Thomas Wilkins was sleeping when the stainless steel tanks ruptured.  It was almost four in the morning on a Sunday in late February. By the time he arrived at Viña Casa Silva, a million liters of bulk red wine gushed like a river of blood down the street. Locals gathered at the banks and made the best of a bad situation.

“Everyone was drunk by the time I arrived,” Thomas told me.

This is about as lighthearted story you’ll be able to pull from a natural disaster, in this case the monstrous 8.8 earthquake that struck just 5,000 or so meters off the coast of the Maule region of Chile. Yet, the Chileans are an indefatigable bunch, in case you haven’t noticed. As the Silva family and their staff rebuilt the winery (and moved the restaurant to a much better location), a minor, barely noticed human-interest story about some trapped miners took place due north.

“Next time, we’re going to be put sixty of them down there.”

Mr. Wilkins was not only the Casa Silva marketing and hospitality manager; he appeared to be their Chief Humorist.  And why not, spirits were high when I was Chile as it was just days after the last miner was safely pulled from the earth. The first glass of wine I sampled at this sprawling estate, overlooking Casa Silva’s rodeo arena (here’s a little known fact outside of the equestrian gossip set—Chilean horses are the only ungulate on earth that can run sideways) was supposedly a rosé. So here I am at this rodeo arena, tucked in the middle of a eucalyptus grove, watching the cabelleros chase a bull while drinking what I could have sworn was the lightest, freshest red wine of my lifetime.

The Reserva Rosé 2010 was a Carmenere-Syrah blend that made me want to smack the goodly percentage of rosé’s I’ve had up to that point.  I still can’t shake the first rosé I ever tried, at V. Sattui in Napa Valley.  It tasted like bubblegum someone else had chewed first.  What I was quaffing while watching the cabellero and his side-galloping steed tasted both bright and smooth. I’ve never had a rosé that wanted to be a red more.  I fell pretty hard for that wine.

Here’s the thing about Chilean wineries; they’re architecturally discordant.  One winery may look like a colonial castle while the next will be a cutting edge modern affair set on a reservoir.  You won’t believe what I have to tell you about Lapostolle, a winery that belongs in a James Bond flick as the villain’s lair, but that’s for another post.

Casa Silva had the feel of a 20^th century gangster’s estate. There was the mythic polo field, which appeared to be roughly four thousand yards long, lined with a row of poplars like tall green spectators and the massive forested grandstands that were the Andes foothills behind them. The winery had underground tunnels with, I kid you not, a small jail cell in the midst of one winding passage. I can’t remember what reason Thomas gave for its existence, and I’d rather not.  I choose to think it’s where they locked up bad grapes. Then of course there’s the rodeo arena with the cowboys, none of whom appeared to be chewing tobacco, which kind of disappointed me. If all this weren’t enough, the Silva family owns a collection of outrageous, beautiful gleaming vintage cars that belong to the era of Tommy Guns and moonshine.  A vibrantly cherry red Buick and an inky black Hudson 47 were practically begging me to hot wire and take on a booze run.  That is if I could hot wire a car.

We tucked into salads and vegetables and soups and steaks at their newly moved restaurant, overlooking the polo field, and I took down two glasses of the Cool Coast Sauvignon Blanc, which according to the old notebook was “mineral-y” and “fresh”.  I was beginning to get drunk. The meat in Chile was as good for me as the meat in Argentina. Yes, you read that correctly.  The steak was made irreproachable by the bottle of Altura Thomas paired with it.  Depending on the harvest, the Altura is a blend, often Carmenere, Cabernet Sauvignon and Petit Verdot. You can get a bottle for about $100 here in the U.S.  I suggest if you’re going to spend that kind of money also splurge on some really quality meat and go nuts.  I won’t even tell you what my notebook said about the pairing.

In sum, this was a seriously positive start to my Chilean jaunt.  I left Vina Casa Silva sated, tipsy, and sure that if I ever came upon a river of wine, I would have reacted the same way as the locals.

Well, yes. Check out my picks for pairing your fave Mexican fare with everything from a juicy Argentine red to a sparkling wine from New Mexico and tell me if these just don’t hit the spot.

