Good wine, cheap

There's an empty bottle at the American table

by Thor Iverson

UNCORKED

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There's a monkey on my back, and its name is Cheap Wine. Whether it's someone asking for good wines at a price I can't quite provide, or my editor complaining that wine costs more than it did 10 years ago, I'm on a constant but desperate quest for excellent under-$10 wines. Unfortunately, that sort of wine value is almost impossible to find in this country. (I know . . . the truth hurts my wallet, too.)

Why? Partly for the usual reasons: inflation, greed, and so on. But the primary cause is deeper: the absence of an American wine tradition. Prohibition, which destroyed most of our wine industry, gets part of the blame. And, of course, we didn't benefit (as Europe did) from the Etruscans, Greeks, and Romans planting wine grapes everywhere they went.

Today, because we didn't "grow up" with wine, we're at a disadvantage. In Europe, wine is an everyday product, no more special than bread or vegetables; here, it's considered a luxury item with an aura of snobbery attached. Elsewhere, there are multiple tiers of production and consumption, ranging from bottles for grand occasions to anonymous bottles for everyday quaffing; in the US, our "good" wine comes almost entirely from what are, in other countries, the upper levels of the wine hierarchy. We completely lack the vast lower tier of European wines, usually known as table or country wine. In France, for example, vins de table and vins de pays are purchased for a few francs in the supermarket, or poured into plastic jugs that one refills at the local co-op winery.

To help illustrate the problem, look at the chart below. It lists types of wine with approximate prices, and how those wines might (hypothetically) be labeled in France and the US.

As you can see, there are no US equivalents to the two bottom levels. If you're spending less than $10 in the US, you're probably getting 1.5-liter bottles of bulk wine (which are sometimes rejected grapes or wine from other wineries), jugs of indeterminate and dubious content, and wine-in-a-box.

So what's the difference between a $6 bottle of Côtes-du-Rhône and a $6 jug of "pink chablis"? For one thing, the Côtes-du-Rhône is made with grapes and techniques mandated by French appellation law, and doesn't change much from year to year. "Pink chablis," on the other hand, doesn't really exist (the "Chablis" name is stolen from a region in France that actually makes steely, acidic whites from chardonnay); any grapes might have gone into the wine, and the style changes based on the results of market research. The grapes don't even have to come from this country.

Furthermore, the Côtes-du-Rhône is essentially a natural wine, not one carefully crafted, sweetened, chemically adjusted, and flavored (in the style of the "blackberry merlot" you've probably seen in ads and in stores). The Côtes-du-Rhône is wine as it has been made for centuries; "pink chablis" is lab science.

But the most important difference is in the taste and quality. Concoctions like "pink chablis" are specifically designed to entice soda aficionados with sugar and vague suggestions of fruit. In that they succeed, but what they don't do very well is go with food. European table wines are made for drinking with meals, and have developed through the centuries to match the cuisines of the regions in which they're made; simple wine for simple food.

So is there hope for American wine lovers on a budget? Not much. Prime grape-growing land is insanely expensive, and grapes from cheaper land are manipulated so much (acid, sugar, grape concentrate, and oak flavoring are often added, while water and alcohol are removed) that they retain little of their intrinsic character. A $5 generic California merlot could be a tasty quaffing wine if rescued from over-engineering and over-manipulation, but few producers have the necessary courage.

If you're ever in another country, try some of the bulk wines and table wines available in stores. Or order a carafe of some anonymous rosé in a bistro or trattoria. You'll be pleasantly surprised at the quality, and you'll wonder why we can't do as well. Meanwhile, watch this space for some great wine bargains . . . such as the following:

1995 Barone del Murgo Etna Rossa ($7.99, Wine & Cheese Cask). Fully mature, with a pastis and prune nose, a blueberry marshmallow palate, and a slightly oaky finish. Sounds strange, but I loved this wine. As an accompaniment, sprinkle a few cloves around some meatballs and cheese and bake -- this wine (grown in the shadow of the famous volcano) will erupt with flavor.

1996 Gallo of Sonoma Merlot ($9.50, available everywhere). This is definitely not in the style of grapey, dull merlot that one expects in this price range. Seriously structured, with dark berries, black pepper, earth, almonds, and dry tannins, this really only started to show its fruit after three days of air. Decant it that far ahead, or cellar it for a few years, and serve it with grilled meats and vegetables.

1985 Baumard Coteaux du Layon ($12.75, Brookline Liquor Mart). Yes, that's right, less than $13 for a 14-year-old wine. Rich and intense, mango and corn syrup with a succulent mineral and quinine rigidity. Entices the nose with cinnamon and nutmeg in sea spray, finishes with saffron and pine forest. This moderately sweet dessert wine defines complexity -- look how carried away I got with the description!

NV Alain Renardat-Fâche Vin de Bugey Cerdon ($14.99, Wine & Cheese Cask). Made from gamay (the grape of red Beaujolais) and poulsard (an obscurity from the Jura region of France), lurid pink, semi-sparkling, semi-sweet, and utterly delicious. This wine evokes the freshest of berries, and it's the perfect summer wine.

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

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