A Mouthful of Wine

Moving!

No wine today--just boxes. It's the beginning of "moving weekend." Back Monday!

 

Your Nose: A Double-take

The nose is responsible for so much of our perception of flavor in food and wine that it makes sense that it is on the job not just for an initial sniff, but throughout the process of eating or drinking.

You are actually smelling your wine (or food) while it is in your mouth, and even after you swallow. This is possible because there is a “back entrance” to your nose that allows retronasal aromas to rise from the back of your mouth. You can experience retronasal smelling by exhaling from your nose while chewing or after swallowing.

How does it work? Aromatic molecules that become airborne are called volatile aromas: these molecules can transfer from the liquid state (in the case of wine) to the gaseous state fairly readily, thereby becoming smellable. You help the process along when you swirl your wine in the glass, or slurp air through the wine in your mouth. Volatile aromas are taken in nasally or retronasally and connect with nerve cells that send impulses to the brain that inform your impression of the wine. By focusing on both nasal and retronasal aromas in wine, you can often get a more detailed aroma picture.

Get 'Em While They Last

I finally visited the new Terroir in Tribeca (24 Harrison St. at Greenwich, web site), a larger and slightly polished version of the East Village original, with the same amusing and subversive wine list. At both locations, it is, as every year, the Summer of Riesling—there are 20+ Rieslings available by the glass or by the taste, from the usual Riesling hot spots of Germany, Alsace, and Austria, as well as Australia, the Finger Lakes, and other locations. If you love to cool off with the high-acidity zing of Riesling, head to Terroir before summer’s end. (There is also an ample list of reds BTG.)

Which location? The original is just that—its hole-in-the-wall culcha is irreproducible. If you’re wearing a suit, have more than two in your group, or value your personal space, head south.

Between the Terroirs, and a destination in its own right, is Café Select (212 Lafayette, south of Spring, web site ), which is having its own summer of . . . rosé. What began as an ample list of rosés by the glass in the month of June has been unofficially extended—you can still choose from more than a dozen pink wines, still and sparkling, from the Alpine regions of Europe, to complement the Swiss bistro cuisine on the menu. 

Managing Expectations (One's Own)

They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and yesterday, in a small way, this became evident. I bought a $25 Gelber Muskateller from Austria expecting a little of that heady Muscat essence that I love so much, especially in a crisp, dry version.

And what I got was lemon, wet stones, white grapefruit, and a very slight rose petal aroma that I’d never have noticed if I hadn’t been searching frantically for it. It was a beastly hot day, and I enjoyed my lemony-high-acidity, low-alcohol quaff well enough, but it got me thinking about typicity.

Typicity in wine is what should be expected from a certain wine type or grape variety, with a lot of wiggle room that takes location, harvest conditions, and other factors, into account. Basically, typicity says that if you’re growing the high-acidity grape Riesling but you end up with a low-acidity wine, you’re either a) doing something wrong, or b) intentionally altering what is typical for that grape—and if you’re going to do it that dramatically, why not start with a different grape to begin with? Low-priced wines, say under $10, will generally express less of the grape or wine type (less typicity) than handmade, small-production, single-vineyard, and/or higher-priced wines.

Knowing what to expect can tell you a lot about a winemaker’s values, and what he or she is doing in the vineyard and winery. It also, of course, sets parameters: If you go into the grocery store for a jar of tomato sauce, you’re not expecting it to taste like macaroni and cheese. In my case, “Yellow Muscat” set me up—but only for a disappointment.

The Aromatics: Easy on the Nose

Following my aroma safari at Longwood Gardens, I’ve been thinking about how difficult it can be to identify the aromas in wine. Perfume’s entire purpose is its aroma, and its smell consists of intentional layerings of pure aroma compounds. Wine’s aromas are subtler, indirect, sometimes almost figments of the imagination.

Still, there are certain varieties of grapes whose aroma compounds are particularly noticeable and show up consistently in that variety—the aromas practically define your experience of that grape in the form of wine. Referred to as the aromatic varieties, they are most often white grapes, although a few black types qualify. Most of the characteristic aromas could be described as floral, grassy, or fruity, and they’re all quite easy to smell—they’re the perfumes of the wine world. If you’re an aroma junkie who likes a strongly scented white, or if you like Riesling or Sauvignon Blanc (perhaps the best-known aromatic grapes), read below for profiles of six more white grapes to add to your aromatic arsenal.

Viognier (vee-oh-nyay) The classic grape of the French appellations of Condrieu and Château Grillet, Viognier is also available in more affordable bottles from the southern Rhône region of France, and from California and Australia. It feels full and luxurious in the mouth, and has lovely ripe apricot and white flower aromas (think honeysuckle, or even a light jasmine).

Gewürztraminer (guh-voortz-truh-mee-nur) This “white” grape actually has pink skin and typically produces a deeply gold-colored wine that, like Viognier, feels thick and full in the mouth. Some examples are noticeably sweet. The classic Gewürztraminer aroma is of the tropical fruit lychee, plus a heavy rose perfume. The grape is most often grown in cool areas—look for Gewürztraminer from Alsace in France, the Alto Adige region of northern Italy, Germany and Austria, and Washington State.

Grüner Veltliner (grooner velt-lee-nur) Grüner means “green,” and wine from this grape has a distinctive greenish tint to its color, and often a tingle of carbon dioxide on your palate. It is a bit restrained in its aroma compared to the other grapes listed here, and its character is less floral and more spicy—the typical aroma is said to be white pepper. It is grown almost exclusively in Austria.

