It’s only a matter of time now before these warm summer nights cool down and the leaves begin to turn, revealing their colorful autumn glory. Harvest is underway from the vineyards of Baja’s Guadalupe Valley all the way to the Columbia Gorge. Optimism hangs heavy in the air like an overripe plum.
I will soon be forsaking my cache of crisp white wines and light reds for more robust flavors to pair with roasted root vegetables and hearty stews, and maybe even a few grilled ‘brats’ on a chilly football weekend.
The seasons change and so do the wines, at least at my abode. As the days grow shorter, the evenings more bracing, I get over my aversion to Chardonnay. Suddenly the weight and structure of a heftier white is a welcome addition to the daily lineup of wines.
As chanterelles and white truffles begin to make their way onto every restaurant menu in town, I conveniently recall my fondness for the earthy, forest floor aromas of an aged Pinot Noir. And I’m old enough to remember when red Burgundy was my only recourse.
I am thankful now for the Willamette Valley, the Russian River and Carneros, Santa Barbara, New Zealand and even some pockets of South Australia. I can drink Pinot without the (financial) pain!
This is the season, too, for game birds and sinewy dark meats such as venison and elk. We are now in a Beaujolais free zone. The red wines must have bold flavors and strong tannins. Wimpy wines won’t do. Even those high-octane California Zinfandels have a place; for me, it’s at a tailgate party, alongside the grilled sausages with spicy mustard.
This also is the season for Rhone blends (imagine a spicy Gigondas with roasted quail), Syrah, Petite Sirah and Cabernet Sauvignon. I’m chomping at the bit to raid the cellar for some of those Napa reds I’ve been saving from the mid-1990s, particularly the ’94s and ’95s.
I stand at the meat counter at Whole Foods and I’m looking at an incredible specimen of rib roast, but in my mind’s eye I’m picturing the cork coming out of a 1995 Grgich-Hills Cabernet.
Indeed, summer is on the wane. Autumn is on the way. And I, for one, am licking my chops!
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