This week, I had the pleasure of speaking at the Virginia Wine Trade Intensive, a lovely event at the Jefferson Hotel in Richmond, Virginia. My panel, “Today’s Industry: Trends & Virginia’s Role,” was a wide-ranging conversation, with our moderator asking us about the trends reshaping wine consumption and what they mean for Virginia. The audience was clearly curious about how a region like Virginia might level up and elevate its presence in the world of wine.

I talked a bit about how the wine industry, everywhere, needs to unlearn certain myths and ways of thinking, to come to terms with funflation, to focus on connecting with the people who actually care about and buy fine wines, and to stop chasing people who either don’t care about wine at all, or only buy cheap branded bulk wine. There was the inevitable talk about creating “experiences” around wine. All topics, as readers know, that I’ve written about extensively in this newsletter.

Then the moderator asked me perhaps the diciest question in American wine: “Do you think Virginia needs to have a signature grape?” Both the audience and the panelists had been dancing around this issue. It’s a touchy issue in Virginia. Back in 2011, viognier (yes, viognier!) had been designated the state's signature white grape. Fifteen years later, many people in Virginia see the viognier-as-signature-grape move as having been a mistake.

When the moderator asked, “Do you think Virginia needs to have a signature grape?” I looked out into the audience and could see plenty of people vigorously shaking their head “no.” During the panel, there had already been some boosterish talk about Virginia’s “diversity of grapes”—from chardonnay to merlot to cabernet sauvignon to cabernet franc to petit verdot to petit manseng.

But I said what I said: Yes, after decades of experimenting with dozens of varieties, Virginia absolutely needs to choose two or three signature grapes and focus on those. I suggested that cabernet franc as a red and petit manseng as a white both seemed to have a lot of potential in Virginia’s terroir. There was pushback.

In U.S. winemaking, it always surprises me what an unpopular opinion it is to suggest that a region focus on a signature grape that works well in the terroir. This concept seems old hat in Europe. You don’t just open a winery in the Loire Valley and start growing furmint, grüner veltliner, rkatsiteli, or whatever the hell else you want to grow. There’s a reason winemakers grow and focus on chenin blanc and cabernet franc in Touraine and Anjou, sauvignon blanc and pinot noir in Sancerre, and melon de bourgogne for Muscadet along the western Loire near the coast. Meanwhile, in the U.S., no one would be surprised to find chenin blanc, sauvignon blanc, pinot noir, and melon de bourgogne—plus furmint, grüner veltliner, and rkatsiteli—grown in the same vineyard, somewhere in New Jersey or Idaho or Michigan.

I mean, I get it: we’re ’Muricans and we don’t like being told what we can and cannot do. Also, the AVA (American Viticultural Area) system simply does not carry the same qualitative weight as European AOCs, DOCs, and DOs.

For years, I’ve covered the Finger Lakes—where it is very clear that riesling and cabernet franc should be the white and red grapes of focus. But show up at any Finger Lakes winery and there’s a pretty good chance you’ll find a crazy array of grapes: pinot noir, syrah, chardonnay, pinot grigio, grüner veltliner, blaufränkisch (called lemberger in FLX), or even hybrids like catawba, concord, and delaware. As a critic, I visited wineries that poured me over thirty expressions from one vintage. Focus, people, focus!

Beyond the obvious reason that certain grapes just grow better in certain soils and microclimates, there is a human creative element to constraints. Constraints are a creative virtue; they force innovation. Growing any old grape where it may or may not belong is, as Robert Frost famously said about free-verse poetry, “like playing tennis with the net down.”

This is not to say that one shouldn’t experiment with new grapes. (And those of us who like free-verse poetry may disagree with Mr. Frost). Certainly, with any up-and-coming wine regions, there’s always an ongoing, and healthy, debate over which grapes actually grow best and should be the signature grape. But at some point, a movement of winemakers will coalesce around particular grape variety and lead the charge.

