It’s true that overly alcoholic wines are no fun to drink: they’re not great with food, they lack subtlety — and they can make for an unpleasant morning after. But I wonder if people are making too much of the matter, with a slightly obsessive focus on the alcohol percentage number. That number can be helpful, but fixating on it can be misleading. Context, as they say, is all. Last week, I opened up a 14.5% Rhône blend from California that hit you like a blunt instrument: it was dull, massive, and sure to cause a headache. It was an expensive wine, a gift, and I weirdly felt obligated to finish it. Drinking it (over the course of a few days, of course) felt like a chore. Tonight, however, I cracked open a 14.5% Rhône blend from Australia that had me wanting one more sip, then another, and yet another. Sure, it’s a big wine, but it wears its size well, and with elegance. It’s the difference between:

and

I’m all for less of the former and more of the latter, but it’s the artistry and the effort, not the number, that makes the difference.

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.

Most of us are probably familiar with Chapoutier from his great value Belleruche Côtes-du-Rhône, both red and white. Usually available for around $10-$12, these are some of the best bang-for-your-buck wines available on the market. You could do worse than to stock up on a few bottles of these for your summer BBQ needs. Chapoutier makes a staggeringly wide variety of wines from the Rhône, Provence, and Languedoc-Roussillon — with some side projects in Australia and Portugal for good measure — and somehow manages to keep the overall quality level high. (Chapoutier might attribute this success, at least in part, to his commitment to biodynamic winemaking.) Chapoutier seems like a bit of a live wire, and I love reading interviews with him.

I’ve had many of Chapoutier’s wines over the years, and tonight Paul and I cracked open this Les Vignes de Bila-Haut. This wine hails from the Roussillon, the hot, sun-drenched region along France’s eastern border with Spain that produces big, ripe wines. This wine is a blend of Syrah, Grenache, and Carignan, all grapes that flourish in the heat. The wine is inky, lip-staining purple, and the aromas are deep, dark, and earthy: blackberries,cocoa, smoke, and dried thyme. On the palate, the Carignan is a little too front-and-center for me: traditionally a low-quality variety used for bulk wines, Carignan can produce good wines when it comes from old vines, as it does here. But even when Carignan rises to the occasion, it still has this rough, rustic edge to it that reminds me of the mediocre, cheap Côtes-du-Rhône that I used to drink way too much of in my misspent youth, to hangover-inducing effect.

Nonetheless, this is really enjoyable wine for a mere $14. On his site, Chapoutier recommends drinking the wine with a “nice piece of beef” or grilled meat, which we interpreted to mean bacon cheeseburgers from the grill. It was a pretty fortuitous match. I think Michel would approve.

Not since my brother Lee gave me a ticket to the Beastie Boys Hello Nasty show at MSG (3 rows in front of Mike D’s parents, FYI) has so much awesomeness fallen in my lap. This is a 1997 La Landonne Côte Rôtie from Etienne Guigal, one of the greatest wines of the northern Rhône, my hands-down favorite wine region. It’s 100% Syrah and can stand up to many, many years in the cellar. It’s also far north of my usual price range, even when I’m feeling spendy: the going rate for this guy is about $400.

These wines are terrific with deep, earthy, gamey flavors, and in a perfect world I would have whipped up a salmis of squab or venison sausage, but this is not a perfect world and instead we threw some delicious rib eyes on the grill. We decanted the wine 90 minutes before drinking to separate it from its sediment and to open it up a bit. (Again, in a perfect world, this probably should have been closer to 2-3 hours, but the wine, and my guests, were forgiving.)

The wine. Well, it started off on a distinctly musty, grandmother’s basement/Miss Havisham note that was actually much more pleasant than it sounds. Slowly, more conventionally attractive aromas and flavors came to the fore: black cherry, coffee, mocha. The texture was seductive and velvety, the finish was almost sweet. Then, something funny happened. All of the wine’s distinct elements – tannins, alcohol, fruit, acidity — somehow became one, like old friends who have known each other so long they finish each other’s sentences. Without getting too Zen about it, the wine didn’t taste or smell like anything except…itself. It had its own unique scent, like the smell of your 6th grade homeroom or your first bad boyfriend.

