Body language
Can a wine really be `orthogonal'?
by Thor Iverson
It was my first wine tasting. I was just developing a taste for wine, and the
thought of actually assessing it in public was pretty intimidating.
Nonetheless, I had dragged myself to a wine shop on a balmy Saturday afternoon,
and my intense curiosity helped calm the anxiety. That is, until I came face to
face with the Body. (And no, I'm not talking about the governor of
Minnesota.)
The store's habit of printing up helpful guides to the day's wines, including
tasting notes from the store manager, was invaluable to novices who, like me,
lacked confident palates. "Cherries, mushrooms . . . " I
read in the notes to the first wine, thinking: okay, I know what those words
mean.
But then: " . . . this wine is round yet orthogonal." And
then the guy next to me described the wine as "broad-shouldered." I began to
wonder if I'd ever understand wine.
The jury's still out on that, but I did finally figure out what the word
"round" means. It's part of a vocabulary used to describe one of the more
esoteric aspects of wine: body. This isn't just another Gallic way to compare
wine to a woman's form (get a French winemaker started on "legs," the tracks of
wine that remain on the surface of a glass after you've swirled it, and you'll
be treated to some rather fanciful digressions), but it's not exactly a
rigorous science, either. Body may be a bit difficult to describe, but it has
significant implications for the wine. In particular, it is the most
important factor in matching wine to food.
Simply put, body describes the feel of a wine in the mouth. And just as skim
milk might be described as light-bodied, whole milk as medium-bodied, and heavy
cream as full-bodied, wines have a "weight" that can be sensed. In fact, after
we've examined, smelled, and tasted a wine, body brings a fourth sense into
play: our sense of touch. (Listening to wine remains, for now, something that
will make people slide their chairs away from you.)
What we perceive as a wine's body is mostly the result of two things: the
alcohol and the sum of the wine's flavors. As explained in the January 14
edition of "Uncorked," the higher the alcohol content, the weightier the palate
impression. The intensity and character of flavors are a result of the
microscopic solid stuff that makes it all the way from grape to glass. Add
those two factors together, while setting aside the distractions of acidity,
tannin, and sugar, and you have body.
The trouble starts when wine writers get fanciful with their body language.
Terms like "mouth-filling," "fat," and "thin" are reasonably understandable,
but "round," "angular," and "blocky" are definitely playing in metaphorical
left field. It takes a little imagination to decipher this Euclidian
gobbledygook, but a few glasses of wine always help lubricate the neurons.
And what does this all have to do with food? The conventional "white wine with
fish and white meat, red wine with red meat" wisdom is seriously deficient.
Does the same wine go with both poached river trout (a light dish) and a tuna
steak in mushroom cream sauce (a heavy dish)? Does the same wine go with both
pungent grilled steak and thin-sliced beef in a vegetable-laden stir-fry? No
and no.
A better way to think about food and wine is: "light wine with light dishes,
heavy wine with heavy dishes." It's true that whites are usually lighter than
reds, but heavy whites (like gewürztraminer) are great matches for the big
flavors of pork sausage, and light reds (like regular, non-single-vineyard
Valpolicella) are just delicious with all but the most delicate of fish dishes.
And besides, with this rule you don't have to decide whether pork is red meat
or "the other white meat."
Of course, an obsession with body image can be taken too far. One
self-consciously trendy wine magazine has replaced words like "thin" with goofy
name-drops: "hips like Gwyneth Paltrow, with lips to match" is a typically
useless descriptor. We're all for trashing stuffy wine nerdology here at
"Uncorked," but come on.
Morgante 1998 Nero d'Avola ($12). A Sicilian beauty, bursting with
strawberries and well-balanced. The "Don Antonio," at $26, is a reserve
bottling with an intriguing herbal character and intense fruit and tannin. It
should have a long life ahead. Both delicious wines, and great deals for the
price.
Stonehaven 1997 Cabernet Sauvignon Limestone Coast ($15).
Bargain-priced, this medium-bodied but somewhat monolithic Aussie red tastes
like what would happen if some plum jelly fell into a vat of zinfandel.
Nevertheless, it's tasty and has the potential to age two to five years, at
which point it might be a little more expressive.
Columbia 1997 Chardonnay Yakima Valley "Wyckoff Vineyard" ($19).
Finally, an American chardonnay I can recommend! (Mark your calendars, tell
your grandkids.) Smells like crème fraîche and mushrooms, has an
undercurrent of decaying leaves and white pepper, and tastes as unmistakably
Burgundian as any chardonnay I've had in recent months. Of course, it's from
Washington. Age it a few years, or enjoy it now.
Tiefenbrunner 1998 Lagrein "Castel Turmhof" ($19). The temptation to
call this soft red wine from Italy's Trentino Alto Adige region "light" would
mistake the firmness and the exquisite balance on the finish. This wine will
fill out its empty corners with age, and its primary flavors of black cherry
and fennel will give way to mineral notes. But it's an intellectual challenge
now, especially if given some air time in a decanter.
Thor Iverson can be reached at wine[a]phx.com.
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