Look, I don’t pay any attention to Parker points. I find the people who follow him slavishly a little off-putting. But my occasional annoyance at Parker and his acolytes is dwarfed by my chagrin at people who love nothing more than to complain about him. Why so much rage, you guys? It makes me make feel like I need to defend the 100-point system. So here’s my attempt to refute the most popular anti-Parker arguments:

1. Wine is beautiful, magical, transcendent, something so special that it can not be reduced to a mere number. I love wine. I have had my share of magical experiences around great bottles that count among the happiest moments of my life.  But for most of us, wine is an enjoyable beverage. The vast majority of consumers who don’t know a ton about wine are looking for a good bottle that won’t break the bank, and, every so often, a splurge that lives up to its price tag. If the 100-point scale system is helpful in those pursuits, who am I to judge? The world of wine is vast and diverse, and there’s enough room for those of us who take it very seriously, and those of us who just want to have a good time. Imagine if the movie industry operated the same way. It would be like going around to people waiting in line to buy tickets to Eat, Pray, Love, telling them they are boors for seeing the movie just because their local critic gave it three-and-a-half stars, all while waving the latest issue of Cahiers du Cinéma in their face.

2. Robert Parker is evil. Therefore, the 100-point scoring system is evil. If I remember correctly from my 10th grade ethics class, this is what’s called an ad hominem argument. Attacking the man instead of the issue at hand. If we only read books, watched movies, or embraced innovation and technology created by likeable people, the structure of our DNA would be undiscovered, the iPhone wouldn’t exist, and our only entertainment would be an endless loop of Sandra Bullock movies on TBS. (Although don’t get me wrong, I love Sandra Bullock.) This argument is illogical, annoying, and childish. Next.

3. I’m OK with assigning numerical scores to wine, but the 100-point scale is arbitrary. This is the most reasonable of all the arguments out there, even though I don’t quite buy it. Yes, the 100-point scale is imperfect, and damned if I know the difference between a 91 point one and a 92 point one. There’s a certain Scholastic “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” nature to a 100-point scale, but that arbitrariness is inherent in any grading or evaluation system. Does the fact that it’s numerical annoy people? Or does 100 seem like too large a range, in which case does that make Jancis Robinson’s 20-point system only 1/5th as stupid?

4. The 100-point-scoring system is the Worst Thing to Ever Happen to Wine in the United States, if not the WORLD. This is my favorite. We should be so lucky! I can think of plenty of things that are much worse for the wine industry. Insane wine mark ups at restaurants. The U.S.’s anti-consumer three-tier distribution system. French wine subsidies. Anti-alcohol crusaders. Confusing labeling laws. Shall I go on?

5. The 100-point system is the reflection of one man’s tastes. This one is pretty accurate. It’s no secret what kind of wines Robert Parker likes (big, bigger, and biggest), and that he’s not one for subtlety. But I don’t think that’s a huge problem, and here’s why. First, he’s representative of the American palate overall. Yes, we eat too much artificially flavored, oversweetened crap that has wreaked havoc on our taste buds and makes us crave more flavor, more sweetness, more stimulation, more, more, more. But as Americans, we have access to a greater variety of good, intensely flavored food from around the world than pretty much anyone else in the universe. Inhabitants of even a moderately sized U.S. city can probably find some good Chinese, Mexican, Thai, Indian and BBQ within half an hour of their homes–not something you can say about the average European. (But if anyone can tell me about some great Vietnamese and soul food  joints in Rennes, Turin, or Stuttgart, I’m all ears.)  I’d argue that all of these cuisines can work well with bold flavors, so we’re not morons for gravitating towards these big wines.

Second, the problem with Parker’s palate isn’t its existence, but its primacy. Since the 1980s, his palate has been the only one that’s mattered, and the 100-point scale has been the dominant wine rating point of reference. His stamina and talent for self-promotion, among other characteristics, have kept him on top and made it tough for other voices, palates, and evaluation systems to emerge.