One of the highlights of the evening was walking the grounds. We checked out the greenhouses and their neat rows of every leafy thing imaginable, and made some new furry and feathered friends (none of whom were featured on the menu). Here’s a little photographic tour, with pics courtesy of my better half:

Up close and personal with an actual Blue Hill Stone Barns chicken. Bet he’s all like “this backyard urban chicken trend is total BS. Country chicken livin’  is where it’s AT.”

We got into a staring contest with some sheep.

And woke up the sheepdog. Sorry, buddy.

Me, posing awkwardly in front of a greenhouse. Feel like I’m in that scene in Talladega Nights where Will Ferrell doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Idyllic, no?

One programming note: posting this week will likely be on the light side. I have my diploma case study exam on Wednesday (wish me luck!) so must focus all my wine energies on that for the moment. Rewarding myself on Wednesday with a winemaker dinner that I’m very psyched about. Check back in with me later this week to find out more!

Anyway, enough excuses. Last Monday I had the chance to attend an intriguing wine/cheese tasting courtesy of Artisanal, New York’s temple of all things cheese, and V. Sattui Winery, a family-owned producer based in the Napa Valley. (I know, poor me, right? Seriously, I have no right to complain. Ever.) I feel the same way about cheese that other folks feel about, say, chocolate or bacon, so  this promised a lovely way to while away a few hours.

In many ways, it was. The wines from V. Sattui were well-made and enjoyable. The Vittorio’s Vineyard 2008 Sauvignon Blanc was intensely aromatic, reminding me of grilled pineapple drizzled with lime. (I know, awfully specific — but that’s a fan favorite of ours in the summer, and the taste is a familiar one to me.) Sadly, they’re getting rid of Sauvignon Blanc in this vineyard to plant the more economically rewarding Zinfandel. The 2007 Napa Syrah was good enough, but the high alcohol seemed a tad out of balance. I liked the 2006 Preston Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon, but it lacked the intrigue and intensity that I associate with the finest examples of this variety. I loved the idea of the Moscato, a lightly fizzy and sweet sparkling wine, but because the wine was poured long before we sat down to the tasting, it had already lost its delicate fizz.

The 7 cheeses were wonderful — not surprisingly — but there were just too damn many of them. My favorites were a creamy, tangy Robiola from northern Italy, and a salty/sweet aged Gouda resplendent with little crystallized nuggets of cheesy goodness. But after a certain point, everything started to run together. The point of the evening was to try every possible combination and permutation of cheese and wine and rate them from a scale of -2 (the worst combo imaginable) to +2 (a match made in heaven). There’s value in understanding how wine and cheese work together, and seeing how they can bring out the best and worst in each other, but the sheer number of cheeses on offer made it almost impossible to draw any valuable conclusions. Just look at the picture I posted of my illegible score sheet. Blame the fact that I’m overwhelmed right now (see the first paragraph of this post), but sometimes too much is just too much. The experience would have been much more enjoyable had we focused on only a handful of cheeses.

Sometimes I wonder if I should take this same approach to wine. What would happen if I spent six months drinking only Alsatian Riesling and Oregon Pinot Noir? I don’t think I’d be bored. On the contrary, I think it would be incredibly rewarding to focus on these regions and varieties and learn all of their nuances. (It would also do some serious damage to my checking account.) Too often we let our appetite for novelty take over. We’re living in the golden age of wine — never has so much good wine, from so many regions, been accessible to so many of us — but we do pay a price for that choice. We risk being dilettantes, flitting from an Argentine Malbec one night to a Washington State Merlot the next, enjoying them well enough but never really understanding them.

For those of you who already know a little about wine and feel confident in your choices, I’d encourage you to try settling on a variety or a region and try to learn a little more about it. Buy a case of those targeted wines and work your way through them, attend a focused tasting  (if you’re in New York and want to home in on Spanish wine, the Cervantes Institute has some excellent classes) — or drop me a line and ask me for some guidance.

1. Go indie. If possible, buy the wine directly from a store rather than going through a caterer or the event space. You’ll save money and have more control over your choices. Plus that way you can keep the leftovers — and bust out a bottle when you feel like reminiscing about the Big Day. My husband and I got married at a vineyard, and it’s always a special occasion whenever we open a bottle from there.

2. Options are good. Two kinds of white and two kinds of red will ensure that everyone is happy.

3. Say Olé. I often recommend wines from Chile and Argentina for weddings. They tend to have clear, bright fruit flavors that are good on their own as well as with food. You’ll want something your guests will enjoy while they’re waiting in line for the buffet, resting between courses, or taking a break from the dance floor. Also, they’re often crowd-pleasing wines that offer tremendous value. Think Sauvignon Blanc and Merlot from Chile, or Torrontés and Malbec from Argentina.

