Though we usually drink Rhein wine at the outdoor Shakespeare performance, we hydrated with a Riesling from Württemberg this year. The evening was sweltering, the play was cute and the Riesling was cold and good with our picnic dinner.
Upon leaving the park, I discovered the rear tire on my bicycle to be dead flat. I encouraged my wife to ride on without me but she refused, and so we began the walk, pushing our bikes alongside us. There were hordes of people out enjoying the evening, one of rare beauty in a summer of lovely moments but few splendorous days.
This crafty little grape has become even more elusive these days as the French temple of Pinot Noir, Burgundy, has become SO expensive! But this little trickster of a grape variety can’t elude us as easily as that! Metrovino has mined areas such as the Auvergne and the Languedoc for new sources of affordable French PN, but our elusive quarry has also been found hiding in the most unexpected area of northeastern France - Alsace! And this will not be the last French Pinot surprise we have for you either!
Frank had ridden through the night. The moon was lucent, the terrain rocky and an antagonising posse of some of the hardest lawmen in the West were after him. Upon their chests shone the stars of the law; on Frank's a death's head adorned by grape clusters and crossed with venencias, emblematic of the League of Outlaw Sommeliers. Frank, better known as the Cornas Kid, was the fastest corkscrew in the West.
Call it Savoie or Savoy, this French Alpine region makes some fascinating and delicious wines. A recent visit there was also a reminder of the hazards of life for a grape grower. The challenges don’t usually include a mountain falling on your head, but…
To say that we're in the midst of an epidemic is no overstatement. The dreaded “cork taint", anathema when present in wine, has found its way into our fruits and vegetables. And while it's estimated that somewhere between 2 and 5% of wines sealed by natural cork closures are "corked", my a posteriori evidence would suggest that the percentage in fresh produce dwarfs this figure.
During my reckless youth, the acts of bowling and drinking often coincided amongst my friends and I. We bemusedly noticed that our bowling skills improved with modest imbibing, but rapidly diminished with the onset of inebriation. To my memory, this was as far as the analysis ever went, it never occurring to us that the mastery of the game could in essence be achieved through the meticulous, almost mathematical, engagement with alcohol. In all honesty, this idea might have become manifest, but on most evenings reaching execrable levels of drunkenness was more important than an impressive bowling score.
The interweb is already cluttered with the relevant meteorological data and qualitative assessments of seasoned experts regarding Germany’s 2018 vintage. But as I’m humbly commissioned with the noble task of purchasing Metrovino’s German wine (which some years I responsibly keep under 50 selections), and having just spent two intensive weeks tasting with some of the country’s top producers, my opinion as to what you can look forward to might be relevant. You already know my directive - as a human Riesling solera, I order the wines that I personally want to drink... it’s just a bonus when our palates overlap and you buy a few bottles too!
We’ve launched a new tasting series called “The Metro Mixtape”, and we think that it’s a great idea even though it’s not exactly self-explanatory. Everyone at Metrovino is insatiably obsessed with wine, and we’ve noticed that tastings with narrow thematic parameters can sometimes bridle our seething enthusiasm. Speaking for the entire crew here, our dream tasting would be catalyzed by somebody asking,
There’s a guy in my neighbourhood who roams the streets ceaselessly. I’ve witnessed his proclivities for years now and neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor the gloom of night keeps him from his wanders; but unlike Herodotus’ subject, he has no apparent mission or directive.
We called it the “stinky store”, my sister and I. It was an early incarnation of a natural food store and I now recognize that our mother was way ahead of her time by purchasing the vast majority of our groceries there 30 years ago.
Once or twice per winter, I attempt to counter an exceptionally frigid evening with a monolithic red wine. Especially after a gelid trudge home from work or a mundane snow removal session, bombastic flavours that recount effortless ripeness or Mediterranean environs can make a great companion to a Trashmen record (Beach Boys if I’m feeling particularly deviant) or a Frankie Avalon movie. You might call this a pairing of “contrast”, and it works, but there’s another path…
Rioja, internationally considered the flagship of Spain's multitude of wine regions, is like many wine regions of the world - home to several interpretations of its famous juice. There are the truly traditional producers (such as Lopez de Heredia), alongside massive juggernauts advocating the old mantra of “Crianza, Reserva, Gran Reserva", and fiercely independent rebels railing against what could be called “Brand Rioja”.
As you may already know, the City of Calgary is discussing the launch of a pilot project which would allow the consumption of alcohol in designated sites within city parks. Public feedback is encouraged and you can voice your support or concerns here.