In Virginia, that seems to be happening right now with cabernet franc and petit manseng. Cabernet franc is swiftly becoming the key red grape throughout northeastern U.S. and so that’s not a surprise. On the other hand, petit manseng, the white grape of Jurançon in Southwest France, is a bit more unique.

I tasted terrific cabernet franc from wineries such as Paradise Springs, Veritas, Early Mountain Vineyards, and Cross Keys Vineyards. As for petit manseng, I tasted interesting ones from both Paradise Springs and Veritas, as well as from The Winery at La Grange. I also tasted a super interesting white blend from Veritas, with petit manseng along with chardonnay, viognier, and sauvignon blanc.

However (going against my own argument here) one of the favorite wines I tasted was Barboursville Vineyards’ 2024 Vermentino Reserve. So, who knows, maybe vermentino could be Virginia’s signature grape?

What I’ve Been Drinking, Part 1: Ageworthy Whites

Many believe the future of wine is white. White wine recently surpassed reds in worldwide consumption. In the U.S., white wine consumption has risen nearly 75 percent over the past two decades. So why aren’t more people collecting and cellaring top white wines? White Burgundy isn’t getting any cheaper and where else should you be looking?

In that latest edition of my Beyond Everyday Drinking Wine Club, I’ve got a few answers for you. This quarter, it's all about premium white wines, and I've picked three top, ageworthy whites for you, from Rioja, from Mountlouis in the Loire Valley, and from Germany's Rheinhessen. I’ve also got a surprise rosé in the box that will become your favorite summer pink wine.

Anyone who signs up for my wine club this month will receive the current box, plus my partners at SocialSomm will send you a free bottle of wine as a special gift.

Sign up for my wine club today!

If you’d prefer to just buy one of the three wines I’ve selected, just scroll down.

Knewitz ‘Appenheim’ Riesling Trocken 2022 ($33)

Knewitz is among the best up-and-coming wineries in Germany, and this bone-dry riesling, with thrilling acidity, profound minerality, and intense power is a great introduction to the new wave of German wine. Brothers Bjorn and Tobias, along with Tobias' wife Corina, make honest, terroir-driven wine in Rheinhessen, and this 2022 shows just how ageworthy good riesling can be.

Domaine de la Taille aux Loups 'Clos de Mosny' 2024 ($46)

Jacky Blot was one of France’s legendary winemakers, known for putting the Loire appellation of Montlouis on the map with his bone-dry chenin blanc at Domaine de la Taille aux Loups. His son Jean-Philippe now carries on the family legacy after Jacky’s death in 2023. This complex white represents everything you should love about chenin blanc, with a balance of fruit and minerality, thrilling tension, crisp acidity, and great texture.

Sierra de Toloño ‘Nahikun’ Blanco 2025 ($47)

This stylish, elegant white comes from high-altitude, 80-year-old vines of viura and malvasia. Winemaker Sandra Bravo is among Rioja’s excellent new wave, and this shows why the region, known for its reds, is also a world-class place for ageworthy white wine.

What I’ve Been Drinking, Part 2: California Chenin Blanc

I have an article on California’s chenin blanc revival in Wine Enthusiast’s current California issue. The article is only in print, so you’ll have to find a copy. But here’s a snippet:

It’s early impossible to talk about California white wine without focusing on Chardonnay. But there was a time before Chardonnay overshadowed every other white variety. In the 1970s and ’80s, surprising as it may seem now, Chenin Blanc was among California’s most popular grapes. In 1985, Chenin Blanc accounted for 25% of all white-wine grapes crushed in thestate, second only to Colombard.

Consequently, there are a lot of older chenin vineyards in California, dating to the 1970s and 1980s, that grow amazing chenin blanc. With wineries like Haarmeyer Wine Cellars, Sandlands Vineyards, Pax Wines, Hammerling Wines, Broc Cellars, and The End of Nowhere leading the way, chenin blanc has a bright future. In May, the latest edition of Hella Chenin, a super fun, chenin-based festival went off to a roaring success. Is California chenin blanc about to have its moment?