4. Don’t splurge on the sparklers. Please do not feel the need to spend a ton of cash on the finest champagne you can find. There are plenty of great value sparkling wines out there. If you’re doing the traditional post-dinner champagne toast, at that point in the evening, everyone will have had so much to eat and drink that their critical abilities will be somewhat impaired, shall we say. Of course, if you can afford Cristal for a crowd of 200, go for it! (And send me an invite, while you’re at it.)

5. Share. I have heard stories of wine-loving brides and grooms who served their guests cheap, mediocre wine while making sure their glasses were filled with pricey California Cabs and vintage champagne. This makes my skin crawl. You’ve asked your friends and family to fly in from around the world to be there for your Special Day and  you treat them like second-class citizens? Beyond tacky.

6. Don’t stress. There are many difficult decisions you’ll be making around your wedding day. This should not be one of them.

OK, on to business.  A few weeks ago I got an offer via Twitter (I’m @spinthebottleny, if you’re so inclined) for free samples of Bordeaux from the region’s trade promotion council. I’m still new enough to this game to be thrilled by an offer of free wine, so I signed up. And as a PR/communications professional by day, I was curious to see how Bordeaux is marketing itself these days. Believe it or not, these guys are actually in a lot of trouble. Once you get beyond the famous names that sell for stratospheric prices — Lafite-Rothschild, Château Margaux, Château d’Yquem — there’s a lot of undistinguished plonk coming out of Bordeaux and many small producers are totally unequipped to compete in the global wine marketplace. (Michael Steinberger goes into great detail on this in his book on the demise of French cuisine, Au Revoir to All That.) Wine is poetry, wine is transcendent…but wine is also a business, and a hard one at that, filled with people who struggle to make a decent living.

That’s why I died a little inside when I tore into the “Life Goes Better with Bordeaux” FedEx package they sent me. Not to look gift wine in the mouth, but I was beyond bummed to see the marketing materials they had enclosed. First there was a dial indicating what type of Bordeaux you should drink based on your other wine preferences, pictured above. Eg, if you like Chilean Sauvignon Blanc, you have to try white Bordeaux Supérieur (Sauvignon Blanc is the primary component of dry white Bordeaux). The whole thing had a chintzy Designer Imposters “if you like Giorgio, you’ll love…” feel to it. Plus there’s something a little desperate about offering up Bordeaux, the historical nexus of the wine universe, as playing second fiddle to the rest of the world’s wine regions. Then there were the food matching notes. The overall message of this campaign is clearly to make Bordeaux more accessible. But with pairings like Glazed Grilled Duck Breast for the Larose-Trintaudon and Maccheroncini with Lobster & Cauliflower Sauce for the Clarendelle, they totally missed the mark. I don’t know many people who cook like that regularly, and the ones who do already know plenty about Bordeaux. What’s wrong with steak for the red? Or a lobster roll for the white? Both would be fine matches. The final tragic piece of the puzzle was a huge, slightly psychadelic poster that follows that same aesthetic of the promotion campaign’s Web site.

Still not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. Hang it above my bed? I don’t see how any of this is supposed to revive the mid-priced segment of the Bordeaux wine industry.

The white wine they sent, the 2006 Clarendelle, is a blend of 44% Sauvignon Blanc, 46% Sémillon, and 10% Muscadelle. The nose was interesting enough, with herbal, citrus rind, toasted almond and Golden Delicious apple aromas.  I’m not in love with oaked Sauvignon Blanc — to me, treating this fresh and sprightly variety with heavy oak is like drowning a beautiful piece of grilled fish in a heavy cream sauce — and I ran into some of that problem here. The wine is fine, although it occupies an uncomfortable place: somewhere in the gray area between fresh, bright, aromatic (unoaked Sauvignon Blanc, Riesling or Grüner Veltiner) and round and unctuous wines (Chardonnay, Viognier). You can see why this wine would be hard to market. With a suggested retail price of $19.95, I don’t see it as a great value, either. (To be fair, I saw it online for as little as $14.99, which sounds more like it.)

