Odd Bacchus

White Lion Mixology Session

After I tasted White Lion VSOA‘s cognac-like flavor, I couldn’t wait to try working with it in some cocktails. This Sri Lankan spirit is distilled from the nectar of unopened coconut flowers, but it doesn’t taste especially like coconut. It starts sweet and smooth, gets spicy, and finishes with something savory and herbaceous (you can read more about White Lion VSOA in my previous post).

Because it reminded me of cognac, I wanted to see how it would perform in a classic Sidecar recipe.

WHITE LION SIDECAR:

–2 parts White Lion VSOA

–1 part Orange Liqueur (I used Stirrings Triple Sec, but Cointreau or Gran Marnier would also be lovely)

–1 part Freshly-Squeezed Lemon Juice (do not use bottled juice or, heaven forbid, sour mix)

Juice your lemon, and use the amount of juice you get as the measure of one part. A standard lemon will make one large Sidecar or two small ones. Combine all the ingredients in a shaker with ice, shake vigorously, and strain into a martini glass. It’s traditional to rim the glass with sugar, but I can’t be bothered with that sort of thing. The cocktail had a luscious aroma of orange and caramel, and its darkly sweet flavors were balanced perfectly by the bright citrus. It’s a smashing drink, and I made myself a second round the next day.

I’d experimented previously with ginger liqueur, and I had some success substituting it for the orange liqueur in the recipe above. This WHITE LION GINGER SIDECAR tastes wonderfully spicy and exotic, but the ginger can get a little overpowering if you use the proportions above. I recommend 2 parts White Lion, 3/4 part ginger liqueur (Koval or Stirrings), and 1 part freshly-squeezed lemon juice.

The White Lion website recommends a number of different cocktail recipes, including an “Aria,” which combines White Lion, lime juice, simple syrup and a lot of water. But why add the water? As my father is fond of saying, “Fish swim in it!” I tried the recipe without any dilution, and I don’t think it suffered:

WHITE LION DAQUIRI:

–2 parts White Lion VSOA

–1 part Freshly-Squeezed Lime Juice

–Splash of Simple Syrup

As before, juice your lime(s) first, and use the amount of liquid you get as the measure of one part. Combine the ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice, shake vigorously, and strain into martini glasses or cocktail coupes. Garnish, if you like, with a lime wheel or wedge. This cocktail, in which White Lion takes the place of rum, tasted tropical, aromatic and citrusy — I felt like I should be drinking it in the courtyard of the Raffles Hotel in Singapore. Exotic and delicious.

Another recipe the White Lion website recommends is a classic arrack/ginger beer cocktail they call a GBA. I tried that combination, which is essentially a Dark ‘n’ Stormy substituting White Lion for rum, and I didn’t find it satisfying. It felt a little tight to me, and not rounded. Since I’d already juiced some limes, I decided to take it in more of a Moscow Mule direction. That worked wonders:

WHITE LION MOSCOW MULE:

–2 parts Ginger Beer (Use the very best you can find. My go-to ginger beer is Reed’s.)

–1 part White Lion VSOA

–1/2 part Freshly-Squeezed Lime Juice

To maximize fizz, pour your chilled ginger beer in an empty tumbler. Carefully add a couple of large ice cubes, and then top off with the lime juice and White Lion. Give the drink a gentle stir to incorporate the ingredients. With the addition of the lime juice, the cocktail took on a new dimension, becoming a little sweeter, a little spicier, and definitely more well-balanced. A traditional Moscow Mule also includes mint, but I didn’t have any on hand, and so neither does this recipe.

I also attempted a classic Manhattan recipe using the White Lion, and again, it required a little tweaking for my palate. My first try, which combined White Lion, sweet vermouth and Angostura Bitters, tasted a little dry to me, but those who enjoy Perfect Manhattans will love this cocktail. I changed out the sweet vermouth for some Byrrh, and that made a cocktail I could really get behind:

WLB MANHATTAN

–2 parts White Lion VSOA

–1 part Byrrh

–Few dashes of Angostura Bitters

Combine all the ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake vigorously, or if you’re not rushed, try stirring everything for a minute or two to achieve an extra-smooth texture. The resulting red-orange cocktail tastes intriguingly sweet, bitter and savory, with some menthol and spice on the finish.