But this is America, gosh darn it. We don’t wring our hands about the other guy’s success. We tip our cap, come  up with something better, and work our butts off to steal market share away from him. This is actually happening, albeit incrementally. Wine bloggers are gaining a little traction, although probably not as much as we’d like to think. Some folks are doing interesting stuff with wine badges. Wine retailers are working harder to educate their customers, writing their own shelf talkers instead of relying on Parker points, offering more tastings, and organizing their selections around what foods to match them with or their taste profiles. Olive Garden, the restaurant chain that sells more wine than any other in the U.S., lets patrons try wine for free and organizes its wines by flavor profile, with nary a Parker score in sight. Granted, I don’t eat at the Olive Garden and this is a boring list, but it’s well priced, with accessible wines that probably complement the food they serve.

These may be baby steps, but they’re definitely steps. The quality and variety of wine available right now on the U.S. market in unparalleled. Is the 100-point scale the ideal way to get consumers to drink the best, and most varied, selection of wine out there? Of course not. But let’s move on.  Give the guy his due and come up with something better.

I rebounded from my disappointment with the Lupi Le Braje and cracked open a bottle of Lini Lambrusco ($14.99) Monday night. Full disclosure: I have had this wine before (“isn’t that cheating?” my husband asked with raised eyebrow as I popped the cork). Yes, OK, so sue me. I wanted a sure thing–and I wanted to smile. Because it’s impossible to drink this wine without smiling. A fizzy red with bright cherry and strawberry aromas, and more than a touch of earthiness, this wine is incredibly easy to like. The bubbles + substantial acidity have a way of working up one’s appetite, and I’m confident I could conquer even the most daunting plate of salumi with this Lini by my side. This is a terrific, casual red for summer.

Tuesday night I went in for a more refined, but no less satisfying, wine experience at dell’Anima. I’ve been curious about this restaurant for a while. Not just because of the good reviews, or because co-owner Joe Campanale is a graduate of the same wine diploma program I’m in the middle of. (No, we’ve never met.) I’m a little obsessed because Joe’s mom is on Twitter. (@dellanimom, how cute is that?) This is a)totally endearing and b)great branding. I mean, who better to be your brand ambassador than your own mom? I don’t know why more people haven’t thought of this. Anyway, dellanimom (aka Karen Campanale) and I have had some lovely exchanges over Twitter and I was eager to see what her son–such a nice boy!–was up to.

Things started off well at the bar. Tired of the crisp, refreshing wines of summer, I was in the mood for some depth. I tried the 1997 Malvira “Treuve,” a Piedmontese blend of Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, and Arneis, a white grape indigenous to the region. Nutty and austere, with a little bit of freshness yet, this is exactly the kind of thoughtful wine you want to sip slowly while waiting for your dining companion. And kudos to dell’Anima for offering an older white by the glass for a relatively reasonable $14. Drinking older wines by the bottle is financially inaccessible for many of us, and impractical if you just want a glass, so this is a more approachable option.

We kept up the 20th century theme with dinner and ordered a bottle of the 1998 Sant’Elena Ros di Rol, ($44) a Merlot/Cabernet from Friuli. Northern Italian reds are one of my favorite things to drink in hot weather. Cool climate fruit produces wines that are subtle and restrained, excellent qualities when it’s 90 degrees in the shade and the last thing you want is big and brawny. The Ros di Rol absolutely fit the bill. The wine struck a great balance between fruit and earth. For the first time, I began to understand what iconic wine writer Hugh Johnson means when he says that Bordeaux (which, like this Ros di Rol, is often a Cab/Merlot blend) is refreshing to drink. It went well with our eclectic dinner choices, which ranged from octopus (heightened, as all things are, by slivers of chorizo) to quail, which had me wondering if there are some of my people (Puerto Rican, that is) in the kitchen, as the quail skin was crisped to chicharrón levels of crunchy, fatty deliciousness.

My one complaint about dell’Anima is that there’s relatively little information about its wines online. The wine list is incomplete and a bit difficult to read. I’m sure the selection changes often, but I would have loved the chance to do a little more wine list recon before dining there.

In fact, this was one of the biggest issues I faced during Italian Wine Week overall. It was pretty difficult to find good, updated information about many of the wines that I drank. (In English for sure, but even in Italian there wasn’t always a lot out there.) The sheer diversity of Italian wine, with its 1,000+ varieties, along with the occasional arbitrariness of Italian wine legislation and labeling, can be confusing. I understand that for small production wines it’s completely impractical to spend time and money creating fancy Web sites, but I’d love to see more importers or regional wine marketing organizations take up this challenge.

