Better Red Than Dead – Apothic 2013
Blends make me nervous. I envision the more romantic ones crafting a mysterious melange of grape, myrrh and the sacrificial blood of volcano virgins, while the lesser ones hobble together some apple juice, craft glue and paper clips. So I’m typically not a fan of blends, and I know I am joined by many wine snobs in my hesitation.
But sweet mother of all that’s holy, Apothic Red is a fine blend. I very fine blend. Clearly a lot of volcano virgins went to the presses for this one, and their sacrifice was worth it.
Perfect tannins, balanced sugar, and a bold palate that stands up to a hearty steak, a spicy lasagna, or even a crazy street taco made by a guy with tattoos of leprechauns sexing it up with weasels. I literally had a glass of this with dinner, went on to dessert and coffee, and then came back for another glass… and it still held up, even after my palate was raked over by the espresso. The Apothic site boasts that it has hints of black cherry and mocha, which I get, but I miss the vanilla they claim. I’ll have to drink another case just to make sure.
Better yet, Apothic Red is drinkable by itself. I mean infinitely drinkable, as in Apothic could make a significant legal case before the US Congress to have laws repealed so that its wine could be marketed with a disclaimer “consumption of this alcoholic beverage will permanently impair your ability to enjoy any lesser wine, so you can quit searching after this one.” Apothic curiously fails to sell its Red by the tanker, however, and by this I mean I want them to roll up a re-purposed oil truck filled with the stuff, hand me a straw and leave me alone for a month. It’s that good.
Ever have a restaurant which has a great menu, but you have one favorite dish and can never seem to order anything else, no matter how many times you go there? Apothic Red is like that for me, and this means I may never get around to trying their White. As for the Red, I’m stuck on the 2013, and admit to not having tried any other year, but I daresay Apothic Red will be a better wine in a few years, which gives me chills since I can’t imagine what that would do to my sexual reproductive organs. I will have to put my urologist on call for that day.
Apothic is based out of Modesto CA and features winemaker Debbie Juergenson. You can buy their wines online here.
If You Don’t Like Hugel, Put Your Head in a Blender
There are many types of people worthy of distrust. Corrupt politicians, sleazy doctors, those who dislike gewurztraminer, and terrorists. Many times, they’re the same person.
So I don’t trust people who dislike gewurztraminer, and I doubt it’s an accident that 100% of the terrorists who recently attacked Paris were not g-fans. The fact that they attacked France, the home of Hugel, is probably not an accident either. The Alsace region, you see, has always been a target for hatred and attacks, launched from a jealous world steeped in envy and loathing over its superior vines.
In 900 BC, for example, the region was overrun by hordes of bandits from the then-neighboring region of Egypt, which had yet to settle to its current location southward, as the continents had not yet reached their contemporary positions. The Egyptian raiders sought silk and pearls and, most of all, a grape that tasted like apple. (They also sought an apple that tasted like cream cheese, another failed dream.) Arriving on elephant-back in the eastern regions of France, they were driven insane by their discovery, and fortunately for us, they died after they raised swords against themselves in a confused, gewurztraminer-fueled berserker rage.
In 1200, parka-clad warriors from the Russian steppes made their way eastward to France (the continents were still shifting) bearing crossbows made of ivory and riding lions, also made of ivory. Once again, the gentle Alsatian progenitors of Hugel & Fils fought back the invaders with nothing but the power of gewurztraminer on their side. The resulting defeat was one of the bloodiest on record, although this is disputed since the raiders had previously overtaken the red wine region of Umbria, and they may have just been covered in grape juice.
Again and again our proud Alsatian cousins fought back thirsty interlopers: the British in 1450, attacking from the south (continents still not quite settled); Vikings from Mongolia in 1622, and of course the infamous US invasion on D-Day, 1944, when Americans stormed Normandy Beach to steal Hugel’s grapes, all the while concocting a fantastical yarn about fighting Nazis which, fortunately, no one today believes.
Hugel was founded in Riquewihr in 1639 by Hans Ulrich Hugel, a vampire hunter having trained under Abraham Van Helsing’s great grandfather, Clint. Made poor paying washwomen a small fortune to remove the blood stains from his white, frilly shirts, Hugel set forth to create an empire built on something other than red juices. And thus the Hugel invested his remaining money into building a white wine juggernaut that remains to this day the single most important contribution to humanity of all time. Hugel was later canonized by Pope Promiscuous II, and his tomb is visited annually by each US President since George Washington.
The secret of Hugel’s success lies largely in its Pinot Gris JUBILEE, which was rated “#1 wine since the first grape got squished accidentally by a tiger” by Wine Spectator in March 1994. But beneath the pomp and noise of the pee-gee hides the stately gravitas of the gwertz, the perfect mating of grape and God, without all the spitting bubbles of lesser vineyards’ output, and without the need to make it taste like an apple pie on fire during a nuclear winter.
To drink Hugel’s Gewurztraminer JUBILEE is like tasting God’s tears, after He weeps knowing that Man has finally surpassed His divinity with such a creation. It is akin to beating Superman at poker, or to riding naked on the back of Shakira while she attempts to prove her hips really don’t lie. This is the stuff of taboo, something we humans don’t deserve, but take anyway, and then feel guilty about later. Bring Kleenex.
So, no, I don’t trust those who dislike gewurztraminer, and those who dislike Hugel are dead to me.
More at www.hugel.fr.
Quick Cuttings