A few weeks after my brother’s wedding this past July, I accompanied my husband to Baltimore for a professional conference. I’ve not spent enough time in the Baltimore area and, as such, I really wanted to crack, pick, and eat a Maryland crab for the first time. From a jumbo crab, this endeavor yields about a quarter cup of meat, but the time it takes is well worth it. By necessity, the meal slows down, and those gathered easily socialize.
My server dropped off a bucket, mallet, a ramekin of white vinegar, saltines, Tabasco, and wet wipes and assured me, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you get started.” I refined my technique for removing the small apron flap on the back of the crab, peeling the top shell away to expose the soft interior, scraping out the gills and intestines, twisting off the legs, and getting to the very tender, just sweet crabmeat. I ordered a nameless Pinot Grigio from the wine list, and the meal, which was already interactive, creative, and fun, wouldn’t have been quite the same without it. Notes of lemon and a pulse of acidity mediated the zip from the vinegar and the mild crabmeat. The wine was good, not outstanding, but what it contributed in terms of flavor, counterpoint, and cohesion exceeded what may have been absent or missing.
Before I say more about that last bit, let me tell you just a little about my brother’s wedding. While adult siblings ebb and flow in terms of closeness, my brother and I have a deep-rooted understanding of one another that’s inarticulable and impermeable. So, when he called in advance of his wedding to ask, “Can you help me pick out a good white and a good red wine?” I took the request seriously. I entered into an email exchange with Mike, owner of a Wine & Spirits shop in New Jersey, who kindly buys back unopened bottles.
Ultimately, we landed on Lornano’s Chianti Classico DOCG 2022 and Ruffino’s Orvieto Classico. The former was a great find, evoking fresh wild cherry notes, elegant tannic structure, and bright acidity, consistently scoring well at Wine Enthusiast and other venues. Orvieto is often overlooked and Ruffino’s example is reliably vibrant, comprised primarily of Trebbiano Toscano and Grechetto. Per the Wine & Spirit Education Trust’s (WSET) quality designates, I consider the two wines, respectively, “very good” and “good.” As counterparts to roasted chicken with sun dried tomatoes and herbs and seared salmon, they each contributed pleasing accent points—from the Orvieto, minerality and a cornucopia of stone fruit and citrus, while the Chianti imparted cherries, dried rosemary, and earth. Both are the product of regional agricultural traditions, and both heightened anticipation and appreciation for the unexpected, as pairings should. In that celebratory context, parsing the characteristics that distinguish a “good” wine from a “very good” wine from an “outstanding” one would have been counterintuitive.
When wine is assessed for quality, it’s impossible to not at some point focus on where complexity falters. But if we only encounter wines to pinpoint their place within a hierarchy, we risk diminishing everyday moments of sensory pleasure and discovery—at worst, we risk approaching wine cynically. ‘Good’ wines, on average, heighten or charge moments around the table by contributing sensory value, surprise, authenticity, and vitality. They amplify our appreciation for wine as a social ritual and envoy of culture. I suspect they are also the common denominator among steady wine drinkers right now—I’d wager that the majority of food and wine we encounter in daily life is very good or good. While sublime, outstanding wines establish much needed reference points, very good and good wines represent regions and producers quite well and elevate meals casual and formal. To me, they can shake off any implication of falling middle-of-the-road and be embraced for the substantive and real value they convey.
To that point, Craig Walker, the distribution manager for Sparkman Cellars in Woodinville, Washington, shared recently, “I work in the wine business, so friends from home [the southeast] assume I drink the best and most expensive bottles. People ask me for my recommendations, and approach wine with a level of insecurity I find strange. Of course, I’ll share recommendations, but ultimately, I just want people to drink wine, even if it’s inexpensive wine with a plate of nachos—as long as its delicious. I hope people will find those experiences and have fun with them.”
Read on…
Wine writers are on cloud nine this week as Substack has established a Wine & Spirits category—it’s exhilarating to see the self-directed, dedicated work that’s developed and shared on the platform afforded more visibility and support.
Two stories I loved recently are “National treasures: America's old vines and their dynamic and delicious wines,” by Ana Carolina Quintela for Decanter and Sarah Karnasiewicz’s August story for Imbibe, “Chic Pizzas and Crushable Wines Are a Diner’s Dream Date.” Randy Caporoso also offers an interesting meditation on how we define ‘good’ wines here.
Earlier this summer, and also for Decanter, I shared “Three Reasons to Start Drinking Albana, Romagna’s Signature White Grape” and “What’s Next for Washington State’s Wines?” For SevenFifty Daily, I explored ”Why More Wineries Are Betting on High-Volume Wines” and for Wine Enthusiast, “As Developers Close In, This Historic California AVA Is Standing Its Ground.” Here on Substack, don’t miss this roundup of American sparkling wine.
I’m looking forward to sharing new writing as fall approaches and to attending the Santa Fe Wine & Chile Fiesta to lead a special seminar on California Zinfandel with Santa Fe-based wine writer, colleague, and friend, Bill Smith.
I like the reminder that a wine doesn’t have to be extraordinary to do its job beautifully. Sometimes being good, in the right place, with the right food and people is more than enough.
Love that you picked the wines for your brother's wedding. What an incredible memory!