Another attempt to maximize the weekly wine. Oh, ello No. 2.
Muscadet is a special type of wine that can be paired with both hard and soft cheeses. One of my favorites, Bucheron (a French goat cheese), is amazing for padnahing with this wine. A tip that I’ve learned: if you’re trying to pair food with wines, your go-to is usually going to be foods from that region.
Bucheron cheese hails from the Loire Valley–just like our wine. Like o-m-g, we’re so French drinking our wine and eating Bucheron right now. Even Regina George would be jealous.
Bucheron is a pretty neat little goat cheese that I can only explain in this way: It is similar to the feeling of being ten-years-old and shopping the buy one get one free special on Limited Too socks with my mom. I wore the hell out of those things because I felt so cool in them. Added bonus: my mom’s relief from not having to step it up to overpriced track suits and expanding shirts. That’s Bucheron–a beautiful two-for-the-price-of-one anomalous gift from the cheese gods.
Its outside layer is a lovely bit of tangy hard cheese that hides the surprise gooey mushroomy middle. Such bang for your buck from the Loire Valley–c’est magnifique!
As we learned last week, we padnah light wines with light fare. In accordance with this mantra, mussels are a perfect compliment to Muscadet. They are delicious and, quite frankly, easier to make than we think. Try this simple recipe to make your roommate covet your epicurean adventures. Sayonora, Lean Cuisine.
Asparagus rules–even if it makes your pee smell funny. At least, my brother makes this claim every time my grandmother puts it on the table for family dinners. Whip some up using your No. 2 for a really delicious vegetarian option. The sauce in this SugarLaws recipe—Buerre Blanc–is so Loire Valley. Cool fact: It was accidentally invented by a female chef named Clémence Lefeuvre. Many legends surround this kick-ass woman. Buerre Blanc away while reading about this haphazard French staple.
Occasionally–I discovered in the midst of my second week of winebbling–walking into wine shops as a twenty-something snoobie can be something like this (please click hyperlink and listen to receive the full effect of this post).
At first, you stand at the doorway of a brand new wineventure. Young. Fresh. Broke. With not a care in the world and not a penny to your name. You’ve got style though–in that I don’t care how uncool I am to the point of actually becoming too cool sort of way.
And then, the perfect moment greets you at the threshold of purchase and peruse. You, winebbler, are certain–beyond any measure of a doubt–that you will leave this place happy as a clam. Directly resulting from an encounter with the gaping and mysterious vats of knowledge made available to you by the woman behind the counter. But, this moment is fleeting my friends. (Stop music here).
And, reality sinks in. Hence, the second realization intrudes upon a brief detour past Rosé and the safety nets of Argentinian Malbec. All the things that could have happened in there aren’t happening, and you really are just some poor kid trying to move up in a world that has no more room at the inn. Just ask China.
That jazzy theme music playing in your head is now abruptly revealed as the show-boat it truly was. And any ideation of impending glory is crashing down like an old familiar Thursday afternoon where you left that (would be) enchanting person who works on floor six in an elevator as the music traveled down and down with the closing cold metal doors. In such a space–there is no hope. Only the bitter truth that being in a wine shop can be really damn boring.
Sans the knowledge I sought and sans $16.20, I left H&F bottle shop in the Buckhead neighborhood of Atlanta with a metaphorical empty-handed purchase–to no fault of the wine selling lady. Only my own pitiful attempt to appear to understand her jargon is to blame. For speaking wine speak is a tough game to play–and can oft times turn the biggest of fish into the tiniest of guppies and make the nosiest of bloggers forget all of the right questions.
Alas, home I went with the first bottle recommended to me: a 2011 Château l’Oiselinière de la Ramèe in a little red bag twisted at the top. Worried of what I was getting into at two in the afternoon, I uncorked (and nearly broke) the Muscadet wine which hails from the confluence of the rivers Sévre and Maine in the northwest of France. This wine is crafted by the Chéreau family–who apparently has privy to a house amazing enough to receive the nomenclature of Château and the ability to consume their wine on a hilltop overlooking the banks of a rather (I can only imagine) picturesque riverside. Lucky bastards.
The head guy in charge of the whole Château enterprise is named Bernard Chéreau. This seemingly benign French gentleman possess a tinge of badass as he spearheaded the creation of an export market. Merci beaucoup monsieur from all of us wanna-be winos over here in ‘Merica.
The wine hails from Appellation Muscadet Sèvre et Maine Contrôlèe and boasts the seal of French legitimacy (and stuck-up-edtry (kidding!)) that we learned of last week. Evidently, the family is highly loyal to the Melon de Bourgogne varietal from the Loire Valley region and is also highly partial to Muscadet grapes. Basically, this just means that they stick with what they love and keep it simple. Makes sense.
The cool (and kind of gross) thing about this wine is that it goes through a special process known as Sur Lie. Basically, this just means that the newly created wine ferments ( the process of turning sugar into ethanol) on top of dead yeast for an entire miserable winter. Apparently, this makes it “enriched and full-bodied” (whatever the hell that means). To me, the idea of drinking something that has laid soaking in dead anything is mildly repulsive. I try not to think about it too much as the sparkly taste is still quite dazzling.
Well, gang, let’s get down to business.
Pale straw-yellow–a bit like the sunshine I am currently missing.
Floral, fruity, and fresh. Did I mention longings for summer? While refreshing, it did accidentally invoke the overhanging fear of being a sweet wine–a thing I loathe more than Lindsay Lohan on a Friday night. Die, Arbor Mist.
The beginning: Smooth and foreshadowing of surprises to come. (So Robert Parker right now.)
The middle: Apple and citrus. Oh! It bursts like spring and has just the slightest bit of…salt? Perhaps?
The end: Made me want another sip–and I am usually not a white wine drinker. But this tingles and sparks like pop rocks.
The verdict: For all those Februaries that made me want June back, I’ll take it as a worthy fill-in. This wine is well worth the freshness it brought to rainy gray winter days this past week. Thanks H&F for recommending a bit of fun, after all.