I suppose this is where I should summarize everything I’ve learned during my week of drinking nothing but Italian, but making any grand proclamations after a mere half dozen bottles is absurd. I’ll just say that I was delighted to do it, and just as delighted to resume my usual consumption patterns. And with that, I’m off to open an obscure Languedoc red I’ve been dying to try.

I’m of two minds about this wine. The nose was incredibly compelling–earthy, dark, with a little leather and black cherry too. It bears no resemblance to any Dolcetto I’ve ever had, which usually feature more accessible, bright aromas. There’s a slight barnyard thing as well. (That means manure, for those who aren’t familiar with this tasting euphemism.) But on the palate, well, there just wasn’t enough “there” there for me. There were some bitter notes up front, which I actually really enjoyed, but then the mid-palate and finish just fell away. I wondered if the fruit had just dried up, as Dolcetto usually produces wines that are meant to be drunk young. But Ormeasco can apparently give more robust and longer-lived wines than its Piedmontese sibling, and the 2005 is, as far as I can tell, the most release. I’m assuming then that this is just the style. Sadly, it’s not the style for me.

That’s why I am going to  compare this 2009 Torre dei Beati Montepulciano d’Abruzzo Cerasuolo ($16.99) to a well-known woman, one who should be familiar to even the most casual student of early 21st century American film: Elle Woods, heroine of Legally Blonde.

First, there’s the color. I’d call this something between dark Barbie-pink and light cherry. “Cerasuolo” refers to a category of deeply colored, often fairly intense Italian wines that are somewhere between rosé and red.

Here’s a picture. Apologies that the lighting and glass don’t quite do it justice. We brought this over to a friend’s place, and I didn’t want to make a whole production about photography.

Just as Elle’s wardrobe choices made it impossible for anyone to take her seriously–who could forget when she shows up to her first law school party wearing a Playboy bunny costume?–the color of this wine practically screams frivolity.

Then there’s the aroma, which I can only describe as perfumed. Sticking my nose in the glass was like smelling a bouquet of flowers, with roses front and center. I was reminded of the scene where Elle passes her pink and perfumed resume along to her law school professor and soon-to-be swain Luke Wilson. “I think it gives it that extra something!” she says of the scent and really, who are we to disagree.

Based on first impressions, we’re expecting something inconsequential, dumbed-down and even cloying. But anyone who’s well-versed in Hollywood conventions (or the winemaking of Torre dei Beati, a small, organic estate, as well as the high-quality potential of the Montepulciano grape) knows what will happen next.

It turns out–suprirse!–that this wine is far from lightweight. There’s some real tannic structure here, as well as good acidity. Yes, there’s a touch of sweetness too, but nothing overwhelming. Ripe red fruits–strawberries in particular–are matched with a little earth and minerality. Just as Elle ultimately shows her smarts and prevails, with highlights and manicure intact, this wine manages to be charming and serious at once. And just as our heroine must hold her ground against any number of challenges, from a lecherous professor to catty classmates to lying witnesses, this wine can stand up to a lot. Tomato and mozzarella? Sure. Grilled chicken? Absolutely. Barbecue? A platter of cured meat and cheese? Why not.

So I invite you to pick up a bottle, pair it with pretty much anything that goes down easy on a hot late summer day, and raise your glass to toast the twin delights of Cerasuolo and Reese Witherspoon.

This wine surprised me right out of the gate. The color was a bit deeper and darker than I expected, lemon with a slightly golden cast. Toasted almonds, lime zest, and minerals featured heavily on the nose. Forgive the fancifulness here, but on some whites I get a smell I can only describe as wet slate paving stones on a hot summer day. (I told you it was fanciful.) I think it’s the combination of minerality + ripeness that does it for me. On the palate, this was verging on full-bodied, and the alcohol (13.5%) seemed a tetch high–not an observation I often make about Italian whites. This guy could stand up to a lot, like a heavily sauced fish dish, if you go in for that sort of thing, or a simple pork chop. In my case, I enjoyed it with this:

Yes, a turkey sandwich. (What can I tell you, I’m at the beach.)