The 2004 Larose-Trintaudon, while still pretty basic, offers a little glimpse of what can make Bordeaux great. A blend of 60% Cabernet Sauvignon and 40% Merlot, and aged entirely in French (of course) oak, it has that lovely gentlemen’s club library smell of cedar, spice, leather and pleasant mustiness that makes me feel like I’m paging through a fragile old book. All the more ironic that  I spilled it on my laptop:

There’s fruit here, too — blackberries and a little raspberry — as well as some dark chocolate. Suggested retail is $17.99 but I saw it online for as little as $10.99. For $11, you could a lot worse–but for $18, you could do much, much better.

Quick chemistry lesson review: the sugar in grapes is the precursor of alcohol in the finished wine. So a very simplified equation for fermentation would be sugar + yeast = alcohol + carbon dioxide. The riper the grapes, the more sugar you have, and the higher alcohol wine you end up with. This explains why big reds from hot regions in Australia, Spain, or California, for example, have higher higher alcohol levels than wines from France’s Loire Valley, Germany, or our very own Long Island. In some cases, producers making a “dry red wine” will actually leave a little sugar in there. That makes the wine softer, rounder, and easier to appreciate, particularly for the American sweet tooth. (No judgement: I’m eating a bowl of brown sugar ice cream as I write this.)

The truth is, many people like slightly sweet wine, and that’s OK. They go down easy, and sugar adds a seductive, luscious quality to many wines that’s hard to resist. Sugar helps to balance out high acidity (think of making a glass of lemonade), an equation that works well in sweet German whites. Sugar also helps to mask flaws, distracting from excessive levels of tannin, for example.

Often in my classes I find that when people say they like dry wine, especially when they’re talking about whites, they mean they don’t like very aromatic wines that smell like sweet things (pineapple, honey, and the like) but are actually dry. It’s no knock against them — it took me a while to figure this out, too. When you bring a glass of Alsatian Riesling or New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc to your nose, the smells can be overpowering: kiwi, lychee, passion fruit, nectarines, candied lemon peel … all things that we know from experience taste deliciously sweet. We assume then that the wine itself is going to taste sugary, even if that’s not the case. Remember, you can’t really smell sweet: stick your nose in your box of Domino sugar if you don’t believe me. Sweetness is something we taste, so the proof is on your tongue. You can have wines that smell like a perfectly ripe peach but are actually dry (e.g., Albariño from northern Spain) or wines that smell like lemon and minerals and are perceptibly sweet on the palate (some German Rieslings). When evaluating the sweetness of a wine, and deciding what you do and don’t like, it’s important to think about what you’re smelling vs. what you’re tasting.

I’m a big fan of sweet wines. German Rieslings, Port, sweet Chenin Blanc from the Loire Valley, Banyuls, a dark and luscious wine from the Roussillon in Southern France near the Spanish border, syrupy Pedro Ximenez sherry…in my dream cellar, I’d have a case or two of each. Aside from the Pedro Ximenez, which makes an incredible topping for vanilla or coffee ice cream, I usually prefer them on their own. Unless you’ve perfectly matched the sweetness levels, either the wine or the dessert ends up overshadowing the other.

• Do Ferreiro Albarino 2006 (Rias Baixas, Spain): Hands down, one of my favorite Albarinos on the planet. Organic. $26.95
• Kuentz-Bas Alsace Blanc 2006 (Alsace, France): Gorgeous traditional-style blend of 4 white grapes. Biodynamic. $16.95
• La Raia Gavi 2008 (Piedmonte, Italy): A rich and complex white from the Cortese grape from Piedmont. Biodynamic. $18.95
• Clos du Tue-Boeuf “Frileuse” Cheverny Blanc 2007 (Touraine, France): An unusual, unfiltered blend of Sauvignon blanc and Chardonnay from the Loire Valley. Idosyncratic and delicious. Organic. $13.95
• Fritsch “Windspiel” Riesling 2008 (Niederosterreich, Austria): Super-dry and very crisp Riesling from Austria–a perfect summertime quaff. Organic. $14.95

I’m excited for the Albarino, a wonderful wine that I rarely drink — the price is usually steep, and Paul and I don’t eat a ton of shellfish, often the happiest pairing for the grape. Also psyched for the Cheverny, which is pretty offbeat. I’ve also asked them to throw in an off-dry German Riesling so I can get people thinking about dry vs. sweet wine. More on all of this later when I post our tasting notes.