review

VALDEPEÑAS ANCIANO TEMPRANILLO GRAN RESERVA (2001)—Aged, just like my mum

Today my mum said, “Stop mooning around liquor cabinet and make yourself useful.”

I have no idea what that means, my fellow inebriates, do you?

Just look at me: I’m a little 7” bear with a severe alcohol addiction. What possible use is my mother thinking of? I’m not meant to be useful; I am strictly decorative.

She tends to get self-righteous when she’s just put in a solid half-hour’s worth of honest work herself. Then it’s time to eat five chocolate bars, turn the heat up so she doesn’t have to move around, and otherwise reward herself for that massive effort.

Younger, fluffier times

Granted she’s a little stressed out. Today’s the big 43, and neither of us is as fluffy as we once were. Aging is tough, and especially tough when you don’t feel you’ve accomplished enough for your years.

The best thing I can really do for my aging mother is make a yummy wine recommendation: VALDEPEÑAS ANCIANO TEMPRANILLO GRAN RESERVA (2001), barrel-aged for 10 years.

There are plenty of young tempranillos out there, and they can certainly be consumed young, but a tempranillo with ten years’ oak aging under its belt is a spectacular find for $15.99. Whereas it’s difficult to find inexpensive wines of this vintage from most wine-producing countries, Spain is proving itself a trove, with tempranillo enjoying a renaissance among growers with the mettle to coach the finicky black grapes through the growing season.

The grapes are challenging to grow because they require a cool climate to achieve good acidity, but they need heat to reach optimal sugar levels. Like my mother, they are difficult to please, and inclement weather pisses them off. Thus they are used more often as blending grapes than as single varietals.

My parents are basically philistines about wine; that’s why they gravitate to plummy, jammy fruit explosions that satisfy their immature tastes. It’s the reason I’m steering their venerable tastebuds toward the VALDEPEÑAS ANCIANO TEMPRANILLO—they are old enough to handle a more demanding taste experience.

Swirled in the glass, this purply, brick-red Spanish wine gives off a spicy, leathery essence, with vanilla chiming in lightly. Decanting is not a must, but it enhances the wine’s ability to morph its high notes into more subtle, rounded flavors.

If you’re a shiraz or cab fan this tempranillo will surprise your palate, perhaps not positively at first—its opening notes are sharper, pointier—but if you let it linger on your tongue, velvety stone fruits, currants, white pepper and licorice will emerge. This wine is dense with complexity, and if you can manage it, you should drink it undistracted.

So turn off the porn, get out the decanter, and give it a good swirl. And as I told my mum, “You can get away with drinking it slowly—43 isn’t so old that you’ll die before the bottle’s finished.”

And that was when she told me to go and make myself useful.

LAS MORAS TANNAT (2008)—Like

My Fellow Inebriates,

I spent all morning twitching with the urge to steal an idea from The Dissemination of Thought. Coupled with a Tannat-related headache and dehydration, this compulsion troubled me. I feel bad when I swipe things, and worse for not thinking of them first. But let’s face it—no one’s expecting nobility from an alcoholic animal. And really, it’s TDoT’s fault, isn’t it? If he hadn’t disseminated such a topical thought, I wouldn’t have felt like purloining it.

If you haven’t clicked the links yet, here’s the gist: There are types of Facebook users ranging from the Whinger to the Liker and everything in between—and those types are annoying.

I probably could have generated my own idea for the blog today had I not drunk so much LAS MORAS TANNAT (2008) last night. But I woke up with a rough headache this morning, which probably relates less to the wine than to the quantity consumed.

I’d never tried the Tannat varietal before—at least not knowingly, as it is typically a blending grape. Increasingly it’s being planted in Argentina, Australia and the US, though, so you’ll probably start seeing more Tannats on the booze-store shelves over the next few years. At 14% the Argentine LAS MORAS certainly caused bedspins and kept me from checking in with Facebook’s Wrestler Unstoppable, which meant my avatar “LB the Alcoholic Bear” got his ass kicked while I slept the wine off.

Our local booze-store consultant steered my dad toward this $14.99 product. She (and the bottle label) suggested decanting it an hour before drinking it, instructions my dad texted to my mum from the kids’ bedroom where he was patiently waiting for them to nod off, not knowing she would ignore her phone. So when he came downstairs the bottle was still sealed, and we commenced drinking it without letting it breathe. The wine did get a chance to open up over the next 90 minutes, but truthfully it didn’t change much in that timespan.

For full-bodied red wine fans, LAS MORAS won’t disappoint. Intensely dark with an admirable fruit/oak balance, it strikes a satisfying tannic chord with soft fruits up front and chocolate/bread in behind. If you love this note, you’ll be very happy, but if you prefer a wine that develops more dynamically in the glass and on the tongue, you’ll find yourself curiously underwhelmed by its lack of range.

Perhaps this explains why Tannat grapes are so often supporting players in cabs and malbecs rather than carrying the whole show. LAS MORAS lacks complexity; the sip doesn’t differ much from the swallow, yet it strums a fully satisfactory note. It would be a great wine for events where the focus is on socializing or a meal because it holds no surprises and it doesn’t assert itself in an intriguing way.

Much like most of the status updates on Facebook. My wrestler is just about the only reason I use Facebook. I update my status every few weeks or so, and of course I make a nuisance of myself with blog updates, but otherwise I barely pay attention to it.

When my parents first opened a Facebook account for me, they thought it was a pretty novel idea. Haha, look at that, a bear! Can you imagine? Bet nobody’s done that before!

We quickly learned that plenty of people had done it before. Within a day I had dozens of friend requests from stuffies of every animal species. I couldn’t keep up, and actually stopped accepting them. So much for being original.