Finally, since White Lion is distilled from coconut flower nectar, I wanted to try mixing it with coconut water. That combination unfortunately tastes terrible. A little lemon juice helps immensely, however, especially if you like your cocktails on the savory side. Since this is the last cocktail in my White Lion round-up, I’ll call it the

LION’S TAIL

–2 parts White Lion VSOA

–1 part Coconut Water

–1 part Freshly-Squeezed Lemon Juice

–Splash of Simple Syrup

As before, use the amount of juice you get from your lemon as the measure of a part. Combine the ingredients in a shaker with ice, and shake vigorously. Strain into a martini glass, or — why not — into a coconut shell. This mix has a uniquely savory flavor which is not at all unpleasant. You can omit the simple syrup, but I found that it brightened the citrus notes considerably.

These recipes but scratch the surface of the potential of White Lion in cocktails. It’s currently available online and in California, but expect distribution to the Midwest and East Coast in the near future. It can’t come to Chicago soon enough for me — I’ve already knocked off most of my bottle!

With a little searching, it’s not all that hard to ferret out unusual, small-production whiskies, brandies, gins, rums and vodkas. But it’s rare that I get the chance to sample a class of spirit that’s entirely new to me. It’s always a risk — sometimes the drink will be a delicious discovery, and sometimes the flavor will be unrelievedly appalling. I approached my bottle of White Lion VSOA with hope and trepidation.

VSOA stands for “Very Special Old Arrack,” which might make you think of the anise-flavored spirit called arak, which comes from the Middle East. United States labeling laws allow only this grape-based raki/ouzo/pastis-like spirit to be called arak or arrack, and White Lion qualifies neither in terms of composition or flavor. Nor is this arrack related to the sugarcane-based Batavia arrack of Indonesia. This arrack from Sri Lanka is distilled from the nectar of unopened coconut flowers.

I had trouble believing that coconut flowers could provide enough nectar to make a spirit in any quantity, but according to an uncited reference on Wikipedia, up to two liters of nectar can be harvested from a tree in a single day.  On its website, White Lion also takes pains to illustrate how its product is sustainable, comparing bleak photos of fields harvested for whiskey and vodka compared to verdant images of coconut palms, which are essentially undamaged by the nectar-gathering process.

After the nectar is collected, it begins to ferment almost immediately, and White Lion begins the distillation process just hours after harvest. The spirit is then transferred to barrels made of local halmilla wood, where it ages for two years before master blenders create the final product. If the White Lion website is to believed, “Marco Polo commented about this wonderful spirit in his 13th century travelogue, Il Milione, forever documenting it as a legendary beverage, and the predecessor to nearly every new world spirit.”

Surprisingly, considering that White Lion VSOA is made solely from coconut flower nectar and water, the spirit doesn’t taste much like coconut at all. At room temperature, the VSOA had appealingly fragrant aromas of bright vanilla cake and caramel. If I hadn’t known what I was smelling, I might have guessed it was some kind of sweet cognac. It starts sweet and smooth on the palate, before blossoming into white-peppercorn spice and an aromatic finish of something savory and herbaceous. Fascinating and delicious.

FIND IT: I purchased my bottle from Caskers, a website devoted to small-batch spirits, for $33 plus $10 for shipping (it’s no longer for sale there, however). According to White Lion’s website, you can purchase bottles from Vendome Wine & Spirits ($25), Old Town Liquor ($27), and Hi-Time Wine Cellars ($24). (And yes, I am feeling a little shafted by Caskers just at the moment.)

In any case, for under $30, White Lion a steal.

As much as I enjoyed sipping the White Lion VSOA neat, it struck me as a versatile cocktail ingredient. I put on my mixologist cap and got to work, and I discovered more than one thoroughly delightful drink.

Up Next: Six easy and delicious cocktails you can make with White Lion.

At last, crocuses are poking their colorful little heads through the dirt, robins are bouncing along the sidewalks, and people walking outside have expressions other than a pained grimace. Spring has finally arrived, and in celebration of the season, I think I drink is in order.

