Every so often you’ll see a character in a novel sitting down to a sumptuous repast which is “washed down with” a wine apparently chosen at random. It’s as if the wine is being used as a sort of high-priced drain cleaner. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
As regular readers of this colum know, I often make suggestions for pairing wine with food. The point of the pairing is to help highlight the best qualities of each component, creating in the process, a taste experience unavailable through either element on its own. The possibilities are all but infinite, so my suggestions are meant merely as pointers, not definitive conclusions. Nonetheless, centuries of tasting have developed certain general guidelines.
The first thing to keep in mind is that wine served with food ought to be tasted with the food, not after (no washing down here). A small portion of the food should be eaten, then a decent sip of wine taken, and the two should be chewed together before swallowing. While this may sound obvious to some, to others it may be something of a revelation. The taste you experience will be different depending on the way you engage with it, so tasting food and wine together will result in a different experience than tasting them sequentially.
The combinations themselves are guided largely by a need for balance; if the food overpowers the wine you might as well be drinking water, and if the wine overpowers the food you might as well be chewing paper. Since everbody’s taste buds are different, what works best for one person may not be as pleasurable for another. However, our tastebuds are similar enough so that what works for one will seldom to fail altogether for another.
Keeping this in mind, we can quickly survey a typical meal. Salads rarely need wine, and often pose a challenge. A slightly tart vinaigrette dressing over your typical salad will need a lighter and more acidic wine such as Sauvignon blanc or a dry Riesling. Heavier dressings suggest a dry Gewurtzraminer or possibly a Tavel Rose, and bleu cheese, especially in copious amounts, can even work well with a light tart red such as Baco noir or Chancellor.
Eggs are notoriously difficult to pair with wine, An omelette or other egg dish may need something like a good sparkling wine or a Vouvray, though when mean is used in the dish, a light Pinot noir may work as well. In general you’ll want lighter wines here, since the texture of egg dishes is usually light enough, and the flavors delicate enough, to be easily overwhelmed.
Seafood with white wine is a classic combination known to all, but not just any white will do. Lighter dishes with little in the way of sauce or spice work best with lighter wines, perhaps with a touch of sweetness (a German wine, for example). richer dishes, especially those in white sauces, point toward Chardonnay, and fish cooked in a red wine sauce will indeed work with red wines, preferably lighter ones.
The same holds true for vegetarian and pasta dishes. The lighter the main ingredient (whether it be angel hair pasta in a clam sauce, or tofu stir-fried with spices) the better it will work with a light dry or semi-dry wine. As the sauce increases in richness and heaviness, richer whites come into play, and red sauces, especially with meat or texturized vegetable protein added, work best with red wines such as Chiantis or even Merlots. If the dish is spicy, stick to spicy semi-dry whites such as Gewurztrainer, though if five-alarm chili is your preference maybe it’s time to give the wine a rest.
Red meats need red wines; few whites combine even moderately well with a steak. Cabernet sauvignon or Bordeaux are best here; the fats in the meat cushion the tannins, and the fruit of the wine joins the tang of the meat quite effectively.
Desserts can be a problem. I usually have a glass of port on its own, through port would go well with richer cakes and pastries, as would a fine Sauternes. Lighter desserts might take a Sherry or Barsac instead, while ones heavily weighted toward nut flavors probably need Madeira. if there’s a lot of fruit in the dessert, avoid dry wines, as the acids in the fruit will make the wine taste bitter.
Keep in mind that these are suggestions. Use them as a guideline to do experimentations on your own. You may be amazed at the tastes that jump from the combination of food and wine.

A couple of columns ago I promised not to ignore lovers of white wine during the bitter weeks ahead. Here follow notes on various unrelated wines I’ve tasted, all but one of which are white.
Good buys in Bordeaux can often be found among the Cru Bourgeois wines, the class just below Fifth Growth vineyards in the 1855 classification. A fine example is the 1997 Chateau Gresac Medoc ($17.99). As is often the case with Bordeaux wines, there’s an almost hidden layer of sweetness which cushions the wood and highlights the fruit, and guides the wine so smoothly over the lips and down the throat that it’s almost possible not to realize how complex it is. Mellow but meaty, with rich earthy overtones (gout de terroir is the French term ‘taste of the earth’), the wine is nonetheless very smooth and mellow. The finish is dry, as the fruit subsides to allow the wine’s backbone to show its strength.