“I’ve been waving the Chenin flag for 15 goddamn years,” said Craig Haarmeyer, the West Sacramento–based producer whose organic, low-intervention Chenin Blancs grown in Clarksburg have become some of the most sought-after in California….“It’s acid-driven, food-friendly, and complex. It’s a three-dimensional wine…It’s Chardonnay without training wheels.”

Haarmeyer freely admits that California chenin blanc will always be different from that found in the Loire Valley, chenin’s homeland. “It’s damn near impossible to pick Chenin underripe here,” he told me. “I’m not trying to make French wines. I love Savennières, but we’re never going to make Loire Chenin here.” That’s totally okay! Perhaps it more closely mirrors the best chenin blanc coming from South Africa. Or perhaps California chenin is its own wonderful thing entirely.

Four Fine California Chenin Blanc

Haarmeyer Wine Cellars ‘St. Rey - SRV’ Chenin Blanc 2024 ($20)

Among California’s very best chenin blanc, from Sutter Ranch Vineyard in Clarksburg. Dry, austere, and mineral, yet also ripe, vibrant, and fruity. If you want to try “alt California” here’s a good place to start.

RZN Wines ‘The Lightning Issue” Chenin Blanc 2023 ($30)

I tried this bottle from a new-to-me Santa Barbara winery (pronounced “Reason Wines”) the other day and loved it. From Tres Hermanas Vineyard on the Central Coast. Fresh, zippy, pithy, chalky, with tangerine, white grapefruit, and honeysuckle.

Broc Cellars ‘Happi Chenin’ 2023 ($34)

Berkeley-based Broc Cellars is one of my favorite California wineries. Their gorgeous chenin blanc from Massa Vineyard in Carmel Valley, grown at 1,500 feet. Peach skin, grapefruit, fresh herb, ripe but precise, pithy and silky. Hard to find.

The End of Nowhere ‘Little Faith’ 2025 ($22)

Love this producer in quaint Amador City (great tasting room, you should visit). This skin-contact bottling is a blend of 40% chenin blanc, 30% chardonnay, and 30% pinot gris. “Chenin brings the leaness, chardonnay the roundness, and pinot gris brings the aromatics,” says winemaker Chris Walsh.

Where I’ve Been Drinking: Philadelphia

This is going to be an exciting summer in my home city of Philadelphia: We’re hosting the FIFA World Cup and the MLB all-star game, as well as plenty of festivities around the 250th anniversary (aka Semiquincentennial) of the United States. (Note: for my European readers, and for younger people who used AI in history class, Philadelphia was the first capital of the U.S. and is where the Declaration of Independence was signed).

Given all the exciting things happening in Philadelphia, I figured I would share a few of my favorite places for wine in the city.

Manong

I’m loving this newish Filipino wine bar/all-day café/restaurant that opened in my neighborhood at the end of 2025. It’s a super spot to sit at the bar and eat lumpia, tagalog skewers, pork adobo, or swordfish along with great wine list and cocktails. Manong also has a nicely curated wine shop of organic, low-intervention bottles.

Wine Dive

Another fun spot, in Center City near Rittenhouse Square, that opened in late 2025. Wine Dive describes itself as “Where Old Hollywood meets Atlantic City,” dark with red accents, and it’s definitely a vibe. There’s a good selection of 20 wines by the glass, but my favorite feature is the fresh chicken cutlets served from behind the bar ($10).

Superfolie

Probably my favorite wine bar in the Center City right now, with super food and always one of the best wine selections in the city (and also a great take on the Spanish tinto de verano). Also check out their sister location, Superétte, in East Passyunk.

Jet Wine Bar

Jet Wine Bar has been around for a while, a staple on 15th and South. But they’ve recently opened their outdoor wine garden, which is a great. Owned by Jill Weber, a professional archaeologist who loves obscure wines, it’s always been a place to find Georgian, eastern European, and other lesser-known wines.

Fountain Porter

This cool neighborhood spot in East Passyunk is not technically a wine bar—in fact, you could also call it a craft beer bar. But there’s always a great rotating selection of interesting low-intervention wines on the chalkboard. The only food on the chalkboard is burgers ($6), pickles ($5), and fries ($4).