Here are five bright, springy, and unusual wines sure to banish any lingering winter lethargy which might still be gumming up your system:

1. DEUTSCHER SEKT: Frankly, most Sekt, a German sparkling wine, tends to be unpleasant, with uninspiring flavors and bubbles the size of my big toe. That’s because most Sekt is made from bulk fruit grown outside Germany. Deutscher Sekt, on the other hand, is made with German fruit, likely Riesling, that tends to be of much higher quality. Deutscher Sekt tends, therefore, to be much more drinkable, and dare I even say delicious. The Dr. Loosen Sparkling Riesling, for example, has a fruity/floral nose, elegant bubbles and sweet fruit balanced by zesty acids. Available at Binny’s for $13.

2. SAVENNIÈRES: Because of this appellation’s favorable location on south-facing Loire hillsides and the low maximum yields allowed, Savennières produces “the world’s greatest dry Chenin Blanc,” according to The Sotheby’s Wine Encyclopedia. If you, like me, can rarely afford to drink the world’s greatest anything, this wine is for you. Because it doesn’t have a lot of name recognition, prices tend to be very low in relation to the quality of the wine. I recently sampled a 2008 Domaine du Closel ”La Jalousie” that I described as “Rich, spicy and tightly focused — sheer delight.” But I’ve never had a Savennières I didn’t like, so don’t worry if you can’t find this specific example. Expect a bottle to cost $20-$25 in a shop.

3. MOSCHOFILERO: If you tend to prefer your whites to be aromatic and dry rather than rich and spicy, seek out wines made from this marvelous Muscat-like Greek variety. Whole Foods carries the excellent Voyatzis Wineries Kyklos Moschofilero, for example, which is a smashing value for $12 or $13. Of the 2011 vintage, I wrote, “After a slight prickle on the tongue, flavors of ripe pears and apples led to limey acids, a brief pop of white pepper and just a touch of limestone.” If you can’t find this specific Moscofilero, look for one from the Peloponnese’s high plateau of Mantinía, where the elevation keeps the vineyards cool enough, allowing this late-ripening variety time to fully develop. (Or just ask your wine shop for a recommendation.)

4. ANYTHING BY MASSAYA: I’ve had very good luck with this Lebanese winery’s entry-level bottlings. The red Massaya Classic – a blend of 60% Cinsault, 20% Cabernet and 20% Syrah — is perfect for a party, with big, ripe fruit and a black-pepper kick at the end. The white Massaya Blanc is also a blend. Familiar varieties Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc each account for 15% of the wine, with the remaining 70% evenly divided between Clairette (one of the 13 varieties allowed in Châteauneuf-du-Pape), and Obeidi, an indigenous Lebanese grape. This wine was a bit viscous but balanced with juicy acids. When I tasted the 2009, I wrote, “The ancient flavors of honey, wood and resin stirred a desire to experience the terroir — to see the… Bekaa Valley for myself.” (The Massaya Blanc induced me to write one of my more emotional and sentimental posts.)

5. MÜLLER-THURGAU from ALTO ADIGE or OREGON: The Oxford Companion to Wine doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to this cross of Riesling and Madeleine-Royale, describing the wines made from it as “fat, flaccid… too often with a slight suspicion of rot… extremely dull, flabby.” And it’s true, this humble variety doesn’t tend to excel in its German homeland. Transplant it to more favorable, climes, however, and suddenly you’ve got something worth drinking. Here’s how famed wine critics Dorothy Gaiter and John Brecher described a Kofererhof Müller-Thurgau from Italy’s Alto Adige region: “Flinty, with some melons and dirt but brighter than we had expected. Earthy but not heavy, with real vitality. Surprisingly juicy, with some white pepper.” I discovered a tasty  2009 Montinore Estate Müller-Thurgau from Oregon’s Willamette Valley, which costs between $13 and $17. Ripe pear and apple flavors were balanced with a bit of prickle on the tongue, and tart acids pulled it together for the finish. I’d avoid German Müller-Thurgau, but if you see one from elsewhere, especially Alto Adige, ignore the protestations of your sommelier and give it a try.

