Odd Bacchus

As is often the case, the name of this liqueur sounds better in Italian. “Liquore di mirto” has more power to stir the heart than “myrtle berry liqueur.” Myrtle berry liqueur sounds like something I might try for the blog, since I haven’t the faintest idea what a myrtle berry even tastes like, but it’s not something I would see in a liquor store and snatch off the shelf. I tend to be suspicious of berry-flavored liqueurs — they’re usually just too syrupy and sweet, occasionally veering towards the medicinal.

But on a cruise this past April, I had a port of call in Sardinia, the Mediterranean’s second-largest island. I knew of three Sardinian specialties. First, wine made from the Cannonau grape, which one can find in the U.S. fairly easily. Second, Casu Marzu, a cheese made more… ripe? is that the word? …by allowing fly larvae to grow in the cheese and partially digest it. The cheese is typically consumed when the larvae are still alive. I consider myself strong of stomach, but after seeing a video of this cheese in action, I knew this option was out.

That left mirto, and I was determined to find some. Our guide, after showing us some mysterious megalithic ruins and picturesque resort towns, took me to a supermarket in a strip mall, and I procured a bottle. It was worth the effort.

I opened it recently with Scott, who assisted me with the Cherry Pie Martini, and we took a sip, not really knowing what to expect. It tasted of ripe cherries, something herbal, like eucalyptus perhaps, and cinnamon on the finish. It was positively delightful, both at room temperature and chilled (how it’s usually served).

It seemed a shame to mix it with anything, but when alcohol is involved, shame is a feeling I can easily overcome. Gin seemed the most obvious place to start, since its botanicals would likely work well with the herbal qualities of the mirto. We came up with a very simple and absolutely delicious cocktail, which we dubbed, for better or worse, the Mirtini.

MIRTINI

2 parts gin (I used Death’s Door)

1 part mirto

1/2 part fresh-squeezed lemon juice

Combine the above in a shaker filled with ice, agitate, and strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with a twist of lemon, if you’re feeling extra fancy. The drink starts with bright notes from the botanicals in the gin and moves into the more grounded, darker notes of the mirto before finishing with a flash of brandied cherries and cinnamon. The lemon holds it together, providing necessary texture and enhancing the flavors.

We thought the cherry notes of the mirto could also work with something brown, in the manner of a Manhattan. Cognac seemed like a good place to start, since brandy and cherries seem made for each other. Here we used mirto in the place of sweet vermouth in a Manhattan, and came up with, if you’ll forgive us, the Mirhattan.

MIRHATTAN

2 parts Cognac

1 part mirto

3-4 dashes orange bitters

Combine the above in a shaker filled with ice, agitate, and strain into a chilled martini glass. Garnish with a slice of orange peel, if you like. Scott remarked that the cocktail smelled “like expensive soap,” and I was hard pressed to disagree. Nevertheless, it tasted round, rich, spicy and sweet. It was great fun, and perfect for the cooler weather.

If you can get your hands on some mirto, by all means buy it. It’s delightful by itself, and I have a feeling the two cocktails described above are only the beginning of its mixological potential. Type in the words “mirto liqueur” into a search engine, and you’ll find some U.S. retailers which sell it, typically for $25 to $30.

On the off chance you’ve read a few of my other posts about wine, you may have noticed I usually write about bottles that cost less than $15. Because I focus on the unusual and the obscure, most large wineries and PR firms aren’t interested in sending me free samples. I buy what I drink, like most of you, and therefore I have a keen eye for value.

You can perhaps imagine, then, me standing in Binny’s on Marcey, faced with a $22 bottle of Turkish wine. On the one hand, I’ve never reviewed a wine from Turkey on this blog. But good heavens, doesn’t $22 for a wine from Turkey, of all places, seem a little steep? I’ve been to Turkey — it’s a spectacular country, and I enjoyed myself immensely. We even did some wine tasting there and discovered a few gems, such as a wonderfully minerally Narince (pronounced approximately “nahr-IN-jeh”) from Cappadocia. But I can’t remember a single red I really liked.

Even so, I was in an extravagant mood. The bottle said “Single Vineyard,” which gave me some confidence, and it was the very last bottle in the bin. I knew I would kick myself if I didn’t try it — I’m one of those people who tends to regret not drinking more than drinking — so I plunked down the cash and brought it home.