Sally

Pizzeria Beddia always grabs the headlines for pizza and natural wine. But I’ve always liked this Fitler Square spot (which also was awarded a Michelin Bib Gourmand in 2025) much more, without the crowds and hype. Besides great pizza and pasta, Sally has a nicely curated natural wine shop.

What I’ve Been Eating While Drinking: Skirt Steak

One of food media’s most cherished tropes is “grilling season.”

This is, presumably, the season when the weather starts to warm, and readers liberate their grills from the depths of cold winter storage to fire them up en masse. We start seeing these articles in April, though sometimes a bit earlier, depending on when the news gap after Easter and Passover falls. It usually begins with annual grill reviews and tips on, say, best barbecue sauces, then moves on to recipes for “unusual” things to grill (Have you ever grilled a vegetable!? Or a peach!? Maybe you should!). By Memorial Day, there’s a full slate of stories about how to clean your grill and a shoutout to plant-based grilling options, and by the lead-up to July Fourth, we get features about safety, on the dangers of cooking with fire, and of undercooked meat.

At some point during this season, we’ll get the annual articles on what wines to pair with the food you grill. This is where we generally hear about how well barbecue pairs with California zinfandel, or matching Argentine malbec with steak.

For many of us who love grilling, the whole idea of “grilling season” feels a little imaginary. It presumes a readership consisting only of those in northern climes where winter temperatures hypothetically discourage grilling. Moreover, committed grillers do not pay too much attention to the weather. I’ll grill in a snowstorm if the spirit moves me. I take both grilling and wine seriously regardless of the season.

I like grilling pork, fish, burgers, whatever. But my absolute favorite cut of beef is skirt steak. It’s simple and delicious.

I usually prepare it one of two ways. First, would be with simple marinade—soy sauce, toasted sesame oil, grated garlic and ginger, salt and pepper—several hours before grilling. Or, if I’m being super lazy, I’ll do a cheater “carne asada” style, by rubbing the skirt steak with olive oil and the Whole Foods “Peruvian Style Seasoning” (“Citrusy & Robust” according to the label). In either case, the grilling part is simple, about three minutes each side on super-hot direct heat. Let it rest for a few minutes, and then slice into thin strips. A grilling season delight!

What to pair with it? Keep reading.

Seven Skirt Steak Wine Picks

Felix R&B NV ($15)

An exciting new collab from importer Winemonger and Stefan Wellanschitz of Kolfok from Burgenland, Austria. This is a blend of blaufränkisch and rotburger (they chose to use the local name of zweigelt to avoid its complicated and controversial associations). But there’s nothing complicated or controversial about this juicy, crunchy, fresh, and delightful wine with a great balance of savory herb, red fruit, and peppery notes. A wonderfully affordable spring red.

Olga Raffault ‘La Fraich’ 2024 ($20)

Entry level wine from this benchmark Chinon winemaker. From young vines, organic, and aged only for six months in stainless steel. It’s a classic vin de soif with great juicy acidity, fresh fruit, and earthy notes.

Celler Pardas ‘Sus Scrofa’ 2023 ($23)

I’ve fallen in love with sumoll, the Catalan grape that makes bright, fresh, savory reds. “Nobody loved sumoll until recently,” says winemaker Ramon Parera. "It’s a crazy grape.” Sus Scrofa is a red for contemporary tastes. Electric and lively, almost like a young nebbiolo with earthiness, dark minerality, juicy red fruit, cherry tomato edgy tannins and a cool, stony finish.

Sierra de Toloño Rosado 2025 ($24)

Everyone needs a house pink wine for summer sipping, and this rosé from Rioja is mine for the season. Sandra Bravo's rosado from tempranillo and garnacha is serious and complex, darker in color than the typical pale pink. But it doesn't forget what rosé is supposed to be: fun, fruity, delicious, and refreshing.