Sometimes it pays to drink odd, and sometimes it doesn’t. Every now and then, despite my best efforts, I buy something that is simply not to my taste. In some cases, there’s no way I could have predicted that the wine wouldn’t be to my liking, but often, as in this instance, I probably could have figured it out before I plunked down $14. As I looked more closely at the label of the wine in question, I discovered a major red flag, a red flag I ignored at my peril. If you prefer your wine on the dry side, or at least balanced, you’ll want to read on.

Germany produces great seas of white wine, but the rosy-skinned, highly perfumed Gewürztraminer variety accounts for a relative drop in that Riesling-dominated ocean. According to my 2006 edition of The Oxford Companion to Wine, Gewürztraminer vines occupy only about 2,000 acres of German vineyards, as compared to over 51,000 acres devoted to Riesling. Because of its relative rarity, and because I recently had a magnificent German Gewürztraminer by Wasenweiler, I felt a thrill of excitement when I discovered a bottle of affordable German Gewürztraminer at Binny’s.

I snapped up the $14 bottle of 2010 G & M Machmer Bechtheimer Gewürztraminer Spätlese from the Rheinhessen region. It noted a town on its label (Bechtheim) and indicated that it was estate bottled, which gave me confidence in its quality (never mind that I had no idea where the town was).

Had I paid the slightest attention to the back label, I might have noticed a warning sign. Only 10.5% of the wine was alcohol. That relatively low percentage indicates that less of the grapes’ sugars were converted into alcohol, resulting in a sweeter wine. I don’t mind sweet wines necessarily, but I do want them to be balanced. Balance, unfortunately, was not one of the Machmer Bechtheimer Gewürztraminer Spätlese’s strong points.

The wine had the pleasant tropical fruit aroma I expect from a Gewürztraminer, along with something intriguingly green. Its syrupy texture was leavened with a bit of pétillance, but its sweet, almost flabby apple flavor managed to sharpen up only at the very end, when it tightened into some tartness on the finish. The acids made more of an effort to appear when I paired the wine with some roast pork and homemade spätzle, but this wine lacked the spicy raciness I’ve come to love in well-made Gewürztraminers.

Lesson learned. A village name on a German wine label might be seductive, but from now on, I’m always going to check that alcohol content. The higher it is, the drier the wine is likelier to be. I’m sure there are exceptions to this rule, but if you find a Gewürztraminer or Riesling that is less than 11% alcohol, I’d suggest putting it back on the rack and trying something else.

SUMMARY

2010 G & M Machmer Bechtheimer Gewürztraminer Spätlese: Appealing aromas, but overly sweet and a bit flabby, tightening up only at the very end.

Grade: C

Find It: I purchased this wine for $14 at Binny’s.

As much as I enjoy drinking unusual wines, spirits and cocktails, sometimes I drink them out of simple necessity. Last Saturday evening, for example, I just wanted to make myself a simple margarita to drink with the tacos we prepared for dinner (see my favorite traditional margarita recipe here). Unfortunately, Whole Foods was under Easter siege during our shopping trip, and in my haste to escape, I neglected to buy any limes. All we had was a solitary lemon. If I wanted a margarita, it would have to be an unusual one.

As the saying goes, when life gives you lemons, make Lemon Ginger Margaritas. I had lemon and ginger on my mind in the wake of my experimentation with Koval Ginger Liqueur. Produced in a distillery just down the street, this liqueur worked well with vodka, bourbon, and cognac, so why not tequila? And fortunately, it tasted delicious with lemon as well.

The recipe of tequila, lemon juice, and ginger liqueur followed a classic mixology trinity: One Spirit, One Liqueur, One Juice. That gave me some hope. But lemon with tequila? Surely it’s been tried before, and surely it’s failed. After all, it’s not that hard to find strawberry, raspberry, mango, and even banana margaritas, but when is the last time you saw lemon? I felt less than optimistic, and I prayed this wouldn’t be a repeat of the Chimayó debacle.

I juiced the lemon, combined the ingredients in the shaker, and shook with fingers crossed. The result looked appealing, and it had a pleasantly citrusy smell. I took a sip, and it actually tasted quite good! The cocktail started off sweet, then moved to juicy citrus, a tight tartness, some smoke from the tequila, and finally an aftertaste of ginger. Paired with the tacos (actually tostadas topped with beans, beef, cheese, onions, guacamole, salsa and cilantro), the cocktail gained some zesty spiciness.