Early one morning about a week prior to Christmas, I pulled up to Metrovino with a van full wine that had just been liberated from our warehouse. With All Kindsa Girls by the Real Kids blasting from the van speakers, I began hoisting the cases up onto the loading dock - one of December’s delightfully Sisyphean acts.
The desire for revenge can be obsessive. I wonder if this has been important for survival over the course of our evolution; after all, our insatiable thirst for vengeance is still acute after millions of years of human development. Perhaps those with the capacity to avenge transgressions against them have proven to be better survivors.
Shadows flit over crimson damask like spectral ravens forlornly seeking purchase in limpid pools of blood. Despite its effulgence, my candelabra is a feeble agent against the illimitable dominion of gloom in my chamber. I say chamber, but rightfully it’s a tomb - and one whose oppressiveness acquiesces not to the influence of cheery iridescence, hyacinthine aromatics nor dulcet tones from the phonograph.
Death is an interesting concept. It’s something that most people try to avoid thinking about and is often viewed with terror. However, upon deeper contemplation, death makes all things more precious and valuable.
There's a cuckoo clock in my house and I’m fascinated by its mechanizations. Members of cultures to whom the cuckoo clock is consequential have claimed that the gadget is the soul of their home, but I don’t think I’d give it that much credit.
“Beaujolais is for drinking, more so than any other wine. The classic swirl, sniff, sip, swish and spit approach us pretentious wine "professionals" flaunt so regularly doesn't properly encapsulate the soul of the best Beaujolais. One must invoke the "gulp" or the "chug" technique to unveil the full beauty embedded within these captivating wines. And with price tags a fraction of their big brothers in northern Burgundy, this proper testing technique can be enjoyed while still making your mortgage payments.” - Jim
‘Neath an azure sky this Sunday past, mine wife-lady and I didst traveleth to yond sylvan parketh whose namesake recalls a prince forgotten. Seeking an aft’rnoon of living theatre, we satteth ourselves on inviting parcels of grasses lush and green to enjoyeth a p’rf’rmance of The Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Not a celebration of the (too-often) repeated Beatles song, but rather a statement of a reality.
Drew Noon of McLaren Vale, Australia, says it best when he unapologetically states “I make wine in a warm climate; I make big wines.” What he suggests as “big” are somewhat reflective of a classic Australian red wine. These attributes of ripe, plump body, rich berry flavours and sometimes considerable alcohol have become the subject of mockery by many (including myself - guilty as charged).
No doubt all of you have experienced the rather hot weather of late. Pleasant, by my standards, but warm for most I suppose. I understand that not everyone agrees with this caveat, as my internal thermostat begins somewhere around 25ºC. Therefore, this “heat” is personally, idyllic. Now, before you simply dismiss this piece as the inane ramblings of a lunatic muttering about the weather, please allow me the opportunity to see my analogy through to its completion.
We’re too narrow-minded in our sensorial discussion of wine. By “we” I mean wine professionals, amateurs and consumers of all types, but it’s mostly the fault of the pros because their lead is followed by everybody else. Descriptions and reviews of wine, whether written by the chief editor of Wine Spectator Magazine or a vainglorious Pittsburgh-based banker with a Vivino account, are almost always laughably fatuous, nauseatingly derivative or both. I’m no better, but I’m willing to explain the nature of this failure.
Last week I had the pleasure of visiting the Calgary Zoo. I tend to go once per year to honour that our fine city has a good one. It was a perfect Tuesday afternoon of strolling and gawking, not yet swarming with summer crowds and warm, but not a scorcher.
If one year ago, an omniscient being told me how many meditation hours I would proceed to bank in the months to come, I would have called bullshit. I was a logical sceptic at heart, valued the scientific method as a basis for my beliefs and was totally allergic to any ritual or ceremony that could be considered “mystical”. However, much thanks to a particular author and podcaster, I slowly became open to the concept of meditation and was convinced enough to give it an honest shot.
Pink wine has never been more popular than it is right now, nor has it ever been so uniformly boring. Like any style of wine, modern insight into winemaking has rendered the best examples “better” than the category has ever seen, but even many of these reek of winemaking apathy and taken as a whole they are disconcertingly narrow in their stylistic spectrum.
One night last week, I awoke at 3:30 a.m. to the sound of my elderly dog maniacally running around downstairs. She’s good at letting us know when she needs to be let out in the night and I assumed that it was no more complicated than that. In fact, despite being quite deaf, she knew that there was a skunk in the yard and her previous altercations with those striped bastards hadn’t successfully dissuaded her from making conspicuous attempts on their lives.
Many of these are from vineyards whose wines outpriced First Growth Bordeaux 100 years ago!!! There’s big bottle options too and this is your chance to grab them at 20% off… Mix and match minimum 3 bottles to get the deals!!!