Château La Colombière Fronton 2024 ($30)

Négrette is a lesser-known grape from Southwest France, particularly from the AOC Fronton, near Toulouse. This blend of 90% négrette and 10% syrah is a good introduction to the grape, which makes juicy, drinkable wines, balanced by savory notes. This is a perfect chilled red.

Domaine de la Noblaie 'Les Chiens-Chiens' 2022 ($33)

Chinon, in France's Loire Valley, is a spiritual home of Cabernet Franc. Jérôme Billard of Domaine de la Noblaie is among my favorite Chinon winemakers. This bottle comes from 30-year-old vines from a vineyard that literally means “Dogs-Dogs.” Textured, serious, dark, and chewy with dried herb, plum, black olive, blistered tomato, and even a hint of espresso. Super complex. An example of oak aging in Chinon (12 months in large neutral oak) that’s understated.

Christian Tschida 'Kapitel I' Cabernet Franc ($54)

Cabernet franc from Austria? Yes, it exists! You can find it in Burgenland, around Lake Neusiedl, where Christian Tschida works wonders with this variety - adding a bit of local blaufränkisch to the blend. Anyone who's followed my work knows how much I admire Tschida's wines, and this is one of my favorites. This wine has finesse, texture, and elegance, with spice, pepper, red berry and a great long finish.

In my recent cultural readings, I really enjoyed Hilton Als’ delightfully bitchy review of the 2026 Whitney Biennial in The New Yorker. Als goes for the jugular from the very first paragraph. Of this 82nd edition of the Biennial, the bellwether of contemporary American art, he says:

“[It] introduces viewers to what I call ChatGPT art—facsimiles of facsimiles by makers who have little if any relationship to what they’re putting out there, aside from its being a product in service of a career. Indeed, it’s difficult to think of the people who grew up with and apparently condone the use of A.I. sources in the creation of “art” as artists themselves, especially if you define art as a creative expression of thoughts or feelings that have changed, and contributed to the vision of, the artists who made it.”

The main thrust of Als’ argument is that too many of the 56 featured artists offer derivative, unoriginal work, with little “acknowledgement of the artists who paved the way.” He sees an exhibition full of “received ideas” and “appropriating aspects” and artists who avoid the “labyrinth of perception and history—if they’re aware of it at all. What replaces it is a garbled rhetoric that is supposed to further substantiate the work, but what if the work just isn’t there?”

Most damning, Als speaks of “the vast divide between the artists who had worked to find a new vocabulary and those who were centered squarely in a language that was not their own.”

Now…why would all of this make me think of the current state of wine?

Well, partly because I am always seeing a lot of crossover between the worlds of art and wine.

And partly because of the piece we published this week, “Gen Z to Wine: Please Stop Condescending to Us” by Caroline Lamb, in response to Wine Spectator’s handwringing over young wine drinkers. Caroline goes after several of the received ideas and unoriginal, clichéd ways of thinking that happen in the wine world. Namely the lame populist argument against wine “elitism,” the empty straw man argument about “demystifying” wine and the bogeyman of the dreaded “wine snob.”

“Frankly,” she writes, “the elitism framing is just lazy—a tired recitation of wine culture’s snobby past. The real barrier is economic.” She continues:

let’s note the rich irony of Wine Spectator complaining about wine’s “elitism,” considering its own role in whatever wine culture exists today. But more than that, I’d argue this idea that wine needs to be dumbed down is more condescending than any of the exclusivity it claims to be fighting. Embedded in the entire demystification agenda is an unspoken assumption: That young people need wine to be easier because they can’t handle complexity, aspiration, or even a simple conversation with a sommelier, that the only way to engage young people is to meet them at the bottom rather than invite them up.

But beyond Caroline’s article, the wine world faces a similar problem to that plaguing the contemporary art world. There are too many people in wine who, in Hilton Als’ words, avoid the “labyrinth of perception and history—if they’re aware of it at all.” If, in art, there’s a lack of historical knowledge that’s been replaced by “garbled rhetoric,” in wine there’s been a push away from the idea of terroir or place and other complex knowledge, and toward a sort of facile populism and “demystification.”