The last of three New Mexican wines I had a chance to sample was the 1998 La Chiripada Chardonnay ($16.00). It’s an unusual blend: 80% Chardonnay, 10% Chenin blanc, and 10% Vidal blanc (the latter is itself a French-American hybrid, not vinifer like the other two grapes). There’s a fairly high level of acidity and alcohol (13%) here, which takes a little time after the bottle has been opened to be balanced by the fruit and oak, despite the fact that the wine was barrel fermented. The crispness more commonly associated with the Chenin blanc is prominent up front; the oak and Chardonnay fruit become more noticeable in the aftertaste, especially at the base of the tongue, and to some extent in the finish, though the latter was fairly light overall. I confess that I couldn’t really find the Vidal in the overall picture, save perhaps as a hint of grapiness in the aroma and fruit in the finish.
This is not a typical Chardonnay at all; I admit to being suspicious to begin with, but the wine gradually won me over. It’s more complex than first appears, and the Chenin and Vidal, I suspect keep the taste buds guessing what flavor will turn up next. This isn’t to say that it’s unbalanced; its generally coherent texture and careful balance are two reasons the Vidal is so hard to make out. I sampled this alongside medium cheddar cheese, though nothing more complex. The results were acceptable, though not particularly noteworthy. Try this wine with seafood rather than pultry, as it seems to want to accompany lighter foods. You can’t purchase the wine locally, but the wines can be ordered direct from the vineyard: P.O.Box 191 Dixon, New Mexico 87517. The phone number is 800-528-7801, and the website is Lachiripada.com. They’re worth investigating. To my taste, the Chardonnay is the best of what I tried, but there are many wines to choose from.
A rather different style is offered by the 1998 Cypress Chardonnay ($8.99), produced by J. Lohr, a reputable California vineyard. It’s unmistakably barrel fermented. The oaky sweetness is especially pronounced at first, though after a fairly short time (half an hour or so) it subsides considerably. The wine nonetheless remains tasty on the lips for much longer. Medium-bodied (though the first taste might easily lead you to think it will be fuller than that), the wine is a bit flabby but not unbalanced. The almost unctuous richness of the oak keeps the other flavors from cohering completely into a single complex experience, as opposed to a congenial set of different tastes. The fruit is most noticeable in the aftertaste, and in the finish the harder side of the oak reveals itself as a dark-edged flavor, buttressed by hints of the alcohol (13%), reminiscent of a Chablis or white Hermitage (a Rhone appelation better known for its reds); the latter is probably the most interesting aspect of the wine. This goes down easily and will please anyone looking for a smooth and appealing white, especially at this price.
There’s quite a bit of oak-led sweetness in the 1998 Sumac Ridge Private Reserve Chardonnay (16.99), a Canadian barrel-fermented wine. Right up to the aftertaste, the sweetness prevails, thereupon the alcohol (13%) slides to the fore, where it remains in firm control through the finish. There isn’t much fruit here; through the light to medium-bodied wine remained balanced throughout the tasting, the alcohol gradually crept to the fore as the evening wore on, so that the final impression was of an alcohol-led dryness. Serve this wine with richer foods or hearty cheeses and appetizers.

Although there are people who will drink nothing but white wine no matter what the time of year, for many of us there is something about a bitterly cold night which seems to necessitate bringing out a good red wine. I won’t neglect the lovers of white wines altogether, but most of my tasting notes for the next several columns will be weighted toward the reds.
A slightly earthy aroma suggests more complexity than actually appears in the 1997 LaPlaya Merlot ($8.00), but does not reveal the fruit which rolls out immediately on the tongue, framed by a gentle tartness to the sides of the mouth. A soft woodiness coats the middle palate(the upper part of the mouth) while the aftertaste and finish are well-balanced and reasonably full.
Similar but slightly more expensive, the 1997 Louis Martini Merlot (10.99) offers somewhat more complexity but less fruit. Smooth and medium-bodied, the wine is dry, especially on the palate, and crisply woody on the tongue. The aftertaste is minimal, but the finish offers a bit more fruit while it lingers, ghough not very forcefully. This went well with smoked sardines, cheese and crackers. Both it, and the La Playa would make good pre-dinner wines.
Years ago imports from behind the Iron Curtain offered quite remarkable values. Most of these appear to have gone the way of the Curtain itself, but the 1997 Premait Merlot ($6.99) from Romania, though no longer the bargain its predecessors were, shows that at least one has survived. There isn’t much fruit here, and it’s prettly light overall, but the flavor expands noticeable in the aftertaste. Given the price differential, this is comparable to the other, but I’d recommend serving it with drier, or even salty foods which will pull out the fruit and enhance the wines flavor.
