Or, how I learned to appreciate chilled red wine

Recently I was called upon to sacrifice the comforts of my day job, hobnobbing with likeminded wine geeks amongst thousands of bottles, so that I might spend a long weekend in New Hampshire visiting with my sister, parents, grandmother, and almost-grown nieces. Residing in a somewhat suspiciously rural setting—these days every lopsided New England village turns out to be a pricey bedroom community of some nearby urban economy—my sister, I believed, would not have convenient access to the kind of wine store that might offer an Alsatian white, for example.

Compounding the dreary prospects for interesting wine drinking on my mini-vacation was my knowledge of my sister’s unsystematic inventory of wine. A happenstance enthusiast, she cannot be counted on to squirrel away delicious bottles. Whatever wine one may find in her broom closet next to the 25-pound bag of dog kibble most likely got there as a gift from a friend or as an on-the-fly impulse buy. Although she does enjoy and can easily distinguish a superb glass of wine from a mediocre one, her thoughts never light on the topic for more time than it takes to pop a cork. My sister could be the poster girl for the daily-recommended intake of alcohol for women—all her life she has been, without conceit, a one-glass-per-day drinker.

Ordinarily, the very thought of severing my cozy proximity to copious global offerings of distinguished wines would seriously deflate me, but I had made up my mind pre-trip that while visiting my family, I would swim good-naturedly in my genetic pool and graciously accept whatever the experience afforded me.

Happily, my determination not to muse about various wines to pair with our family meals lasted only as long as the first day, when on a food excursion to purchase marinated steak “tips,” my sister diverged from the ordinary route to the local grocer and pulled up in front of a gourmet store called On the Vine. (In New Hampshire, wine is sold alongside food in stores.) I practically fell out of the car in a flurry of excitement—with that name there must be a diverse wine selection! Indeed, I found inside an eclectic array of wines: an impressive 2005 premier cru Gevry-Chambertin from Burgundy, several bottles of old vine garnacha from Priorat, Spain, and one of my favorites this summer—at least half a dozen rich, red malbecs from Argentina, right alongside a smattering of domestic wines, including a notable pinot noir from California by renown producer Robert Sinskey.

Depsite the fact that On the Vine carries only 100 different bottles of wine, I felt a little like someone who was handed a canteen of cool water in the middle of a desert. As my sister was in a hurry to get back home and start the grill, I quickly assessed what wine might please both her palate (full, round, fruit-forward reds) and mine (anything with complexity, but not too high in alcohol or too fruity) while also complementing the steak. I chose the 2004 Hinman Vineyards Rogue Valley Red (merlot, cabernet sauvignon, syrah, grenache, malbec), a unique blend for any wine region but especially an anomaly in Oregon where pinot noir is the reigning red grape. Although I had never tasted it before, I surmised that the style, based on the percentages of the grapes used and the moderate climate in which they were grown, might yield the sort of not-too-fruity, not-too-dry wine that I sought. Priced under $15, Hinman’s Rogue Red turned out to be a bargain with all its rich, black fruit and velvety, plush texture, as well as the perfect match for differing palates.

For those of you who find captivating the wines of Oregon, I recommend another unusual Bordeaux-style red blend from producer A-Z called Night & Day, which is comprised of five or six grapes including cabernet sauvignon and nebbiolo. As it happens, both of these red wines, dry but also lush on the palate with plenty of ripe fruits, are perfect complements to the smoky, charred flavors of grilled meats and vegetables. This trip was turning into a wine adventure after all.

The next day, however, sweltering hot sun breaking through sporadic thunder bursts did not bring to mind the intricate flavors of a French Bourgogne or the thick waistline of a black shiraz. Somehow red wine would seem insipid and soupy on this oppressively hot day. Imaginings of dry rosés were floating through my hazy thoughts when my sister announced:

“I want to make a red wine spritzer—will you pick out something fruity?”

“Y-you want to put ice into wine?” I stammered.

“Uh-huh. And some Poland Spring Raspberry-Lime sparkling water also.”

Yikes! Standing in the aisle of a generic grocery store, I stood dumbfounded staring at the brand-oriented wine selection—Woodbridge, Turning Leaf, Yellowtail, Sutter Home, and the like. Shot through with the dreadful realization that for the sake of my sister’s happiness I must chose a wine for mixing—i.e. one whose natural flavors would be squelched in the punch bowl—I stiffly reached for the least expensive red zinfandel that I could find: Barefoot Cellars for $5.99.

A logical thought then dawned on me: This Puritan concoction could be modified into one of the most famous drinks of Spain. “Let’s make Sangria!” I cried, but alas my sister was already in the checkout line.

However brilliant the plan, dinner preparation for my sister could not be extended to cutting up fruit, adding splashes of brandy and dashes of simple syrup to a carafe of wine. She simply filled her glass two thirds full with the Barefoot red zinfandel, added a couple no-nonsense square ice cubes, and topped it off with the fizzy Poland Spring water. No sweetener, no sugar, no fresh berries, no floating orange slices, and yet she immensely enjoyed her wine cocktail. Awed at the possibility of drinking cold dry red wine, I began to reconsider the perimeters of mixed wine drinks.

Back in Buffalo, floundering in a heat wave, I found myself imagining chilled down alternatives to that daily room temperature glass of red wine. While the most common Sangria recipes are simple and often delicious, composed of inexpensive but drinkable red wine, lemon and orange slices, sugar, brandy, and club soda, the following three recipes are for those wine lovers who enjoy ratcheting up the flavor potential. In other words, these are recipes for those of us who always wonder after the guests have feasted—could I have made that tastier?

Sangria, of Spanish origin, has become the generic name here in the US for any number of wine punch recipes, utilizing an endless list of potential ingredients. Wine punch is best when made ahead of time so that the fruit may macerate. Mix all ingredients, with the exception of anything sparkling or carbonated, together in a large, wide-mouth pitcher with a long-handled spoon, and refrigerate overnight. Stir in the bubbly ingredient last, just prior to serving. Ladle frosty cold wine with fruit into glasses and serve either “straight up” or over ice.