It’s a very fun drink, with a very easy recipe:

LEMON GINGER MARGARITA

–2 parts Tequila (I used El Jimador Reposado, but any decent reposado or gold tequila should do the trick.)

–1.5 parts Ginger Liqueur (If you can’t find Koval‘s organic ginger liqueur, Stirrings makes a perfectly fine substitute.)

–1 part Freshly Squeezed Lemon Juice (There’s no substitute for this. Use bottled juice or sour mix at your peril.)

–Splash of Simple Syrup (Available bottled, or make it yourself: simmer a cup of water, dissolve a cup of sugar in it, and let cool.)

Juice a whole lemon, and use the amount of juice you get as the measure of one part. Combine the lemon juice, tequila and ginger liqueur in a shaker with ice. I recommend adding the splash of simple syrup as well. The sugar enhances the flavors and rounds them out. You can make this cocktail without the simple syrup and it will taste fine, but a small splash really does wake it up. Shake vigorously, and strain into a large martini glass. Garnish, if you’re feeling fancy, with a slice of lemon or a strip of fresh ginger.

Cheers!

L’Étage

For years, one of my very favorite wine and cocktail bars in the world, In Fine Spirits, stood just down the street from my home. Unfortunately, it transformed itself into a fine-dining restaurant, which then proceeded to fail. The neighborhood never quite forgave the popular In Fine Spirits for jilting it (thankfully, the excellent In Fine Spirits shop remains open).

I greatly missed having a wine bar within easy walking distance, and so it was with no small amount of pleasure that I discovered L’Étage, occupying a cozy space directly above where In Fine Spirits met its untimely demise. Its by-the-glass wine list isn’t nearly as ambitious, restricting itself to “French” and “Domestic” selections, but it contains a few unusual gems, including a refreshing Domaine Giachino Jacquère from Savoie, redolent of vanilla, green apples and lime.

But since I had already written about the Domaine Giachino in this post, my attention turned to another odd duck, a Château Moncontour Crémant de Loire Brut Rosé. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen a rosé Crémant de Loire — most versions of this French sparkling wine are made primarily with Chenin Blanc, but in this case, Cabernet Franc dominated. The idea of a sparkling Cabernet Franc fascinated me, and I couldn’t wait to give it a try.

Château Moncontour Crémant de Loire Brut Rosé

I didn’t realize at the time that I was taking a bit of a gamble. According to The Sotheby’s Wine Encyclopedia, more and more sparkling Cabernet Francs from the Loire are showing well, “However, the aggressive potential of this grape can quickly turn a thrilling raspberry-flavored fizz into something hideous.” Cabernet Franc is infamous, after all, for a tendency towards herbaceousness. Fortunately, L’Étage did not attempt to foist the equivalent of a glass of bubbly green peppers on me.

A flute came filled to the brim with the watermelon-colored Château Moncontour, and it lacked any bouquet whatsoever. It wasn’t until I took a few sips, giving it some room to breathe in the glass, that I discovered how aromatic this crémant actually was (not that I’m one to complain about an overfilled glass). Once I could actually smell it, I found the notes of red fruit and yeast enticing.

The bubbles erred on the foamy side, but their tiny size made them feel elegant nevertheless. It started off quite dry, moving to tart acids and a finish of rich, red fruit. It tasted perfectly delightful on its own, but paired with some duck rillettes topped with grainy mustard, the jammy notes became even more deliciously pronounced.

The Château Moncontour Crémant de Loire Brut Rosé  would make a fine aperitif or an excellent mate with a range of food. The Sotheby’s Wine Encylopedia makes me hesitant to recommend picking up any old rosé Crémant de Loire that you find, but if you do happen to come across one that your local wine shop recommends, don’t hesitate to give it a try. It’s perfect for a party, because it will satisfy guests who require sweet wine as well as those who demand something dry.

Thanks to L’Étage for introducing me to this festive sparkler, and welcome to the neighborhood!