Long Island reds deserve to be better known than they are here. The 1998 Paumanok Merlot ($17.99) demonstrates why. The aroma is complex, hinting already at the smoky meaty taste apparent from the very first sip. On the tongue and palate the dyness dominates, tey undergirded still by the other flavors. Although, oddly enough, not much in the way of the fruit. The oak background then segues harmoniously into a touch of sweetness in the aftertaste and rich lingering finish. Tihs is a well-made wine in the French style, at two dollars less a bottle it would be a remarkable bargain. As it is, this wine’s certainly worth getting, should you be lucky enough to find it.
I found even more to praise in the 1998 Marilyn Merlot ($24.99) than I did in an earlier vintage. By now regular readers of this column will have seen how wine terminology resonates with references to the human body: wines have good noses and legs, are full bodied, and son on. I’ve chosen deliberately not to use the language found so often in wine writing or ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ in style and structure. No doubt the makers and marketers of this wine counted on those sorts of descriptions. So be it.
The aroma (its nose) is earthy and slightly viny. Oddly enough, the wine expands and improves its flavor as it breathes, this first impression scarcely changes over time. The wine itself is medium bodied. It’s still young and needs time to breathe, but with a bit of breating time, there is a good deal of complexity and warmth here. The first impression is of dryness, but this soon opens up to reveal more in the way of fruit and oak-grounded sweetness. Sweetness here, as is often the case with wines aged or fermented in oak, refers to a softness sometimes tinged with vanilla flavors. This is most noticeable on the sides of the mouth during and after the wine is first swallowed. It is quite distinct from the sweetness found in wines with a high proportion of sugar, yet nonetheless related in taste. In the middle palate the oak begins to reveal itself as a kind of stiffness which helps hold the other flavors together. In the aftertaste and even more in the finish, the fruit and meaty body of the wine becomes quite apparent. If you drink this wine immediately after opening, it’s better with food. Given time to breathe it works well on its own. While this isn’t among the top merlots in the price range, it is still a worthwhile, especially as a conversation starter among people whose connection with wine may need some stimulation.

I take it that a bottle of wine under five dollars need merely be drinkable and not too nasty to have fulfilled its mission; anything better is a bonus to be celebrated accordingly. Between five and ten dollars a wine ought to be reasonably well-balanced and an effective accompaniment to food, even if neither complex nor ageworthy; again, finding more than these basic requirements is worth noting. As we cross the $10 range and approach and pass $20 a bottle, our expectations should rise accordingly. The wines should be reasonably complex, and the reds should show some (though not necessarily a lot) potential for aging. Following are some samples of what I mean.
The only vinifera red produced by the one New Mexico vineyard I’ve as yet been able to sample is the 1998 La Chiripada Cabernet Sauvignon ($20). The wine is, unsurprisingly, still young and hard, though light-bodied; it doesn’t show much fruit, and the tannins come rather too forcefully to the fore in the middle palate and aftertaste. The finish is accordingly a bit rough, though longer lasting than might be expected given the foregoing. That’s the bad news; the good news is that the oak (it was aged a year in Hungarian oak barrels) is already lending hints of vanilla-toned sweetness to the finish, which indicates that as the wine ages it will expand and develop and improve in balance and body.
Indeed, over the course of an evening the wine began to open up and display more fruit, although lightly and in the cherrylike manner of a Syrah. This is a good companion for simple but forceful meals, and would go well with most cheeses and hors d’oeuvres. The wine’s a bit pricey (you’re paying for scarcity and the fact that few people have enough guts to try Cabernet in New Mexico), but still worth investigating should the opportunity present itself.
With the 1996 Chateau Fourcas Hosten Listrac Médoc ($25) we’ve definitely entered the realm of wines deserving aging; if you plan to drink it now, give this one some breathing time (pull the cork an hour or more before sampling the wine), or decant it, as it’s still quite closed in. Once it opens up, though, it displays a variety of the qualities most commonly associated with Médoc wines. The initial taste seems almost simple, yet gives way quickly to a complex earthy blend of flavors buttressed solidly by the oak from its time (18 months) in the casks.