What a revelation. The 2008 Kayra Vintage Single Vineyard Öküzgözü “Collectible Series #5” from the central Anatolia region was not only the best wine I’ve had from Turkey. It was one of the best wines I’ve had all year. A deep, opaque purple, it smelled like an aged Cabernet: rich and jammy with a bit of (not unpleasant) dust. Dark, luscious fruit revealed itself on the palate, tempered by dusky tannins and some pumpkin pie spice on the finish. There’s structure and restraint there too — it’s not just some fruit bomb. My drinking companion called it “very festive” and “perfect for the holidays.” And he was absolutely right — this was a suave party guest of a wine.

But what the heck is it? I consulted my books, and discovered that Öküzgözü is one of Turkey’s indigenous grape varieties, noted in passing as a popular variety in Anatolia, but not listed among the most promising varieties. I trust that error will be corrected in future editions of The Oxford Companion to Wine and The World Atlas of Wine. But perhaps these books deserve some slack. As the Companion notes, Turkey may encompass the very birthplace of viticulture itself (around Mount Ararat), and “the region is therefore rich in indigenous vinifera vine varieties, of which between 600 and 1,200 have been identified but fewer than 60 are grown commercially.” That’s a lot of varieties to keep track of.

Öküzgözü isn’t noted at all in The Sotheby’s Wine Encyclopedia, but this book does note that Turkey’s terroir exhibits great untapped potential. Anatolia, where the Kayra Vintage comes from, has cold winters but very sunny, dry summers, making it a challenging but potentially very rewarding region for viticulture. And the Turks certainly know how to tend a vineyard. The country is the world’s fourth-largest producer of grapes, but most are eaten fresh or as raisins. Only 2.5% make it into wine. Why?

Most Turkish drinkers seem to prefer raki (like ouzo) and beer to wine, meaning there isn’t much of a local market. Tourists pick up some of the slack, and some wines are exported, but because Turkey lacks a reputation as a quality wine producer, I have to think that selling exports can be a tricky business. And if those barriers aren’t already high enough, international investors might feel skittish about putting a lot of money into a winery in a Muslim-majority country, however moderate it may be.

The Kayra Vintage Single Vineyard Öküzgözü could stand on its own in any case, but it’s all the more impressive for succeeding against these formidable headwinds. And at just $22, it packs a ton of flavor for the price, as well as quite a pedigree. The “single vineyard” referred to on the label is Şükrü Baran, located in the Elazığ region near the Euphrates River. Vineyards have been cultivated there for some 4,000 to 6,000 years. When you drink the Kayra Vintage, you reach back into the very heart of winemaking itself.

SUMMARY

2008 Kayra Vintage Single Vineyard Öküzgözü “Collectible Series #5”: Dark and lusciously fruity, with supple tannins and a unique finish of sweet spices. Pair with autumn dishes such as duck, turkey or pork stuffed with dried fruit. Chill in the refrigerator 15 minutes before serving. Note that because it’s unfiltered, the last glass of wine may contain some harmless sediment.

Grade: A

Find It: I purchased this wine at Binny’s for $22.

I recently vacationed for a week in Door County, Wisconsin, which is that lovely peninsula that sticks into Lake Michigan. Autumn there is particularly fine, when the trees put on a magnificent display and orchards allow you to pick your own apples. We did just that at Lautenbach’s Orchard outside Fish Creek, and it was there I discovered the joys of tart cherry juice.

You might be able to find cherry juice at your local grocery, but tart cherry juice, made from Montmorency cherries, seems to be more of a specialty product. This year it might be especially difficult to find, because the cherry crop in Wisconsin and Michigan was damaged by the frost which followed March’s string of 80-degree temperatures. If you do see tart cherry juice (100% juice is best), for heaven’s sake, buy it. Lautenbach’s Orchard sells it in its refrigerated case, and you can also purchase it online.

UPDATE: I just discovered Whole Foods carries tart cherry juice as well.

It’s worth the trouble to find. The juice from Lautenbach’s Orchard tasted like rich cherry pie in a glass, which makes some sense, since the juice comes from the same cherries used for pies. But though the juice is sweet, it is by no means cloying or syrupy. Since Lautenbach’s adds no sugar to the juice, it retains its tart punch. For a simple fruit juice, it’s remarkably complex, and I love drinking it on its own.

