Petite like Queen Latifah
"Petite Sirahs," they call them. Pfiddlesticks!
I first was turned on to the joys of Petite Sirahs via the bold charms of an inexpensive, widely available wine. The Bogle brand rocks, people. At roughly $11 a bottle, the 2001 Bogle Petite Sirah was a thoroughly tasty mouthful. It made my mouth happy. It made ME happy. It created a wine memory.
I recall liking the next few bottlings, but I’ve hit a snag with the 2004 Bogle PS. Now that Costco is carrying it, it seems to have slumped. My mouth makes an eh noise, and my head nods in a rueful manner. It’s OKAY, but not the joyful palate-pleaser I remember. I hope it’s just the one vintage, because this baby regularly beats out all the other inexpensive Petites I’ve tried, and stands up well next to bottles that cost twice as much (David Bruce, Elyse).
Mind you, it’s still a beautiful beast. For sheer beauty, it’s hard to beat a Petite Sirah. It’s a lovely, deep, deep purple, like jazzed-up Welch’s grape juice – what I imagined “real” wine WOULD be, when I was a teenager swigging Boone’s Farm and Ripple ‘neath the light of a silvery Nebraska moon.
It’s also possible my palate is shifting – AGAIN. I no longer respond as strongly to the earthy, sweat-socks seductiveness of the big Italians, the Rossos and Chianti Classicos/Rufinas, as much as I used to. I’m terrified to crack my remaining bottle of the 1997 Tommasina Ripasso, for fear it will no longer be my favorite.
Why must my palate change? WHY? Change is hard, ya know. Everyone says so.
On to more fruitful topics: More than once, watching me rummage through the racks, a helpful wine store employee has suggested I try the Peachy Canyon Zinfandel – I gather it’s a popular choice. But it’s about $12, and I haven’t found good Zins in that price range, so I’ve resisted. Finally picked up a bottle on sale for $10, and I can report that the 2005 Peachy Canyon Paso Robles is quite. . . resistible.
In other recent sips, the 2004 Penfolds Limited Edition Coonwarra Shiraz was also largely forgettable. Not bad, just not memorable. I had one glass and used the rest of it for Sangria – although I will note that it made the best batch of Sangria of the night. The other Sangria bases were a 2004 Bogle Petite Sirah, an El Coto Rioja, and a Chardonnay called White Lie. Each, in its own way, deserved its Sangria fate.
Here’s an admission: I make a mean Sangria. I think this falls under the category of Strange, Usually Useless Talents. For example, I am quite gifted at guessing the weight of cats. I do this by picking up a cat, then hefting it. I can come within an ounce or two of the feline’s exact weight. How’s that for impressive? I’m still waiting for a job offer from a circus.
The thing is, I don't even LIKE Sangria much. But my friends do, and they really, REALLY like my version. It's my cross to bear, I suppose -- and it's possible that having a dab hand at sangria is marginally useful. It’s an excellent way to recycle so-so wine. It is NOT a recipe for wine coolers; my sangria is more on the order of wine-based Long Island Tea. Don’t go sipping it thinking it will be LESS alcoholic than your straight-up glass of wine, no sirree. Still, it has loads of citrus in it (lemons, limes, oranges), so it could be construed as dinner-and-drinks in a single package. Talk about your Vitamin C tonic.
I first was turned on to the joys of Petite Sirahs via the bold charms of an inexpensive, widely available wine. The Bogle brand rocks, people. At roughly $11 a bottle, the 2001 Bogle Petite Sirah was a thoroughly tasty mouthful. It made my mouth happy. It made ME happy. It created a wine memory.
I recall liking the next few bottlings, but I’ve hit a snag with the 2004 Bogle PS. Now that Costco is carrying it, it seems to have slumped. My mouth makes an eh noise, and my head nods in a rueful manner. It’s OKAY, but not the joyful palate-pleaser I remember. I hope it’s just the one vintage, because this baby regularly beats out all the other inexpensive Petites I’ve tried, and stands up well next to bottles that cost twice as much (David Bruce, Elyse).
Mind you, it’s still a beautiful beast. For sheer beauty, it’s hard to beat a Petite Sirah. It’s a lovely, deep, deep purple, like jazzed-up Welch’s grape juice – what I imagined “real” wine WOULD be, when I was a teenager swigging Boone’s Farm and Ripple ‘neath the light of a silvery Nebraska moon.
It’s also possible my palate is shifting – AGAIN. I no longer respond as strongly to the earthy, sweat-socks seductiveness of the big Italians, the Rossos and Chianti Classicos/Rufinas, as much as I used to. I’m terrified to crack my remaining bottle of the 1997 Tommasina Ripasso, for fear it will no longer be my favorite.
Why must my palate change? WHY? Change is hard, ya know. Everyone says so.
On to more fruitful topics: More than once, watching me rummage through the racks, a helpful wine store employee has suggested I try the Peachy Canyon Zinfandel – I gather it’s a popular choice. But it’s about $12, and I haven’t found good Zins in that price range, so I’ve resisted. Finally picked up a bottle on sale for $10, and I can report that the 2005 Peachy Canyon Paso Robles is quite. . . resistible.
In other recent sips, the 2004 Penfolds Limited Edition Coonwarra Shiraz was also largely forgettable. Not bad, just not memorable. I had one glass and used the rest of it for Sangria – although I will note that it made the best batch of Sangria of the night. The other Sangria bases were a 2004 Bogle Petite Sirah, an El Coto Rioja, and a Chardonnay called White Lie. Each, in its own way, deserved its Sangria fate.
Here’s an admission: I make a mean Sangria. I think this falls under the category of Strange, Usually Useless Talents. For example, I am quite gifted at guessing the weight of cats. I do this by picking up a cat, then hefting it. I can come within an ounce or two of the feline’s exact weight. How’s that for impressive? I’m still waiting for a job offer from a circus.
The thing is, I don't even LIKE Sangria much. But my friends do, and they really, REALLY like my version. It's my cross to bear, I suppose -- and it's possible that having a dab hand at sangria is marginally useful. It’s an excellent way to recycle so-so wine. It is NOT a recipe for wine coolers; my sangria is more on the order of wine-based Long Island Tea. Don’t go sipping it thinking it will be LESS alcoholic than your straight-up glass of wine, no sirree. Still, it has loads of citrus in it (lemons, limes, oranges), so it could be construed as dinner-and-drinks in a single package. Talk about your Vitamin C tonic.
posted by Winetaster | 8:21 AM
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