I’ve written about this before, in a piece last spring entitled “Does Place Matter Anymore for Wine Drinkers?”

These days, in the middle of a worldwide wine crisis, it’s never been tougher to sell wine based on place. In fact, over the past couple of years, I’ve observed that a certain type of wine influencer/educator has begun to steer completely clear of talk about terroir. At the low end, the focus is on a certain populism focused on, say, wine in cans or alternative packaging. But much of the higher-end natural wine chatter also avoids a deep discussion of place. While the best natural-wine producers are committed terroirists, a lot of the derivative, middling natty wine talk is way more about winemaking technique and philosophy—which are similar whether we’re talking about Sicily, Loire, Oregon, or elsewhere. After all, you can make “zero/zero” wine anywhere.

While so many people blame “elitism” or “hierarchy” for wine’s problems, you could also just as easily blame the received ideas, derivative winemaking, and garbled rhetoric of so much of what became “the natural wine movement.” An earlier generation complained about an “international style,” championed by critics like Robert Parker, that negated place. Yet by the late 2010s, the new international style of natural wine was similarly flattening.

Certainly, many of the original natural winemakers made and still make amazing wines that are a testament to terroir. But so much of the current natural-wine chatter and marketing eschews place and history and knowledge, framing it as “gatekeeping.” When place and history—and wine’s inherent complexity—are presented as a negative, you lose something fundamental.

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Where I’ve Been Drinking: A Dry Island

After a busy winter spent in Spain and California (look for more upcoming pieces from both places) it’s been a quiet spring for travel. I’ve mostly been spending time in the beach town at the Jersey Shore where I spent my youth. What is perhaps ironic is that Ocean City, New Jersey, has prohibited booze since 1909. It is a dry island.

A while back, I wrote an essay about living in dry towns for Wine Enthusiast. Because for many years, I doubled down on living in dry towns, residing in the historic town of Haddonfield, New Jersey, which has has been dry since 1873.

Summer on a dry island has little effect on my life. After all, a prohibition on the local sale of alcohol does not mean drinkers can’t imbibe out-of-town booze at home. Indeed, in Ocean City, I have a well-stocked bar. I meet friends for happy hour on the public beach and we pour wine, beer or cocktails—concealed in a plastic cup. No one hassles us. I can also take a 10-minute Uber ride to the next island south, which has two bayside bars.

Clearly, I’m not the only one dedicated to workarounds. In 2017, USA Today voted Ocean City as New Jersey’s “drunkest city.” Since the town was originally founded in the 19th century by four Methodist ministers as a Christian resort, Ocean City’s old guard wasn’t very happy with this designation.

The main negative effect of local Prohibition is a rather poor restaurant scene on the island, compounded because Ocean City bans a bring-your-own-bottle option. Some private clubs have popped up, but by and large, you must leave the island to legally drink. I’ve always thought it was irresponsible of Ocean City—a city of more than 150,000 on a summer weekend—to compel residents who desire wine with dinner to hop into their cars. Yet the old laws aren’t changing any time soon. A decade ago, the town voted 2-1 against allowing the BYOB option.

What will I be drinking on the beach in my dry town this summer? Likely something cheap and portable that comes in a liter.

What I’m Drinking, Part 1: Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo

One style of wine I’ve been loving lately has been Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo, a robust style of rosato wine with direct-pressed montepulciano grapes from Italy’s Abruzzo region. These rosés are bold and dark enough to be confused as light reds.

“Rosé was the everyday wine of the farmers, and it’s the wines that best represent our region,” says Iole Rabasco, whose Vino Rabasco wines are amazing and worth seeking out. “I always say that montepulciano shows well in rosé wines.”

I’ve started to believe that montepulciano consistently produces some of the best rosé wines in the world. Here are my picks, including one from California made in the cerasuolo style.

Cora Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo 2025 ($12)

Private label wine made for importer Bowler Wine. Crazy good value and a great example of rosé made from montepulciano grapes. Lives up to its “cherry red” name, bursting with fresh cherry, but also notes of watermelon rind, blood orange, and citrus zest.

