Wine Journal
One of the most exciting things about tasting through any wine region is hearing about different grower’s tactics to overcome challenges and usher beautiful wines into being. Despite the potentially enormous variation of strategies voiced, each proffered as if any other pursuit would result in abject failure, one can taste countless collections of compelling and delicious wines. However, nobody else that I know who's achieving such high levels of quality with Riesling is doing so through such idiosyncratic methods as Kai Schätzel.
My maternal grandfather was tough, even by the standards of his bygone generation. The eldest son of German immigrants, he grew up on a farm in Lymburn, Alberta where an unflagging work ethic was the motif of his life from the very beginning. Almost 100 years later during this chaotic but sentimental time of year, I find myself thinking of him more than usual.
You may have been entirely oblivious to its existence, but that doesn't diminish its worth or its capacity to improve your life. Spätburgunder is the German word for Pinot Noir, and it's the perfect red wine for right now.
It had been an unseasonably beautiful October. The nights were cool, not cold, and the days were glorious explosions of vivid autumnal colours and welcome warmth, the low sun emitting enough heat for comfort in T-shirts at midday. With the approach of Halloween, Mike had been fully immersing himself in horror, as he did every year.
A couple of months ago, the Metro Mates congregated to taste the samples from a fledgling Spanish producer. Each of the wines were from the Sierra de Salamanca — up in the mountains between Madrid and the Portuguese border — and made entirely from the Rufete grape.
If the merit of a tasting room can be measured by the extent to which it enables one to comprehensively and undistractedly engage with wine, then Weingut A.J. Adam’s tasting room is one of the best that I’ve ever visited.
I've been in Priorat for just over 24 hours, and considering the brisk winestyles that I customarily advocate, I'm still not over the irony of going out of my way to be in this wild outpost of Northeastern Spain. But I have to admit something — I love Priorat! The place, that is... but also the wines that I encountered today!
My father made his living selling sporting goods. As an adult I'm entirely apathetic about sports and the goods that they require, but as a youngster, I didn't know that there was any other option but to participate in endless variations of physical activity. Dad made sure that I was well equipped for all of them.
It hit me really hard one night. It wouldn't have been so bad had I been on an early morning vineyard walk or reading in a hotel room, but it happened during dinner in a busy restaurant. I'd had my share of Riesling (including some from the 2022 vintage, about which, read on), but it was finally catalyzed by the glass of Henrik Möbitz Spätburgunder that I had in front of me.
The following is an excerpt of an email that Richard sent to the Metro Mates during his recent trip to the Loire Valley. On this voyage, Richard revisited the legendary Domaine Huet property, owners of the Haut-Lieu vineyard amongst other sacred Chenin Blanc sites.
While leaving a restaurant a short time ago, I happened upon an old acquaintance. He's a recently-retired wine professional, and as might be expected from somebody who loved their vocation, his newfound freedom is laced with wistful nostalgia.
Richard handed the book to me and said, “I think you should read this". The first time that this happened I found myself holding Baudelaire's Paris Spleen, and thus in the 15 years hence I've never declined his literary recommendations. This time, the book was Drunk: How We Sipped, Danced and Stumbled Our Way to Civilization, written by a UBC Philosopher named Edward Slingerland. It's a fascinating and engaging read, and its brilliant message couldn't be more timely.
Wine's age of innocence is over. Admittedly, I'm too young to have experienced it, but I caught enough glimpses of it early in my career to recognize its continuing decline. I long for simpler times, and embrace every facet of wine—as a drink and an industry—that reinforces its beauty and integrity.
It’s taken almost three decades, but we at Metrovino couldn't be more excited to introduce Albertans to our first sparkling wine producer from Germany. This is the kinetic project of Griesel & Compagnie which, if we're not mistaken, is also the first grower from the tiny region of Hessische Bergstraße to be offered in the province.
One of the best ways to get to know a wine is to drink it in a movie theatre. Escaping into cinematic fantasy allows us to approach wine more openly, and the dark, expansive environment helps to sow the seeds of acute flavour memories.
On a frigid December afternoon, I found myself standing outside of a church, puffing on the chalice and hoping that I wouldn’t burst into flames upon stepping inside.
When I repose with a glass of wine at the end of a busy day, I’m […] reminded that the flavours are liquid postcards from special places, brought to fruition by impassioned people working closely with nature.
There is a sublime amalgam of feelings that overwhelm me on a wine trip. Tense exits from airports, jet-lagged and stinky, are followed by enervating traffic delays and other obstacles in the way of getting where one wants to be: wine country!
I don't think of Calgary, Alberta as the most progressive or open minded place on the planet, and yet arguably the most formative, influential and indefatigable wine professional in the city is a bearded man with tattoos.
It was the early 1970’s, and the time of the hippie exodus from a decaying Haight-Ashbury to the countryside of Sonoma County. And yes, there may have been marijuana involved… But I give California credit for my introduction to wine…
Abandoning a fascination, nay, an obsession with Burgundy is nigh impossible. Unfortunately, a rocky relationship with this precious area has become increasingly tenuous due to the most unseemly question of money. Luckily, there are solid bridges that span this treacherous rift and can help us maintain and cherish our connection to accessibly-priced, high-quality Burgundy wine of both colours. One bridge is the area of southern Burgundy surrounding the town of Mâcon.
If a thirsty person begins their visit to your establishment as an earnest guest, their enthusiasm will rapidly devolve into frustration—and eventually anger—with every moment that they must endure an empty glass.
Prior to a recent vacation, I set up an email auto-response that referenced a poem by Wang An-Shih called "Here at River-Serene". Most resonant for me is the closing thought of this almost 1000-year-old poem wherein he states, "birds seen become thoughts felt".
Metrovino has always made great efforts to showcase the incredible diversity and richness of French wine, never limiting ourselves to the famous areas. We’ve always had a set of excellent Loire estates to offer you, but now is the time for this region to shine.
When it comes to weather and wine, the Loire Valley region of France reminds us of the challenges of agriculture, especially in an era of wildly unpredictable climate change.
Frank saddled up Graach and pointed him eastwards, sipping from a bottle of Trittenheimer as they rode under a sprawling sky. They were still a good distance from the badlands when an infernal noise emanated from the wagon, sounding as if it came from the very bowels of Hell.
There once was a man whose best friend was a dog. As is common in such a relationship, there was an incongruity in regards to the way that the two friends aged. One day, seemingly all of a sudden, the dog had become elderly.
There's aromatic confusion out there as blossom season crescendos. I’ve been wandering my neighbourhood, delighting in the olfactory fireworks and thinking about my recent meeting with Esther, the proprietress of Fort McMurray's first pool hall.
Springtime had technically begun but the skies remained obstinately indifferent. I was on a solo woodland retreat to nurture my dominant but neglected introverted side, and had just finished reading a novel of extraordinary breadth and insight. The afternoon, like the morning, was mine to do whatever I wanted, so I bundled up for a leisurely stroll through my isolated, snow-swept environs to digest what I had just read.