SUMMARY

NV Château Moncontour Crémant de Loire Brut Rosé: Festive but elegant, with a dry start and a jammy finish. Tasty on its own, but even better paired with poultry (pork, light pastas and many Asian dishes should also work well). Serve well-chilled.

Grade: B+

Find It: I paid $9 for a glass at L’Étage. Wine Searcher listed two retailers selling the wine, each charging about $15 per bottle.

With winter’s chill lingering unwholesomely into Holy Week, I found myself still yearning for hearty red wines and rich food. I started preparing a batch of ratatouille-like casserole and consulted my wine rack. Since it would just be me drinking wine this evening, I didn’t want anything too expensive. (And despite what your mother may have told you, there’s nothing wrong with drinking alone.) I reached for a 2009 Bisceglia ”Terra di Vulcano” Aglianico del Vulture.

What a mouthful! Aglianico del Vulture (pronounced approximately “ah-lee-ah-nee-coh dell vool-too-ray”) is one of Basilicata’s few wine regions of any note. Basilicata, set in the arch of Italy’s boot, doesn’t get a lot of press. It produces, according to The Sotheby’s Wine Encyclopedia, a minuscule 0.6 percent of total Italian production. Its neighbor Puglia accounts for a whopping 14%, and even unsung Calabria, the toe of Italy’s boot, manages a respectable 1.6 percent.

Nevertheless, Aglianico del Vulture was granted DOCG status in 2011, the highest status an Italian wine region can achieve. Up until then, this land around the extinct Vulture volcano in the far north of Basilicata ranked only as a DOC, the qualification indicated on my 2009 bottle. The ancient variety of Aglianico was originally thought to be of Greek origin, as Wikipedia still asserts, but according to The Oxford Companion to Wine, DNA profiling work “in the early 2000s could find no relationship with any known Greek variety.” My theory is that Greek colonists in southern Italy discovered Aglianico already growing there, and it became known as a Greek variety because they were the first to exploit its potential.

Today, Aglianico del Vulture is grown “with unusual skill for this part of the world,” The World Atlas of Wine rather tartly notes, on the slopes of Mount Vulture up to 2,500 feet. The elevation keeps the vines cool at night, which is vital this far south in Italy. When it works, “The grape’s best wines are deep in color with full chocolate and plum aromas, fine-grained tannins, and marked acidity on the palate,” according to the Companion. Sotheby’s agrees, calling Aglianico del Vulture a “big but balanced red wine of warm color, rich, chocolate-cherry fruit, and firm tannin structure.”

I certainly enjoyed the Bisceglia ”Terra di Vulcano” Aglianico del Vulture. It lived up to its name, offering plenty of earthy notes. The wine was very aromatic, smelling of dark red fruit and iron. It had a rustic texture, with ripe fruit, ample acids, some earth in the middle and a hint of something (not unpleasantly) bitter on the finish. And paired with the Parmigiano-laced ratatouille casserole, it grew even rounder and spicier. I found it to be rather addictive, I must admit.

If you relish rustic, earthy, fruity wines, I suspect you might find wines from Aglianico del Vulture to be rather addictive as well (in a non-abusive way, of course).

SUMMARY

2009 Bisceglia ”Terra di Vulcano” Aglianico del Vulture: Rustic, earthy and ripely fruity. Pair with casual food like pizza, pasta in red sauce and pork roast. Chill for 20 minutes before serving.

Grade: B

Find It: I purchased this wine for $13 at Binny’s. A fine value.

The wines of contemporary Hungary have yet to achieve the fashionability of their Austrian neighbors. Although Hungary’s decadent Tokaji Aszú was all the rage in the 18th century — in fact, in 1707, the vineyards of Tokaj were part of “the first national vineyard classification anywhere,” according to The Oxford Companion to Wine — there have been a few bumps on the road since then, most notably when the communists invaded and the state monopoly took over.

Communism tends to value quantity over quality, and during this unfortunate period in Hungarian history, much of the wine industry was devoted to exporting “huge quantities of very ordinary wine to the USSR,” as the Companion explains. Fortunately, Hungary managed to maintain a somewhat mixed economy even under the communist fist, and many individual vineyards remained privately owned, easing the transition to a mostly free-market economy.