Tiberio Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo 2024 ($25)

Sibling winemakers Cristiana and Antonio Tiberio make this lovely rosato from the free-run juice of destemmed, massal selection montepulciano grapes. Ripe strawberry, cherry, and pomegranate, with fresh rose petals and fragrant herbs, a little earthy and spicy. It’s crisp and juicy, but structured, with a nice mineral-driven finish. Good value, and great with all kinds of food.

Caprera ‘Le Vasche’ Cerasuolo d’Abruzzo 2023 ($34)

Caprera is a relatively new winery in Pietranico, Abruzzo. Luca Paolo’s Cerasuolo captures the pulsating energy of their mountain-meets-sea terrain with a nimble confidence. Floral, earthy, savory aromas, with bright, intense cherry and blood orange on the palate, joyful acidity, and a pleasant saline finish.

Vini Rabasco ‘Cancelli’ Rosato 2025 ($30)

A light and lively rosato with vibrant acidity from this highly-regarded natural producer in Abruzzo. Bursting with red fruit—cherry, strawberry, cranberry—with hints of herb, thrilling acidity, and underlying salinity.

Vini Rabasco ‘Damigiana’ Rosato 2024 ($40)

Direct pressed and aged in demijohn for 54 months, this is another level up of montepulciano rosé from Iole Rabasco. There’s all the bright red fruit, but something also deeper here—earthy, tannic, complex.

Broc Cellars Rosato 2024 ($30)

The only non-Abruzzo bottle here is from Broc Cellars, one of my favorite California wineries. Made from 100% montepulciano, this rosato is savory, floral and herbal on the nose, with rose, sage, and a hint of forest floor. On the palate it’s deep cherry, maraschino, and even a hit of cherry Coke, with a crisp, dry finish. My friend who I tasted this with called it “a boy’s rosé. It’s giving handlebar mustache.” Broc Cellars gets its montepulciano grapes from Fox Hill, an organic vineyard above the Russian River in Mendocino County, known for its Italian varieties.

What I’m Drinking, Part 2: Bandol Rosé

My colleague, Sarah Parker Jang, might make the case that mourvèdre, particularly from Bandol in Provence, is even better then montepulciano. As she wrote in her recent piece about Provence, “Bandol rosés, with a high percentage of mourvèdre, are often deep in color, complex, structured, and ageworthy—a far cry from the pale, dull examples found throughout much of the region.”

I don’t disagree. So here are three mourvèdre-based rosés From Bandol from Sarah:

Château Pradeaux Bandol Rosé 2024 ($32)

Château Pradeaux is a benchmark Bandol winery. This is their flagship rosé blend of 70% mourvèdre, 27% cinsault, and 3% grenache, from the domaine’s younger vines. After a direct pressing of 24 hours, it’s fermented by native yeasts in cement or enameled stainless steel tanks, with no malolactic fermentation to preserve acidity, before it spends some time on the fine lees. Moreish, with concentrated fruit: strawberries on the vine, peaches, Ruby Red grapefruit, raspberries, dried herbs, salt. A gastronomic rosé, and an incredible value for such an ageworthy wine. —Sarah Parker Jang

Domaine Tempier Bandol Rosé 2024 ($60)

Domaine Tempier is another benchmark Bandol rosé. Composed of about 55% mourvèdre, 25% grenache, and 20% cinsault, this wine is aged on the lees for 6 months in steel. Salmon-pink in the glass, with detailed and complex aromas and flavors: melon, strawberries and cream, grapefruit, roses and white blossoms, guava paste, thyme. Weighty, but with snappy, refreshing acidity and a long, mineral finish. A benchmark rosé. This can age for decades. —Sarah Parker Jang

Domaine de Terrebrune Bandol Rosé 2024 ($40)

An organically grown, ageworthy rosé with 60% mourvèdre, the rest equally split between grenache and cinsault. Mouthwatering melon, juicy blood orange, raspberry, and oyster shell. Weighty on the palate but never heavy, this is another traditional-style Bandol rosé with serious aging potential of 15 years or more. —Sarah Parker Jang

What I’ve Been Eating While Drinking: Asparagus

Asparagus season is serious business at Everyday Drinking. A few springs back, I even went to Schwetzingen, Germany’s famed white asparagus festival, where I ate white asparagus in more ways than I ever imagined, watched a thrilling asparagus-peeling competition, and harvested fresh spears with the local asparagus queen.

