Feelin' gravy

Give thanks for wines that aren't turkeys

Uncorked by Thor Iverson

I made the mistake of marrying an Italian girl. So rather than the nice, quiet Thanksgivings I grew up with, I now have several hundred (well, only 20, but it seems like more) hungry -- and loud -- relatives who expect me to pick the wine every time we get together for a holiday.

I'm sure many of you reading this column are in a similar boat: the relatives know you're into wine, and the pressure's always on to deliver a winner. So as we all make our annual pilgrimage to the wine shop, let's take a moment to figure out just what sort of wine is best for a traditional Thanksgiving meal. We're doing this early, so you have plenty of time to shop.

Start with a moment of sympathy for the turkey. This flightless, dull-witted bird (hey, I grew up next to a turkey farm -- they're dumb) has been bred into a tasteless, dry monstrosity of bird-flavored fiber. So unless you're one of the lucky ones who secure a wild or free-range turkey on November 26, this means that the main ingredient is an utterly blank slate.

The wine, then, must be chosen to match the ingredients that do possess some sort of flavor. In my house, that's mashed potatoes with turkey gravy, puréed sweet potatoes (I tend to jazz them up Todd English-style, with caramelized maple syrup and ginger), and a flavorful stuffing made from bread, mushrooms, onion, garlic, and sausage.

Obviously, the sausage-based stuffing is the dominant flavor in this meal, though the fat in the gravy and the sweetness of the sweet potatoes also play a role. Playing off the stuffing, my choice the last few years has been a spicy, over-the-top gewürztraminer from Alsace. These wines, though they can be off-dry from certain producers, possess a fatness and a richness that make them seem semisweet even when they're bone-dry, and their acidity helps that richness stand up against almost any ingredient. The match, to my mind, is a perfect one, though not necessarily for everyone; the intensity of gewürztraminer can kick you in the giblets if you're not prepared. Look for bottles from Trimbach, Schleret, Zind-Humbrecht, and Weinbach, all in the $10-to-$30 range. If these are a little too intense for you, try a lighter example from Germany or from Italy's Alto Adige region.

For people who don't serve such a highly flavored stuffing (if you're a Southerner serving oyster-based dressing, for instance, you might do better with a Pouilly-Fumé or Sancerre from the Loire Valley), the vinous field is wide open. Probably the most popular wine to serve with Thanksgiving dinner is Beaujolais Nouveau (arriving everywhere on Thursday, November 19), which I'll profile in my next column. This boisterous berry-fest can be had for a (ahem) poultry sum, and though it doesn't really go with anything you might serve -- except the cranberry sauce -- there's something festive about the wine that makes it work.

As you're gobbling up the turkey, don't forget about that thick, fatty gravy slathered all over everything. Fat can interact with wine in many different ways; tannin and acidity will wage a battle of contrasts, while ultra-rich wines will sidle up to the fat like a long-lost relative. This is the time to haul out those massive American and Australian chardonnays, with all their buttery oiliness. Look for Chateau St. Jean Robert Young Vineyard Reserve from California, or Penfolds Adelaide Hills and Wynns Coonawarra from Australia. Or go for sharper, more acidic versions from Mayacamas (California) or Coldstream Hills (Australia). As for a tannic challenger, just about any wine works (except sangiovese-based wines like Chianti, which can taste metallic with turkey), but something a little softer is best; try a merlot from Casa Lapostolle in Chile or Bodegas Nekeas in Spain. And Thanksgiving is a perfect time for pinot noir, whether it's Burgundian (try a Volnay from Lafon), American (Sanford, Saintsbury, and Mayacamas are good choices), or Australian (the aforementioned Coldstream Hills is funky but delicious).

For a truly daring wine choice, consider something sweet. Not a dessert wine like Sauternes or Port (though neither would taste fowl if they're also part of a sauce or glaze) but a wine with a balance of sweetness, richness, and acidity that adds up to more than the sum of its parts. That description points straight at a German riesling, either a Spätlese or an Auslese. Look for topnotch producers like Joh. Jos. Prüm, Dr. Loosen, or Robert Weil. Like gewürztraminer, a German riesling isn't for everyone, but it's definitely a wine that stands up and announces, "I yam what I yam."

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And then there are wines that shouldn't be on anyone's Thanksgiving table, wines that are a triumph of someone's lousy marketing idea and don't have even a passing acquaintance with flavor. The 1997 Beringer White Zinfandel LVS is such a wine. Here's the scoop: "select" parcels of zinfandel (though what difference it makes when these noble grapes are treated to such a sugary end, I can't imagine) are blended with 20 percent barrel-fermented chardonnay. Now let's think about this: white zin is generally zinfandel stripped of all its character, and any chardonnay poor enough to go into this blend rather than a varietally labeled chardonnay has got to be the absolute bottom of the, uh, barrel. The wine is remarkable for possessing absolutely no aroma whatsoever, and in addition to its flabby and sticky Kool-Aid flavors there's that not-so-subtle hint of toasted vanilla from the oak. Irony alert: this wine wholesales for $6.66 per bottle, which is appropriate for this oenological spawn of Satan.

Thor Iverson can be reached at wine[a]phx.com.

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Save the date: Tuesday, November 17th. Yup, it's time for our fall Uncorked wine tasting. We had such a great time at the last one that we had to do it again. It's at Cosmopolitan, located at 54 Canal Street in Boston. Join us, taste some wine, meet some people, go bungee jumping (actually, you're on your own with that last one. Call (617) 859-3326 for more details. And hey, it's only a buck. Where else, except at your Uncle Stan's distillery, can you get wine for one dollar?

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