The middle palate offers a range of meaty medium-bodied elements; these diminish rather quickly in the aftertaste, perhaps a bit too much so, leaving an impression of hardness (which is a function of youth; in a few years this will soften and mellow out). The long lasting finish is dry and oak driven, though with an almost evanescent sweetness lurking underneath; this, too, will become more complex in time. This really is a wine for aging rather than immediate consumption, but for now serve it with rich food as the taste of this will highlight the otherwise repressed fruit of the wine.
Of the same vintage but less immediately demanding is the 1996 Chateau Larose-Trintaudon Haut-Médoc ($17.99). A Cru bourgeois, which is just a notch below the Grand Cru rankings, this wine also needs breathing time, but not so much as the Fourcas; it’s a little easier to drink right off the bat, though still a bit harsh before it relaxes and opens up. Smooth and well-knit, the wine stays dry and meaty throughout, with the dryness especially noticeable on the tongue. Complex and medium-bodied, it expands effectively in the aftertaste and finish, in which the dryness fades to a mellow warmth burnished nicely by the afterglow of the oak. As with the other two wines, there isn’t much fruit here as yet, but even without it this is an appealing bottle that would do well with a meal of pasta and portabello mushrooms in a rosemary sauce.
All three wines are worthwhile, though not bargains; for immediate drinking my nod would go to the Larose, and for aging the Fourcas.

French wines, as explored in an earlier column, are labelled with the region of origin. A certain proportion of French labels, though, include another term — Grand Cru Classé (which for all practical purposes just means “classified as a great growth”), or some variation thereof, which is both significant as an indicator of quality and interesting as a matter of history.
The oldest of these classifications owes its origin to monarchical politics. Louis Napoleon declared himself Emperor Napoleon III in 1853, and immediately started looking for ways to make his regime memorable. One such plan was the Universal Exhibition, a sort of World’s Fair, held in Paris in 1855. As part of the festivities, the best of the dessert wines of Sauternes and Barsac and of the red wines of the Médoc (and one interloper from Graves) were ranked according to reputation and putative value. Out of some thousands of Bordeaux vineyards, seven dozen represented the elite and to a large extent still do.
The terminology is simple; Premier Cru (“first growth”) wines are the best. These include: Chateau Mouton-Rothschild, Chateau Lafite Rothschild, Chateau Latour (both Pauillacs, as is Mouton), Chateau Margaux (a Margaux, unsurprisingly), and Chateau Haut-Brion (a Graves, and the only non-Médoc wine so honored). Deuxième Cru wines occupy the second rank, and so on. But remember that these rankings are of the very best wines. A fifth growth wine is not bottom shelf stuff being glorified with a fancy name; rather, it’s four steps from the top, and a long way from the bottom. A wine such as Chateau Batailley, though officially a Fifth Growth is still a very good wine indeed.
Although the vagaries of history have demanded slight changes, the list has otherwise remained sacrosanct; there are many people, however, who think that it needs modification to reflect changes in quality over the years. It’s an amusing topic on which to pontificate over a glass or five of good French wine; the model to which the critics point is St.-Émilion’s, where vineyards are reclassified every 10 years.
In St.-Émilion there are three categories: Premier Grand Cru, Grand Cru Classé, and simple Grand Cru (the last distinction is easy to miss; look out for the missing “Classé”). The first category contains two subcategories: “A,” which has always contained exactly two vineyards (Chateau Ausone and Chateau Cheval Blanc), and “B,” which contains 11 other vineyards. The second category contains over 50 vineyards, and the third category several hundred. The latter isn’t very helpful as a guide to quality, though a St.-Émilion with the ranking is almost certainly better than an unclassified one.
The same terms (Premier Cru and Grand Cru) turn up on Burgundy labels as well, meaning much the same thing as in Bordeaux. The Premier Cru wines are those from vineyards ranked more highly than their counterparts within the same appellation; the Grand Cru wines are the most uncommon and ostensibly the best. Here more than in Bordeaux, though, it’s not unusual for a highly ranked wine to be a dud. Since Burgundies from the top appellations are so fantastically expensive, some vineyard owners have been tempted to let production quality slide in order to maximize profits. In Burgundy, what’s really most important is knowing the producer. But that’s a topic which will need a column of its own.
There is nothing else in the wine world quite like this French practice, though the German classification system shares some aspects with that of St.-Émilion. It would be interesting to see what would happen should such a thing be attempted in the United States. In France, winemaking is a way of life; in the United States it remains, for the most part, merely a business.

Three wines from two continents