Here’s my current FB friend breakdown (roughly):

  • 305 bears including pandas and koalas despite their differing chromosomal count
  • 166 other animals
  • 149 people
  • 24 friends/relatives of my parents
  • 45 deviants, including furries and inanimate objects (“Corporal James Shittington,” “Bill’s Toaster,” “Head of Bathroom Security,” etc.)

There’s considerable cross-pollination between categories—i.e. “Daemonic Bear” and “Archie Candypants” fall arbitrarily into the bear category, but they could just as easily be deviants.

You’d think the status updates would be pretty overwhelming, but it’s surprisingly quiet on my FB wall. That’s because most of the stuffie accounts are inactive; their humans opened the accounts many years ago for a giggle and never pursued it any further.

Which means most of the status updates I read are from Whingers, Likers, Lovers (thank you, DToS) and a few more additional ones that plague me in particular:

The Stuffie Lover. “Bunny wunny wuvz you, snuggwy wuggwy!” These animals have too much time on their paws. Like DToS’s Lovers, they favor the third-person. I wish they’d finally wear out the “W” key with their saccharine updates.

Posted to shock. Watch me shrug.

The Shock-Value Addict. “I’ve got a freshly scrubbed, clean-as-a-whistle anus.” Uh-huh.

Danglers. “Going for medical tests today…” Um, so do you want people to ask? Are you going to live?

Show-offs. “Four-course meal devoured and cleaned up, washing done, homework finished, kids in bed—ahhhh!” Congratulations. I guess I won’t call Child Services.

Threateners. “Time for a purge. If we haven’t talked lately, I’m unfriending you. Contact me if you want to stay.” OMG! How ignominious to be unfriended by you. Uh, who are you again?

Food Photographers. “Brining the turkey.” “Dogs on the barbie—mmmm!” I have no idea what some of these people look like, but for some reason I’ve seen their cookies.

Wingnuts who assume everyone shares their agenda. “Bleetched the sheat and dug out my pointty hat, y’all—who’s comming with?” Oh dear, when did I accept that friend request? I must have been on a red wine bender. Guess it’s time for a purge.

If you haven’t already checked out The Dissemination of Thought, what are you waiting for? Open a bottle of LAS MORAS TANNAT and sip contentedly. This wine won’t try to get your attention—it won’t distract you from this interesting and original blog.

CAOL ILA 12—Take me, I’m yours

You know I’ll drink anything, especially in a liquor crisis like the one we’re suffering right now at LBHQ. After waving a sad goodbye to the lovely New Year’s empties, my eye turns to our nasty little cupboard with its languishing Malibu and mescale. But it doesn’t take long for those neglected bottles to start giving me come-hither looks.

We all sometimes slum it when it comes to alcohol. Maybe we’re at a wedding where the freshly married have adorned each table with twin white/red bottles of the 28-day UVIN abomination they cooked up together. Maybe we’re basking at a beer garden listening to a band, too happy to scrutinize the beer. Or being polite at a dinner party. Or on a budget. Or an alcoholic—like your furry host here.

Increasingly the budget matters when it comes to booze. Market analysts say appetites for high-end hooch have shifted from North America to Asian markets where disposable household income has increased, whereas fewer North Americans can afford premium liquor these days.

That’s what makes my recent exposure to CAOL ILA 12 so poignant, my fellow inebriates. The knowledge that we can buy top-notch whiskey only on very special occasions (“not just so you can get wasted, LB”) makes me want to lash my parents into productivity and financial ease so we can purchase our own bottle of this golden stuff.

You see, we sampled CAOL ILA 12 at the generous behest of my newest best friend Christine, who brought it in a canvas bag with two other single malts this past weekend. Understandably, she took the bag home afterwards, although if I’d had a moment alone with her I would have negotiated a means of joining her.

I’ve described the first of our three samples, TALISKER 18, already. It was a tough act for CAOL ILA 12 to follow, and perhaps this ordering was unfair. (Perhaps we should have swished with Cutty Sark in between.) But CAOL ILA 12 held its own, offering distinctive characteristics that argued for its rightful inclusion in a tasting against TALISKER 18.

CAOL ILA is the largest of eight distilleries on Islay, traditionally a peat-cutting and fishing area on Scotland’s west coast. While it markets four single malt editions, much of its vast production goes into JOHNNIE WALKER blended whiskey. This might be why JOHNNIE WALKER is so damn good.

But CAOL ILA 12 is better. One whiff tells you this is no simple scotch—aromas of peat and honey, earth and vanilla float from the pale golden liquid. Redolent of campfires and misty nights, it has a medicinal hint, a whiff of iodine, brine, and complex herbs.

The sip is smoky, the peatiness walking a careful tightrope between too much and too little, sweet treacle and spice contributing delicate background notes, with unplaceable floral notes behind. Smooth and dry, it fills the mouth, its shy medicinal quality expanding in a serious, smoky finish. Sipping CAOL ILA 12 is a gift to the tastebuds—layer upon layer of artful scents and flavors, pressing you against the wall and ravishing you like there’s no tomorrow.*

This is the power of an exquisite single malt whiskey. Cutty Sark may get you drunk and Bell’s may get you laid, but a whiskey like CAOL ILA 12 will dominate you, and in a good way.

Unfortunately luxuries cost money, but you don’t have to slum it. Just remember that when you drink JOHNNIE WALKER, you’re getting some of that elysian CAOL ILA with it (albeit with a bunch of other malts). Think of it as a promiscuous Islay whiskey, and it’s all good.

 *What do you mean I don’t know what I’m talking about?