next week. It’s my goal to do a video or two while I’m there, including a mini tasting tutorial, but expect the pace of posting to be light.

Austria’s most popular red grape, it’s a crossing of two other varieties, Blaufränkish and St Laurent, that was created by one Dr. Zweigelt in 1922. Austrian and German researchers have long been at the forefront of this kind of tinkering, breeding new varieties that can cope with their frigid climates. Some crossings sacrifice quality for hardiness, but Zweigelt, thankfully, is not one of them. The grape produces spicy, plummy, peppery wines that tend to be low in tannin and high in acidity, with only moderate alcohol levels. While there are some examples that will age, most of what you’ll see in the U.S. are simple, refreshing, versatile wines that are meant to be drunk young. As I’ve tried to indicate from this photo, they’re also great with a little chill on them (20 minutes in the fridge should do the trick.)

All of the above applies to this 2008 Martinsholf Zweigelt, which we served with a day-after-Christmas spread of spicy roast pork loin and herbed potatoes. The acidity helped to cut through the fatty pork action, and the spicy, earthy flavors in the wine played up the cumin rub and the red chili and garlic sauce we served on the side. Zweigelt and sausages are another winning combination. If you’re not a pork fan, then how about some Buffalo chicken wings? Or a black bean quesadilla? In fact, as Bowl season approaches, I can’t think of a better wine accompaniment to a football-themed feast. It comes in at a very beer budget price of $14 for a full liter bottle and even has a flip top cap.

I’ll get to why in a moment, but first let’s define our terms. By law, organic wine is made from grapes that have not been treated with chemical fertilizers, herbicides, or fungicides. The wine must be produced in a certified organic winery, and the winemaker can’t add sulfites. Sulfites are a natural product of all winemaking, so it’s virtually impossible for a wine to be completely sulfite-free. If the winemaker does add sulfites, which help preserve the wine and keep it stable, the wine can only be labelled “made from organically grown grapes.” Some producers make organic wines but aren’t certified organic because it takes considerable time, money, and effort to get the certification.

Biodynamic wine is organic wine on steroids, to use an analogy that would undoubtedly bum out the biodynamic movement. It’s as much a philosophy as it is a way to make wine, and it takes into consideration not just the grapes and the soil but the whole ecosystem of the vineyard. Some of the methods are undoubtedly wacky — like stuffing manure in a cow’s horn and burying it in the soil — but some of the results are compelling, with several prominent winemakers swearing by it. And it’s not at all a flaky California thing: biodynamism, originally an Austrian movement, has a passionate following in Europe.

Sustainable or natural wine, meanwhile, is organic lite–these are general terms, not mandated by law, and they can mean almost anything. Sometimes sustainable wines are those in transition from conventional to organic — it takes several years to shift a vineyard from traditional to organic agriculture — but sometimes there’s a little wine marketing sleight of hand going on. Caveat emptor: whenever I buy a wine that calls itself “sustainable” I do some hard-core Googling when I get home to find out exactly what’s sustainable about it.

OK, now that we have the what, here’s the why. I prefer these wines for a few reasons. First, winemaking, when you peel away the “back-to-the-land” marketing language, is not always that great for the environment. Pesticides, fungicides and herbicides are all employed in conventional grape-growing, and making wine requires a lot of an increasingly scarce resource: water. In one of my diploma classes I heard that it takes 20 gallons of water to produce one bottle of wine. (I’m trying to verify that, but no luck — if anyone has any more stats or sources, I’d love to hear them.) I’m not the greenest person on the block, but given how often I drink wine, I do feel some responsibility to make good choices — and I’m willing to pay a few extra dollars for it.

Second, I think the overall quality level of organic wine is high. That’s not to say there aren’t mediocre organic wines out there — I’m not a huge fan of Bonterra Merlot, an organic wine from California that’s distributed widely — but I do believe that anyone who takes the time and money to go organic cares about their grapes. Great wine is made in the vineyard, and the more attentive the producer is to the health of the grapes and the health of the soil, the better.

I’m also more likely to be surprised by these wines. A lot of these producers, particularly the biodynamic ones, operate on a small scale, in remote corners of the world, using unusual grape varieties and very old-school winemaking techniques. The results can be strange sometimes, but never boring. All of the Savio Soares wines I poured at my tasting were made using either organic or biodynamic methods, and they all provoked strong reactions (usually positive ones, thankfully.)

Here are some of my favorite producers using organic and biodynamic techniques. You can check out an extensive list here. I’ve also taken tours at  Benzinger in Sonoma and Shinn Estate on Long Island, where you can see organic and biodynamic practices up close and personal.