Hungary once again exports high-quality wines, both red and white, though it’s usually much easier to find the famed Tokaji Aszú than any of the fine dry table wines being produced. Part of the problem may be that, like Germany and Austria, Hungary often labels its wines according to the grape variety used to make them. This theoretically should be an advantage in the U.S., where we’re far more comfortable with varieties than geographical locations, but it starts to get dicey when the varieties have names like Kadarka and Hárslevelű. And Furmint.

Furmint, unlike Hárslevelű, we Americans at least have a shot at pronouncing. If you happen to find a dry Hungarian white wine in your local shop, it will likely be made from this exciting variety. The Companion calls Furmint “fine and fiery,” and The World Atlas of Wine notes that when Furmint is treated like Chardonnay, “the result is dry, intense, perfumed and mineral-laden.”

The delights of Furmint are unknown to most wine consumers outside of Hungary, however, which means that Furmints tend to be excellent values. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the 2011 Evolúció Furmint is the best white-wine value I’ve tasted since I started writing this blog. The Furmint in this wine came from Tokaj (just to keep things confusing, Tokaj is the region and Tokaji is the sweet wine), where volcanic soils and plenty of south-facing slopes make for ideal vine growing. Beyond that, some sort of magic must happen in Tokaj, because they managed to bottle a thoroughly memorable wine that retails for less than $10.

I knew at first sniff I would love the Evolúció — the spicy, exotic aromas of incense, apples and ginger sucked me right in. It had lush fruit, a midsection of ginger and white pepper, and a punch of tart acids on the finish. I can’t deny that it had a bit of a watery underbelly, but it tasted exotic and sexy nevertheless.

When I found this wine at Binny’s on North and Clybourn, I bought half a case. I never do that. But with flavors like that and a price tag of just $9, I dare say I found my new house white.

SUMMARY

2011 Evolúció Furmint: Aromatic and sexy, with lush fruit and exotic spices. Chill well before serving, and pair with mild to moderately spicy chicken and pork dishes. An amazing value for the money.

Grade: A-

Find It: I purchased this wine at Binny’s for $9.

Read about another fine dry Furmint I tasted here, an unusual late-harvest Furmint here, and a Slovenian Furmint here.

One of the great benefits of living in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood is the easy walk to both a brilliant brewery and a distinctive distillery. I’ve written before about the carefully crafted spirits produced by Koval Distillery, and I was recently fortunate enough to receive a tall, slender bottle of its Organic Ginger Liqueur as a gift from a friend.

Each 10-gallon batch of Koval’s Ginger Liqueur requires 60 pounds of fresh ginger, which explains both the deliciously rich ginger flavor as well as the periodic e-mails I receive encouraging me to come to Koval’s ginger peeling parties. The effort pays off — the liqueur (with 20% alcohol) has a seductively warm aroma of ginger and caramel, and it tastes lusciously smooth with a spicy bite at the end. It tastes so smooth, in fact, that my friend exclaimed, ”It’s smooth enough, even a child could drink it!” This friend, reassuringly, has no children of his own.

As delicious as this liqueur was served neat, I had a feeling it could do wonders in a cocktail. My friend and I got to work. We kept things simple for our first attempt, a basic martini that  allowed the ginger flavor to shine. It’s strong but smooth, with a citrusy start, a ginger midsection and an alcoholic punch on the finish:

GINGER MARTINI

–2 parts vodka (For the money, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a better vodka than Sobieski.)

–1 part Koval Organic Ginger Liqueur (or Stirrings Ginger Liqueur, should Koval be unavailable)

–1/2 part fresh-squeezed lemon juice

Squeeze half a lemon first, and use the amount of juice as the measure of half a part. Depending on the amount of juice you squeeze, you should be able to make one large drink or two small ones. Add all the ingredients into a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake vigorously and strain into a martini glass. If you’re so inclined, garnish with a twist of lemon peel or a thin slice of fresh ginger.

GINGER MANHATTAN

–1 part bourbon (I used Rowan’s Creek, because life is short.)