Thankfully, the wine was much, much better than 6th grade or bad boyfriends. Unlike both of those destabilizing experiences, the La Landonne is deeply reassuring. Somewhere in the world, this wine will have you know, people still care about quality, longevity, and doing things correctly — without sacrificing excitement. Perfectly balanced and harmonious, the La Landonne still offered an intensity and richness that showier wines aspire to, but rarely attain.

At the end of the meal, Gary stuck his nose into the empty decanter. “I’m so sorry it’s gone!” Me too, Gary. Me too.

That’s too bad. They’re missing out on a lot of great wine. Plus, it makes them less-than-ideal dining partners for those of us who love whites as much as we love reds. But all is not lost. I’ve spent 12 years convincing my husband that there are worthy whites out there and, in the process, have discovered a few categories of wines that will please even the most avowed red chauvinist:

1. White Rhône wines. I know, I’m on a bit of a Rhône kick these days (OK, always) but there’s good reason. These wines, made from varieties like Viognier, Roussanne, and Marsanne, are full-bodied, robust, and go well with rich dishes like lobster. If you’re on a lobster roll budget, go with a white Côtes-du-Rhône. If you’re feeling more lobster thermidor, try a Condrieu.

2. Madeira. The wine of our Founding Fathers: intense, nutty, historic, and with searing acidity that’ll put hair on the chest of even the manliest of men. (OK, so Madeira is more brown than white.)

3. Chablis. These Chardonnay-based wines from northern Burgundy are taut, dry and austere — Gran Torion-era Clint Eastwood in a bottle. They’re great with shellfish and seafood.

4. Pinot Gris. Versions from Oregon or Alsace, in eastern France, pack a lot of punch. These are full-bodied, high-alcohol wines with a unique smoky, almost roasted quality that goes well with poultry cooked outdoors: think grilled chicken or fried turkey.

5. Champagne. I’ve found that even the most passionate white wine haters will make an exception for Champagne. And if they do resist, offer them a Blanc de Noirs, as it’s made solely from red grapes, Pinot Noir Pinot Meunier.  And if that doesn’t convince him, well, it’s probably a lost cause.

And then. Then I taste a wine that reminds me why I fell in love with wine. It’s rarely An Important Bottle that pulls me back from the brink. Nothing against vintage Champagne, super-Tuscans, or Oregon single-vineyard Pinots, but what wins my heart back every time is wine from the Rhône. Geographically speaking, the Rhône is a river in Southeastern France. The river valley is home to some of my favorite wines in the world. The northern half of the Rhône produces reds that are based on Syrah in its deepest, darkest, and most brooding form. Think Clive Owen in a glass. Southern Rhône wines are usually based on Grenache, with some help from Syrah and other lesser-known varieties (to us) like Mourvèdre, Cinsault and Carignan. Châteauneuf-du-Pape is a southern Rhône wine. They still pack a punch, but are more gregarious, with a sense of humor. (George Clooney in wine form.) These wines have a direct, unpretentious quality that appeals to me, and they go well with some of my favorite foods, like  grilled and roasted lamb, beef, duck.

Tonight, it was this Château de Bouchassy 2007 Lirac that did the trick. Lirac is a region in the southern Rhône, and true to form, Grenache is the predominant grape variety. When I first opened the wine last night, it was a little withdrawn and, frankly, kinda boring. But when I tried it tonight, it was a completely different wine. Blackberries, dark cherries, dried herbs, licorice — there’s a lot going on here, but it’s well-balanced, with a beautifully silky texture, and all the elements work together nicely. In an ideal world, I would have opened this wine in another year or two. But this being the real world, I’ll probably have another glass tonight and polish off the rest tomorrow.