Killing our Palates

Sriracha, Aioli, Pesto: the holy trinity of corporate cuisine. They’re on almost everything and I would not be shocked to see a Sriracha and Pesto Aioli on a sandwich these days. In most kitchens the main purpose of these sauces are to cover up less than interesting ingredients - culinary sleight of hand. Is simple mayonnaise a thing of the past? After our palates are dulled with such an onslaught of flavors it is no wonder we can’t actually taste wines with delicate, elegant flavors.

Don’t get me wrong, individually and with the right dishes each of these sauces are delicious, but each has been co-opted to the point that these superb, classic sauces not only seem cliché, but have become layered on top of each other so garlic or heat alone are the only song a dish sings.

Is there any use of basil more perfect than pasta with pesto in Liguria? Delicate, bright and fresh with just the right touch of garlic? Then there is aïoli garni in Provence, the ultimate dip again with the perfect touch of garlic and fresh, fruity olive oil to dip boiled fresh vegetables, olives, salt cod and whatever you please in to. Then there is sriracha, a Thai sauce. The Huy Foods Sriracha brand (the only one most Americans know) was first introduced to the USA in the 1980s when it was served at virtually all American Pho restaurants. Today it’s in or on everything and at this point I would not be shocked to see sriracha toothpaste.

Americans can not leave well enough alone. We must do something to everything. It’s not enough to have a subtle, beautiful pesto we have to add more-and-more garlic so the basil becomes irrelevant. The same thing happens with aioli and then you end up with the ultimate bastardization a pesto aioli. Simple and elegant is not a characteristic admired by Americans.

American winemaking has also been sucked into this wormhole and winemakers think more about what they can add instead of getting out of the way and letting the grapes and vineyard tell their own story. In the same way some bastardized version of aioli obliterates the other flavors in a sandwich, winemakers here can’t resist aggressive commercial yeasts, new oak and a host of other interventions that are the winemaker’s version of a chef adding too much garlic or hot sauce. Winemaking, like a sauce, should elevate and brighten, not overwhelm.

There can be great complexity in simplicity.

Turn, Turn, Turn

For everything, there is a season. There is a flow to the year that is defined by what is being harvested. Moments defined by what we eat and drink. As these seasonal treats start arriving at the farmers market, they mark your place in the year. Peas and asparagus in spring, summer brings peaches and tomatoes, fall brings squash and, for those of us who make wine, grapes. Each of them gives you a sense of time and place. 

The wines I drink dance across the calendar along with the foods I find at the market. Cold weather brings stews, risotto, pasta, root vegetables and bolder wines - Barolo, St. Joseph, Bandol, and Tannat appear on my table. The arrival of summer brings vegetables and simple grills into staring roles and white wines - vermentino, roussanne, Sancerre, Muscadet, Soave along with wines of wildly varying shades of pink often become my wines of choice. For reds, pinot noir, Valpolicella, grenache and, most of all, Beaujolais  - all wines that love a light chill - bring perfect pleasure. 

Things that grow react to the season and wine is no exception. Obviously, drinking a Barolo on a hot day in August is not the same sin as insisting on buying tomatoes in January. Yet, I think the full pleasures of a Barolo are more likely to show themselves with Osso Bucco on a crisp fall evening than with a caprese on a hot summer afternoon.

Wine is food, and it is more enjoyable when served in the same way.  We are drawn to certain foods at different times of the year and should apply that same common sense to wines.

I’m always mystified when people tell me they don’t like white wine or they only like big reds - the wine world’s equivalent of picky eaters. To me wine is wine, and the color is decided by the food, the season and, of course, my mood. There is no arguing with taste, but I’ll argue those picky eaters and drinkers aren’t tasting at all. They’ve already made up their minds.

The more you pay attention to what you taste the more diversity of experience you crave. That terrifying question I’ve been asked many times, “If you could only drink one wine for the rest...” - is more nightmare than fantasy. The other question I’m often asked is, “what’s your favorite wine you make” or, perhaps even worse, “what’s the best wine you make” leave me speechless. They are questions without an answer. 

Each wine we make at Troon has its moment, its meal, its season. What’s my favorite wine? The one in my glass.