I'm Your Pusherman
It’s about as hard for the average person to find weird wines—REALLY weird wines—as it is for the average farang to get authentically spicy food at a Thai restaurant.
Every good wine retailer has some of them; they just don’t believe you actually want them until you ask the right way. More than once.
The conversation can go one of two ways:
You: So, what have you got that’s really… weird?
Them: Did you know that Zinfandel comes in white AND red?
You: Thanks for the tip. Gotta run.
Or:
You: So, what have you got that’s really…weird?
Them: Depends. What do you mean by weird?
You: Well, here are some wines I like. [Insert wines you like. If you don’t know what you like, just steal stuff I’ve blogged about.] What have you got in the store that I would probably not find on my own?
Them: Oh. Cool. Well, you should try this, or this, depending on your price range.
You: Great. I’ll take both. Now, um… [Look around, and make sure nobody’s listening. Lean in, and say, conspiratorially:] What’s just flat out bizarre?
Them: Is this your first time here?
Note: There are very few times in life when the correct answer to that question is “Yes.” This is no exception. A yes here will get the same result as a yes to that question at a sketchy massage parlor. No happy ending. (I mean, I’m told. I wouldn’t know personally.)
Assuming you didn’t previously proclaim your love for Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill or some run of the mill Napa Cabernet, the clerk will probably then say something like “Well, we got a six pack of something really off the wall, and I have no idea who’s going to buy it other than the people who work here.”
And then, the clerk will lead you to something like this:
And you’re golden.
If you’ve been waiting for a wine that’s a 10 out of 10 on the weird scale, wait no longer. This is it.
Does it look like a glass full of cloudy urine from a diabetic? Well, yes. You want something that’s perfectly clear, read Robert Parker, not WeirdWine.
This is—wait for it—a biodynamic (remember biodynamics?) orange wine from the Willamette Valley in Oregon, aged in amphorae.
WTF does all that mean? Well, let’s break it down. And while we break it down, let’s give you some groovy music to listen to. ‘Cause I AM your pusherman.
First, the “orange” part.
Let’s all hold hands, sing kumbaya, and understand that (virtually) all grapes, regardless of the color of their skin, are the same color on the inside: clear.
What gives red wine its color is the pigment in its skin.
When you press red grapes, if you leave the skins in contact with the juice, you get red wine. If you don’t, you get white wine.
Some champagnes—the ones called “Blancs de Noirs,” for instance, are white wines made from red grapes. (What, and all this time you thought they were just throwing together meaningless random French words so they could charge you more?)
Orange wines are the opposite.
Most white wines don’t get any skin contact with the juice, because the skins of white wines don’t impart good flavors to the wines. Like your exes, most white grape skins are bitter and unappealing.
But… but.
Sometimes, winemakers will allow white grape skins some contact with the juice. The result is called “orange wine.”
This particular orange wine is called “Experiment No. 8.” It’s basically made by some dude in a garage in the middle of nowhere, Oregon.
And it is good shit.
Perhaps the fact that it LOOKS like miso soup influenced my taste buds, but the savory umami flavors on the palate of this wine make it taste thick, meaty, and completely delicious. It smells like it should be sweet; the floral perfume on the nose that comes from the Grüner Veltliner grapes from which the wine is made, combined with the wine’s viscosity, make you think you’re getting a dessert wine, but as soon as it hits your tongue, you know you’re in for something completely different.
This is a really well-balanced wine. There’s good acid, combined with apricot and lychee flavors on the midpalate. The finish isn’t all that long, but it’s awfully nice. At 11.9% alcohol, it doesn’t hit you over the head. It was the perfect complement to a turkey burger with bacon and cheddar and a pork chop with marinated mushrooms.
What about the amphora thing?
As it turns out, the guy who owns the winery where this is made, in addition to being a vintner, is also a potter. So, rather than fermenting this wine in stainless steel, or in oak, it’s fermented in open terra cotta jugs (called amphorae), the way wines were fermented in the ancient world. Add that to the fact that they let the skins sit on the juice for two and a half months or so, and you’ve got a recipe for some really weird—and really, really good-- stuff.
Give this, or another orange wine, a shot.
The wine: A.D. Beckham MMXVII No. 8, Grüner Veltliner bottled by Minimus Wines
The vintage: 2013
The score: 8.8/10
The price: $35ish
The source: Discovery Wines, NYC
How weird is it: 10/10. It’s made from grapes. That’s about the only thing normal about it.