While I love asparagus, white or green, it’s also one of those foods that’s notoriously tricky to pair with wine.

The day after we debated montepulciano versus mourvèdre, Sarah Parker Jang and I actually got into another heated debate over text message about asparagus and pairing:

Me: What’s your feeling on pairing asparagus with wine? Would you agree it’s one of those ‘difficult’ pairings?’

Sarah: Yeah but I think a lot of it is because people don’t know how to cook asparagus properly. Even restaurants. Everyone cooks asparagus to death.

Me: You steam it for two minutes

Sarah: Exactly

Me: And then hit it with a little salt and a dash of balsamic vinegar. I feel like you’ve got to be an idiot for overcooking asparagus

Sarah: People don’t do it on purpose though. They just don’t know any better, they think cooking it for longer will make it less bitter or woody. People roast it to hell or they saute it for too long and put it in something where it doesn’t belong. Like pasta. Get your asparagus out of my f***ing pasta.

Me: Asparagus belongs in risotto not pasta

Sarah: Asparagus needs to be on it’s own

Me: You know you’re gonna be quoted in Thinking & Drinking now.

Sarah: I think if it’s cooked properly, something high acid and kind of herbal. Alpine whites are a surprisingly good pairing. I mean gruner and sauv b are the classic answers, right? I think that’s fine. With like a vinaigrette on it, something like you were saying. If you grill it you could do a volcanic white like listan blanco or something from Sicily.

The only thing Sarah and I disagree on is whether asparagus belongs in risotto. I made a delicious asparagus and mushroom risotto this weekend. And while I agree that grüner veltliner and sauvignon blanc pairs well with asparagus, I wanted something red. So, I paired my asparagus risotto with Langhe nebbiolo and it was perfect. Almost as good as pairing Langhe nebbiolo with radicchio:

We’d love to hear your pairing ideas for asparagus, too!

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Here at Everyday Drinking, we’ve been doubling down lately on things that are amazing, but not particularly popular. A couple weeks ago, for instance, we ran an ode to spring—even though spring is not popular with Americans anymore. Recent surveys of seasonal preferences place it a distant second or even third to autumn, the runaway winner.

Last week, we…

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In Catalonia, it’s calçotada time. The calçotada is the beloved winter tradition of eating calçots, the local variety of tender green onions that are grilled over open flames until charred, then peeled and dipped them into a rich, smokey, nutty pepper-tomato-garlic sauce called romesco (recipe below).

Calçots are always a bit mystifying to Americans. “So that’s some sort of big onion?” replied one friend when I mentioned I was going to be enjoying calçots. “Didn’t Anthony Bourdain eat them?”

Suffice to say that it’s much more cultural significant than that. But it’s a messy, homely ritual, one you’ll want to wear a bib for.

Normally, these are outdoor affairs out in rural areas of Catalonia, but when I was in Barcelona last month, my friends Mike and Julia (he Catalan, she American) took me to a calçotada at a restaurant in El Clot called Casa Pepi. Mike gave us the basic demonstration on how to eat calçots in the video below. also, scroll down for my (Americanized romesco) recipe.

What I’ve Been Drinking From: The Porrón

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I’m finally getting around to processing my last few weeks in Barcelona, both the wine fair and my time in the city. I’ll start first with Barcelona Wine Week, and its numerous side events.

Though it only started in 2020, BWW already has established itself as Spain’s premier wine trade sh…

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If you’re in the northeastern U.S., like me, you’re likely still recovering from our crazy weekend snowstorm, and trying to stay warm in this frigid Arctic weather. While housebound, I decided to move forward with a feature I’ve been brainstorming for a while, and today is its launch. Each month, I’ll …

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