Probably my favorite thing about this wine is that it would make an excellent “gateway drug” for Chardonnay lovers looking to expand their repertoire. There’s a lot to be said for lesser-known wines that offer a similar taste profile to more familiar ones. No one will ever go straight from drinking Clos du Bois Chardonnay every night to quaffing $100 bottles of Slovenian Ribolla Gialla. But turn them on to something that has a few of the qualities they like about Chardonnay–the full body, for example–and you’ll pique their curiosity. You’ll also save them a few bucks. While I’m sure you could find more complex and compelling examples of Pecorino, this wine is a pretty good value at $16.

But if this wine is any indication, Ruchè doesn’t need my pity. Or yours. It’s not a big wine in the conventional sense: ruby-colored, medium-bodied, with 13.5% alcohol stated on the bottle, the ‘Na Vota doesn’t exactly scream at you. But pay attention to the nose and the palate and there’s a lot going on, including dried herbs, dried orange peel and a whole lot of pepper. Like, a lot. There’s an underlying sharpness that reminds me of Cinsault, a French variety that’s commonly grown in the Languedoc. (Sorry, Italo-philes for the French connection…although there’s apparently a theory that Ruchè is descended from an unknown French import that was brought to Piedmont who knows when.)

I get some bitterness, too, beyond the regular astringency that comes with tannins. But there’s a chance that could just be my own prejudices talking. I believe that no one does bitter better than the Italians. There’s espresso, of course, as well as amari, the bitter digestivos that make the perfect end to an Italian feast. And do I even need to mention broccoli rabe, chicory, escarole, and any number of sharp, peppery greens?

I project this Italian=bitter theory on many Italian wines I taste. (I know, it’s patently ridiculous to generalize so broadly about a country’s wines, especially when that country has such a rich and varied winemaking tradition. It’s also ridiculous to spend $400 on a pair of shoes, root for the Mets, and enjoy the oeuvre of Mark Wahlberg, but that’s never stopped me from doing any of the above.) Of course, if I drank more Italian wines, I’m sure my thinking on the matter would be much more nuanced. But is it this perceived bitterness that keeps me from drinking more Italian wines? Hmm. A question to keep asking myself–and perhaps answer–as the week goes on.

I’ve been thinking about this character flaw a lot lately. In the past few weeks, I’ve had two great dinners with people who know a hell of a lot about Italian wine. First, an epic tasting of some thought-provoking older wines at ‘Cesca. (Tasting notes to come, I promise.) Gregory del Piaz of Snooth supplied the bottles, PR guru/Italian wine blogger Susannah Gold hooked us up with the great table, and fellow bloggers Diane Letulle (Wine Lover’s Journal) and Eric Guido (The VIP Table) provided the excellent company. And last week, I met up with Susannah and Diane to fête Susannah’s birthday and score some heavily discounted Barbaresco at Accademia di Vino, where (awesome bargain alert!) white wines over $60 and red wines over $80 are 50% off on Monday nights.

These events have inspired me to remedy my shortcomings, at least temporarily. This week is STBNY’s First Annual Italian Week^TM wherein I will drink nothing but Italian wine. I’ve already selected an eclectic line-up of Italian whites, pinks, and reds, all priced under $20, to enjoy over the next seven days. I’ll be sharing my notes with you in the most timely fashion I can muster. I’m on vacation this week down the shore, and while I can think of no better place to drink Italian wine than New Jersey, beach time will take precedence over blogging time.

On that note, I leave you with a snapshot I took last night of Asbury Park–if you squint, the top of the carousel looks a little like the Duomo, no?

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.

France is at its best when it manages to combine this old school adherence to tradition and standards with open-mindedness and energy. I thought of this a few weeks ago when Anne-Victoire Monrozier, aka Miss Vicky, stormed our shores with bottles of her father’s fresh, elegant Fleurie in hand.

I enjoyed the wine, but what really struck me was her aptitude for “le marketing” — not something that comes easily to a lot of smaller French winemakers. She traveled from Walla to Napa to the Lower East Side to promote the wine and deployed a truly impressive social media blitz. (Plus come on, how cute is this label?)

So Miss Vicky, I salute your embodiment of all my favorite French traits–and hope more and more of your compatriots follow your lead.

Santé!