USA

Benzinger (Sonoma, CA– only estate wines are biodynamic)

Coturri (Sonoma, CA)

Shinn Estate (Long Island, NY)

Austria

Hirsh

Nigl

Nikolaihof

France

Catherine et Pierre Breton (Loire)

Marc Kreydenweiss (Alsace)

Chapoutier (Rhône)

Domaine Léon Barral (Languedoc-Roussillon)

Italy

Alois Lageder (Alto Adige)

Gravner (Friuli/Venezia Giulia)

New Zealand

Seresin

Spain

López de Heredia (Rioja)

A great place to start is Bordeaux, where the red wines are a blend of up to five permitted grape varieties. Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot are the stars of this classic wine region, while Cabernet Franc and Malbec usually play supporting roles. Waiting in the wings is Petit Verdot. (It’s pronounced Vair-DOH). The grape has dark, thick skins, which add color and tannin to the Bordeaux blend. It also adds spiciness and and a firm intensity to the wine. The downside of Petit Verdot is that it ripens late in the harvest season, which, in temperate Bordeaux, means that in some years it doesn’t really ripen at all.

Some intrepid producers in warmer regions are trying their hands at making wines starring Petit Verdot, like this 2006 Deen De Bortoli Vat 4 ($13.99) from South Eastern Australia. I can see the potential here. There’s some good spice on the nose — cloves and nutmeg — and the firm tannins made it a decent match for the skirt steak I served it with. But the wine spent 12 months aging in American oak, and the wood clouds the taste of the fruit, like a film of dirt on a glass window. Petit Verdot sometimes has a hard, rubbery character that reminds me of a pencil eraser, a quality that’s in full effect here. In theory I support the idea of a predominantly Petit Verdot wine, but in this case I’m not loving the execution. Back to the drawing board on this one, guys — I promise that the next BKaG will feature a wine I actually like.

Alcohol adds weight and viscosity to a wine. In general, higher alcohol wines will feel fuller and rounder in your mouth. Even if you had no sense of smell or taste, you could register the difference between a wine with 12.5% alcohol (imagine a Cabernet Franc-based red wine from the Loire Valley, like a Saumur-Champigny) and a wine with 15% alcohol (a Zinfandel from Sonoma, for example) — just like you could tell the difference between a glass of skim milk and a cup of cream.

But for wine, as for people, there’s a fine line between the right amount of alcohol and too much, and once you cross it, watch out. At higher levels, alcohol will  register on your palate as a cloying sweetness that clashes with food. Too much alcohol can also  create an unpleasant burning sensation in the back of your throat. Wine people will say that a wine is “hot” when this happens, and they don’t mean it as a compliment. Alcohol shouldn’t be the first thing you notice when take a whiff or a sip. It should play nice with all the other elements in the wine — the acidity, the tannins, and any residual sugar that may be present — and help amplify the aromas and flavors.

Alcohol is a subject of much debate in the wine world, as alcohol levels have been creeping up in recent years. Blame America, if you must (everyone else does.) It’s both nature and nurture: the hot, sunny climate you find in many of California’s wine producing regions translates into grapes that are high in sugar, and more sugar translates into higher alcohol. (Remember: fermentation is sugar + yeast turning into alcohol + carbon dioxide.) Global warming also plays a part: temperatures are on the rise, and so too are alcohol levels. Climate change deniers need only look at the fact that England is now producing red wines for the first time since the unusually balmy Medieval period to reconsider their stance.

The nurture part is more complicated, and more divisive. Our American appetite for sweetness and overall in-your-faceness vs. the more subtle tastes of our European cousins has prompted the wine industry to push for riper grapes, bigger flavors, and more alcohol. Some of these wines can be thrilling, or, at the very least, a lot of fun. Too many of them, however, grab you by the throat and make you beg for mercy. They’re positively boozy, with an alcoholic kick that overshadows the wine’s other virtues (or, to take the cynical view, hides its flaws) and makes it impossible to match with food.

Fortunately, alcohol is one of the easiest things to decipher, as it must be clearly marked on all wine labels. At the low end of the alcohol range, sweet German wines can clock in around 8% or 9% alcohol by volume. On the high end you have Port, which usually comes in around 20%. Most of the dry wines we drink live in the 12-15% range. In terms of matching with food, bigger alcohol wines are better with heartier dishes, while lower alcohol wines work with lighter fare. And when in doubt, better to err on the side of too little alcohol than too much. Trust me on this one.