Blaufränkisch

Last winter, it must have been before the new year, my girlfriend and I visited a the Czech part of a city near her school. It was interesting, but sort of dead. There were a couple of restaurants, a doughnut shop, a lot of empty storefronts, and a combination upholstery shop, furniture store, and local chamber of commerce, and wine shop. We asked the only employee in the furniture store, actually the only employee in the building, if the wine shop was ever open. She unlocked it for us. She asked if we would like to try samples, and I tried some white which I'm sure had been open for quite a while. On a whim and a risk, I bought a bottle of red. It said this on the front:

Blaufränkisch

The only other information I can really get is that it was made in the Czech Republic and was produced and bottled by Vinné Skepy Lechovice. Based on the digital date print on the back - it reminds me of a timestamp burned into a photograph - I think some significant event happened in the life of this wine at 09:10 on October 21, 2004. Unless of course, the numbers mean something else.

The wine is surprisingly good. I mean, I was probably overcharged, but I can see how this grape could be used to make something really marvelous and rounded. It's sort of light on the tannins, which is okay. It had the nose and flavor of tight, not yet ripe wildberries, not to suggest the wine itself was unripe. It had taken on an almost but not quite dusty hue. The finish wasn't too strong, but over time it continued growing more round and fleshed out. Enjoyable but not intense. I'll never have another bottle, and that's okay with me, but I'm glad I had the chance.

Have you ever listened to some recording that nobody will ever hear unless they really dig deep to find it? I guess this is sort of like that. There's a lot to appreciate in this world, and even something seemingly insignificant might be worth searching out. Not that I'm suggesting you should go to your local wine shop requesting Vinné Skepy Lechovice Blaufränkisch. They'll probably look at you funny. But I'm saying there's beauty out there if you just dig it up.

Cheap Guys and More

2 Buck Chuck

Charles Shaw

Well, I moved to Chicago, which means I finally got the chance to go to a Trader Joe’s and pick up a couple bottles of the (in)famous Two Buck Chuck. It was $2.99.

The cabernet sauvignon fits the profile for a modest cab. Maybe a bit too much residual sugar with a sort of darker, almost sun-burnt fruit. Raisins or prunes, maybe. There is a tannic structure here; it is weak but present. The finish is quick, not foul but not good. It really does feel like one is consuming real wine, which is novel considering the fact that it costs less than a bottle of Arbor Mist. This is not an elegant wine, nor is it ultimately satisfying or interesting, but I wouldn’t be afraid to pour it at some function. Not that I host functions, but if I did, well, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to pour this for two hundred of my closest, drunkest friends.

I chose a bottle of sauvignon blanc in lieu of the chardonnay. I’m still loathing value chardonnays. The sauv blanc certainly is better than I had expected it to be. Almost floral perfume prepares you for the softness of the wine. It isn’t complex but it isn’t watery, either. It’s just light. Not too much cloying sweetness, which I did expect. What seems to me an awful but quick finish actually appealed to my girlfriend, who isn’t very experienced with wine.

Though neither wine was ultimately gratifying, the fact that they are so cheap warrants that they must be tried if the opportunity comes up. It just shows you the potential of glut juice. I’d expect to pay $7 or $8 for these guys in a different market. Which brings me to…

Three Blind Moose

Brought to you by the Trinchero Family

This marketing gimmick seems to have worked. People buy cute labels. What is inside this line of bottles is terrible. In a fair world, people would be paying $3 for Three Blind Moose, and $7 for Two-Buck Chuck. I’m not trying to be cute. Three Blind Moose sucks.

The chard has no complexity, which is masked behind just enough wood and sur-lies aging to qualify it as a dry wine. The merlot, too, has no body, total lack of tannin, is flaccid, or better yet, impotent. I’d rather drink concord grape juice. In fact, you know what? I’m going to the fridge right now to get some concord grape juice.

Stella Artois

Instead of concord grape juice, I grabbed a Stella Artois. Hey, I have to get rid of them.

This was just coming into the market I recently left. I never got a chance to try it until I came here, and picked up an over-priced six pack. This beer does not have the qualities I look for in beer, but then I’m a fan of European wheat-style beers. I do enjoy the occasional Corona or Heineken, mostly at Red Lobster, since there’s nothing better to do at a Red Lobster than stand there with a beer, and there’s nothing better at a Red Lobster to drink than a bottle of Corona or Heineken, both known for relative amounts of skunkiness. And this little guy, Stella Artois, it manages to outskunk them both.

Straw-colored, fine bubbles with a fine, thick head that will give you a beer mustache if you’re not careful. The beer is all hops and malt. Quite skunky. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be an easy-drinker and doesn’t have a lot of body or actual content once it’s going down. And if you don’t get your Stella Artois cold enough before drinking, it can only be described with one word: gross. Drink it fast, before it gets cold! Still, like a lot of beers, after you choke one bottle down, the rest go easily.

Final verdict? Satisfying after a long day of hard work, then coming home to find that you have no other beer in the fridge. Ahhhhhh.