Albariño (al-bar-een-yo) produces rich, peach-scented wines in Galicia, in northwest Spain; in northernmost Portugal, where it is called Alvarinho; and in California and Australia. Try it if you like Riesling.

Muscat (moose-cot or muss-cot) This is a family of grapes, grown all over the world, that produces wines that range from totally without sugar (dry) to intensely sweet. The most highly regarded variety of Muscat is Muscat Blanc à Petits Grains, but even this has as many different names as it has styles. Muscat Blanc, or White Muscat, has a heady aroma of orange-flowers and spice. Sweet Muscats are perhaps the easiest to find: Look for examples called Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise and Muscat de Rivesaltes from France, or the famous Muscats of Greece or Australia, or go to northern Italy for Moscato d’Asti, a lightly sweet, fizzy wine. For an excellent dry Muscat, try Jorge Ordoñez “Botani” Moscatel Seco (Spain), $22. 

Torrontés (tor-ohn-tace) One of the many varieties of Muscat is one of the genetic parents of Torrontés, the most widely planted white grape in Argentina. It is quite different from Muscat, though, with a livelier, fresher floral scent, and it is not used for sweet wine—just popular, affordable dry whites.

Top: “White flowers” is a catch-all descriptor for white wine, and may include jasmine (pictured), lilies, narcissus, citrus blossoms, and others.

Above: Lingenfelder “Hare Label” Gewürztraminer (Germany), $15, is a good and affordable example.

"Making Scents" at Longwood Gardens

Wine and perfumery are parallel universes with relatively little crossover. I wonder why. Yes, wine alone is drinkable—but with so much of the enjoyment of wine tied to our perception of its aromas, why aren’t wine lovers attracted, too, to the headier cocktails of perfume? Why aren’t fragrance addicts plumbing the subtler depths of wine to perfume their inner selves?

I drove out to Longwood Gardens, a half-hour outside Philadelphia, to its first exhibition, “Making Scents,” (www.longwoodgardens.org) on the aromas of perfumery. I wanted to find new material for my aroma library—aromas used in perfumery that might also exist in wine—and try to see whether these two worlds of aroma were really the same.

The exhibition extends through three long greenhouses of Longwood’s giant glass conservatory, plus a final room containing a small interactive exhibition that distills the process of perfume making. Really, though, the fragrance theme pervades the entire conservatory and grounds, with aroma pumps accompanied by snippets of perfume history scattered throughout the conservatory, and signs around the grounds proclaiming "I Am Fragrant," inviting the visitor to gently jostle the leaves and take a whiff. The indefatigable aroma hound will find himself sniffing just about everything (watch those carnivorous species) and discovering fragrant orchids, gingers, and other secret sources of scent.

Don’t expect much hard science, but both adults and children will enjoy the exhibit, especially its interactive nature. Adults may, by the end, discover their own perfume preferences—Oriental? Chypre? Fern?—by smelling a dozen or so actual perfumes tied to plant aromas. In the final room, there is an opportunity to smell nine different perfume ingredients such as bergamot, lemon, and rose, and combine them into a personal perfume sample, dispensed on a (rather faint) scratch-and-sniff slip. School-age children will enjoy reading a clue and operating the aroma pumps to guess the aromas they dispense. (And if that doesn’t hold their attention, there is a children’s garden in the conservatory with mesmerizing water elements.) 

I came away with a collection of aromas I am unlikely to find in wine (jasmine) and quite a few that I might (various herbs, and just possibly, ylang-ylang). I also learned the basics of perfume making, a process that involves selecting top notes, middl notes, and base notes—are you thinking attack, midpalate, and finish? There are also lectures and special programs on scent scheduled through November, when the show closes, and the 1906 restaurant offers an interesting aroma-themed tasting menu (the wine list would have been another good opportunity to present aroma, guys!). For the aroma collector, the experience is recommended.

Top: Icons identify fragrant plants in the gardens.

Above: Pump the lever on the side and smell three different plant-based perfumes.

Build an Aroma Library

Your nose is much more talented than your mouth. Sure, structure is very important in wine—that’s sweetness, acidity, tannin, body, and so on, which are observed in the mouth. But if we’re talking deliverables, your mouth can perceive seven things (the five tastes, texture, and temperature) while your nose can detect up to 10,000 smells, about 200 of them in wine.

The downside to a talented nose is that sometimes it’s ahead of your brain. Your nose can detect aromas that your brain can’t identify. If you have never smelled or tasted a gooseberry before, how will your brain know when your nose encounters the scent of one?

This is where an aroma library comes in handy. It’s not a physical library, but a mental one. You can train your brain to recognize more aromas by reminding it daily what things smell like, and giving it new smells to catalog. As you go through your day, consciously smell as many things as you can: coffee, toast, lawn, shoe leather, tar, lilies, wet concrete, steak, oregano, strawberries. If you can also taste things, do so—your nose doesn’t stop smelling when something enters your mouth.

With a well-stocked aroma library, you’ll find that more aroma i.d.’s pop into your head as you smell and taste wine. If you’re coming up short, you can even “browse the stacks”—walk yourself through the possible aroma categories, such as fruit, vegetable, mineral, floral, spice, to see what might fit. That’s what libraries deliver: the power of suggestion.