But of course, I couldn’t just leave it at that. I had a feeling that a juice this delicious couldn’t help but make a delightful cocktail, and indeed it does. I tried it with whiskey, brandy, tequila, vodka… All these combinations, using about two parts juice and one part spirit, worked beautifully. I shared the juice with my friend Scott, a great connoisseur of cocktails, and after one sip, he exclaimed, “Oh… Yes. We are going to make a Cherry Pie Martini with this.” And who was I to say no?

I knew that vodka and tart cherry juice worked well, but it felt a little pointy. Some fresh-squeezed lemon juice rounded out the texture, but it still seemed a little bright. To enhance some of the low notes, we added a couple dashes of Angostura Bitters. Perfect. The result looked enticingly cherry-red, but it was no sugar bomb. This was a strong, serious cocktail, with a most pleasurable balance of flavors:

CHERRY PIE MARTINI

• 2 parts vodka (I use Sobieski, the best vodka value I’ve found)
• 1 part 100% tart cherry juice
• 1/4 part fresh-squeezed lemon juice
• 2 or 3 dashes of Angostura Bitters

Add all of the above to a cocktail shaker filled with ice and shake vigorously. Strain into chilled martini glasses. If you must, garnish with a fresh cherry.

And that’s it! Easy as pie, and a great cocktail to serve around Thanksgiving.

(And if you have any non-drinkers at the party, they’ll be delighted by this alternative: 4 parts club soda, 1 part 100% tart cherry juice, a healthy squeeze of lemon, and, if you have it on hand, a healthy squeeze of lime as well. Delicious!)

I find myself avoiding most Australian wines. Many are inexpensive, to be sure, but most cheap Australian wine turns out to be a poor value for the money. As I’ve said before, just because a bottle of wine costs $7 or $8 doesn’t mean you’ll get $7 or $8 worth of flavor out of it. Inexpensive Shiraz, Australia’s most famous export, can frequently be quite crude and overblown, and a poor value at almost any price. I have no doubt that it’s possible to find bargains, but I don’t know enough about the Australian wine scene to ferret them out.

If you find yourself inexplicably in the mood for something Australian, go for one of the lesser-known grape varieties. You’ll likely get more bang for your buck with something like a Semillon or a Sangiovese. It’s just not safe to pick up a random bottle of Australian Shiraz or Chardonnay these days.

A bottle of 2008 Oxford Landing Viognier from South Australia had been languishing on my wine rack for years, I have no idea how it got there, and I must admit I’d been avoiding it. Even Viognier seems a little too fashionable to be trusted in Australian hands, and the fact that Oxford Landing is one of Australia’s most famous wineries did not inspire confidence (although the Oxford Landing website reassuringly describes its Viognier as “suitable for vegans and vegetarians”).

But I tend to prefer younger Viogniers, which have the best chance of retaining their trademark perfume intact. Already, this wine had likely passed its prime.

I decided to take my own advice and just open the stuff, and some Thai delivery provided the perfect opportunity: Low stakes, and numerous alternative bottles within easy reach, should the Viognier have to go down the drain. Fortunately, the wine still had a heady honeysuckle aroma, and my goodness, it was tasty and rich. A buttery start gave way to pears, flowers, some pointy acids and even a touch of flintiness at the end. The acids ensured balance, and its exotic flavors paired just fine with the Thai food.

I ended up quite enjoying this inexpensive Australian wine! I have no idea what I paid (perhaps it was a gift), but other Oxford Landing wines cost about $8 at Binny’s. Quite a fine value indeed. I may have to reconsider my ban on wines from Down Under. I would love to hear if you’ve made any exciting Australian discoveries lately — feel free to write me an e-mail or post in the comments. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can scare up some more unusual and inexpensive varietals from Australia. Who knows? Maybe I’ve been missing out!

SUMMARY

2008 Oxford Landing Viognier: Intact perfumy, honeysuckle aroma. Rich, fruity and flowery, with tart balancing acids and a touch of flint. A very good value. Pairs well with Asian dishes, and probably most pork recipes. Chill well in the refrigerator before serving.

Grade: B

Find It: I have no idea where I got it, but Oxford Landing is a major exporter, and it’s likely a well-stocked wine shop will carry its wines, which run about $8 to $10.