I like to stretch out rosé season as long as possible, and now that the nights are flirting with freezing, I’m stretching it indeed. But my goodness, I know of few other styles of wine so broadly consistent as the long-maligned pink. How many dry rosés have I tried, made with who knows which varieties from heaven knows what godforsaken backwater — and they’re almost all at least good.

Why is that? The theory I’ve adopted is that since rosés can be tough to market, winemakers who choose to make them make them from the heart. These aren’t dumbed down to appeal to everyone, so the wines have a point of view, and have a good chance of reflecting the vineyard’s terroir. The winemaker is, hopefully, expressing him/herself with the rosé, and perhaps having a little fun. And fun is the point of a rosé — it should be lively and joyous, if not necessarily deep or complex or profound.

But even I have limits, and I find it difficult to work up enthusiasm for rosé in the winter. That’s why it’s important to pick up a bottle now and open it immediately, while the leaves still have a touch of green. You could do much worse than a 2011 Kir-Yianni “Akakies,” which will likely be my last pink of the season. Yep, it’s made from a who-knows-which variety in a godforsaken backwater, and it’s great.

In fact, it’s made from Xinomavro, one of the three grape varieties starting with “X” listed in The Oxford Companion to Wine. The name means “acid black,” according to the Companion, and it’s “one of the few Greek vine varieties which may not reach full ripeness in some years.” Perhaps that’s less the variety’s fault and more due to the fact that it’s popular in the cool, high-altitude vineyards of northern Greece.

This particular Xinomavro is a 100% varietal from Amyndeon (as spelled on the label), a region in inland Macedonia just south Greece’s border with Macedonia the country (as distinct from the Greek province of the same name). Adding to the geographic confusion, since Greeks use the Greek alphabet, the Arabic spelling of place names can get creative. In my various wine tomes, I have found it spelled Amyndeo, Amyntaion and Amindaio.

In any case, the region on the northwest side of Mount Vermio “is so cool that it can produce aromatic whites, a denominated Xinomavro rosé, and good sparkling wine,” according to the Atlas. I was delighted to see Sotheby’s note that the “brilliant” Alpha Estate is realizing the full potential of the Amyndeo terroir with its fine Xinomavro-based red blends. I first wrote about the Alpha Estate “Axia” here, and I liked the wine so much that I served it at my wedding.

But let’s get back to the Kir-Yianni rosé, because with autumn fully upon us, there’s no time to waste. A deep pink color, it smelled of sweet cherries and watermelon. On the palate, it exhibited juicy fruit, a slight prickle on the tongue, some tightly wound acids, a chalky midsection and a tart finish. A fun ride, and delicious paired with some slightly spicy red beans and rice.

So even this rosé of Xinomavro from Amyndeo (or Amindaio, or Amyntaion) — a risk if there ever was one — proved to be quite fine. Which again goes to show that taking a risk on an unknown dry rosé isn’t really much of a risk at all.

SUMMARY

2011 Kir-Yianni “Akakies”: Fruity, but tight, focused, minerally and tart. An excellent choice with food that’s lightly spicy. Chill well in the refrigerator before serving, and serve it soon. Its summery flavors will soon feel out of place.

Grade: A-

Find It: I purchased this bottle at In Fine Spirits for $15.50, and I see that Binny’s also carries it.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have a soft spot for dry, aromatic whites, and a $12 Greek wine I found at Whole Foods tickled that spot but good. The 2011 Kyklos Moschofilero crafted by Voyatzis Wineries has to be one of the best white wine values I’ve tasted this year.

Unfortunately, I’m having a devil of a time finding any information about it. The importer, Nestor Imports, does not list the Kyklos Moschofilero on its website, or any other wines by Voyatzis. I did find what appears to be the winery’s website, but it also neglects to mention the Kyklos Moschofilero, or indeed any wine of Peloponnesian origin whatsoever.

Since neither the winery nor the importer seem to be particularly interested in promoting the Kyklos Moschofilero, I suppose it’s up to me to bring this orphaned wine into the light.

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Greece, according to The Sotheby’s Wine Encyclopedia, boasted a sophisticated wine industry long before the Gauls or Goths grew a single grape. And yet today, barbarian Bordeaux is celebrated the world over, while Greece’s wines are generally regarded as crap, not to put too a fine point on it, representing just 2% of Greece’s GDP (Sotheby’s).

Retsina bears no small share of responsibility for this fact. This pine resin-infused white was formerly popular in American Greek restaurants (The Oxford Companion to Wine calls it “a potent catalyst of taverna nostalgia”), but many people agree with Sotheby’s assessment that it’s little better than “pine cleaner.”

Resinated and oxidized wines continue to be popular with Greece’s older generations, but numerous winemakers have once again started to realize Greece’s potential to make international-style wines. I wrote briefly about a deeply satisfying Alpha Estate “Axia” recently, for example, and the ur-wine blog Vinography recently featured a fascinating article about the wines of Santorini. It’s easier and easier to find delicious Greek wine.

And the names! Who couldn’t love the wonderfully unpronounceable indigenous varieties of Greece? Xinomavro, Assyrtiko, Moschofilero… But my very favorite has to be the glorious Aghiorghitiko, which even Sotheby’s can’t manage to spell consistently.

Since I was cooking up a Greek-ish dish of ground lamb with zucchini, peppers, summer squash, cabbage, brown rice, garlic and dill, I decided to chill a bottle of 2009 Domaine Spiropoulos Mantinia. The Mantinia appellation requires that wines be at least 85% Moschofilero, a pink-skinned white varietal. (You may also see this grape spelled as Moschophilero or Moscophilero.)

At first I found the quote at the top of the label a little lofty. But in this case, “Et in Arcadia ego,” or “I too was in Arcadia,” is no symbolic allusion to an innocent pastoral past — this wine bottle literally came from the Greek province of Arcadia.

I poured a glass and was delighted by the golden color, betraying just a bit of pink in its hue. The Oxford Companion notes that this variety makes “strongly perfumed white wine,” and indeed it does. The bouquet overwhelmed me at first. It smelled heady and haunting, and — I couldn’t quite decide — like oregano or burnt rubber. (The label makes a case for “bergamot aromas.”)

The oregano/rubber flavor continued on the palate, supplemented by lemony acids. I would have to try another bottle to be certain, but I fear this bottle may have been flawed. Unwelcome compounds known as mercaptans (or thiols) can sometimes produce burnt rubber aromas, and it would seem odd indeed that a winemaker would purposely shoot for a rubbery wine.

I wish my Moschophilero/Moscophilero/Moschofilero experiment had been more successful — I had very much looked forward to trumpeting a new discovery. I’m afraid there’s just one thing to do: Drink another bottle of Moschofilero. Or maybe two, just to be sure.

SUMMARY

2009 Domaine Spiropoulos Mantinia: Pleasant lemon and oregano flavors were overwhelmed by rubbery taint. Perhaps a flawed bottle.

Find It: Binny’s Beverage Depot has a reasonable selection of Greek wine (I purchased this bottle there for $13). Ask one of their wine consultants for guidance, avoiding “Michael,” of course.

I almost never dine near North Michigan Avenue, that famed Chicago strip so favored by deep dish-seeking tourists and overpriced restaurants. It was therefore with some skepticism that I approached The Purple Pig, a relatively new Spanish/Mediterranean hot spot set right in the heart of the beast: 500 North. But I wanted something a little fancy for my birthday, and I’d heard from a very trusted palate that it was “terrific.” And, well, it was.

Always thinking of my readers, I took copious notes about the experience (though it must be said their legibility and coherence deteriorated with distressing rapidity).

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