–1 part Koval Organic Ginger Liqueur

–2 or 3 dashes of Angostura bitters (or similar)

Combine all of the above in large cocktail shaker with ice, and if you’re not in too big of a hurry, stir it for 60 seconds or more for maximum smoothness. Or just give it a good shake and strain into a martini glass. If you’d like to garnish, I recommend a twist of orange zest. This combination makes a wonderfully bright and spicy Manhattan, but it has a surprising creamy quality to it. It’s not as sharp as you might expect.

And finally, my favorite:

GINGER SIDECAR

–1 part Cognac (I used XO in this tasting, but if you’re not lucky enough to have a free sample bottle of that lying around, VS or VSOP will work just fine.)

–1 part Koval Organic Ginger Liqueur

–1/2 part fresh-squeezed lemon juice

Combine all of the above in a cocktail shaker with ice, stir or shake as is your preference, and strain into a martini glass. It’s traditional to rim the glass with sugar, but I can’t be bothered with that sort of thing. Garnish with a lemon twist if you like. This cocktail moved from flavors of molasses to citrus to ginger — it was stellar.

I’m sure this is only the beginning of the cocktail possibilities. A bottle of Ginger Liqueur belongs right next to the Triple Sec in your liquor cabinet. Happy mixing!

While browsing the wine section at Whole Foods, I noticed something surprising: a Georges Duboeuf Malbec. Georges Duboeuf is one of France’s most famous vintners, infamously producing an ocean of (usually overpriced) Beaujolais Nouveau each year, as well as a range of perfectly tasty standard wines. But I had never seen a Duboeuf Malbec, and I had never seen a wine of any kind from Comté Tolosan, the Indication Géographique Protégée listed on the back label. This Georges Duboeuf wine had become very oddly irresistable, and I snapped it up.

Almost every wine drinker these days has heard of Malbec, thanks to its Argentinean success. I used to think Malbec originated in Argentina, but it’s actually a French variety, though ever fewer French vineyards grow it. According to The Oxford Companion to Wine, Malbec is “still the backbone of Cahors,” a red made in France’s southwest, and it is from this wine that Georges Duboeuf must have drawn his inspiration for the Malbec varietal.

And that’s where the real story is. Comté Tolosan is classified as a Vin de Pays, a very loosely regulated wine region which in this case encompasses almost the whole of southwestern France. Often in France, or in any terroir-driven wine country, the more specific the geographic designation, the higher the quality of the wine. The regulations on these geographic designations, or AOCs, can be very restrictive, however, preventing innovative winemakers from experimenting with different techniques or varieties.

In contrast, the Vin de Pays regions typically have very loose rules. In fact, according to The Sotheby’s Wine Encyclopedia, red wine grapes in Comté Tolosan “are not specified beyond ‘what is growing’!” (Exclamation point in the original.) It took the regulation-happy French a while to get to this point — it was only in 2000 that varietal wines were legalized, but even then, they had to be 100% that variety (most of the rest of the world allows winemakers to blend up to 15% of other varieties in varietal wines). Finally, in 2004, producers were authorized to adjust their varietal wines with a bit of blending, making them more palatable.

And with that, the French finally had a shot at capturing consumers who look for “Chardonnay” or “Malbec” instead of “Chinon” or “Mâcon-Villages.” Now, according to the Encyclopedia, the Vin de Pays category of wine “includes some of the most innovative and exciting wines being produced in the world today.”

I’m not sure the 2009 Georges Duboeuf Malbec Grain Noir qualifies as one of the most exciting wines in the world, but I certainly enjoyed drinking it. It had a pleasant aroma of brandied cherries, and some rustic fruit on the palate. That moved to black pepper spice and a softly tannic, more velvety finish. It kept an even keel, avoiding any surprises, making it sure to satisfy a wide range of red-wine drinkers. And after all, at about $10 a bottle, what more could you ask?

SUMMARY

2009 Georges Duboeuf Malbec Grain Noir: Moves from a rough, rustic start to a velvety finish. A fine value for the price, and sure to be tasty with pizza or pasta with red sauce. Chill in the refreigerator for 20 minutes before serving.

Grade: B

Find It: I bought this wine at the Whole Foods on Halsted and Waveland for $10, but a rather harried employee told me they don’t have it in stock at the moment. You might see it in the wine departments of other Whole Foods branches, however.