Red Wine with Fish Revisited

The concept, red wine with fish, is now as firmly entrenched in culinary phraseology as red wine with meat and white wine with fish. Exactly how does this work, and why?

Almost twenty years ago David Rosengarten and Joshua Wesson wrote a book about it (Red Wine with Fish – out of print today), explicating a basic methodology that also applies to all wine and food matching. The thinking going that all wines and foods find their matches in two ways:

Similarities - When there are similar taste sensations in both a dish and a wine (example: the buttery sauce in a fish dish enhanced by the creamy or buttery texture of an oak barrel fermented white wine)

Contrasts - When sensations in a wine contrast with sensations in a dish to positive effect (example: the sweetness of a white wine balancing the saltiness of a dish like ham or cured sausage, and vice-versa)

The how’s, in the simplest way I can put it:

• Since more than anything, it is the bitter or hard tannin components found mostly in red wine that are obstacles to matching fish or shellfish (i.e. excessive contrast, like ketchup on ice cream), you turn to red wines with soft or almost no tannin to speak of.

• Since almost all fish and shellfish like wines with some degree of acidity (i.e. complimenting contrast, like lemon squeezed on a filet, or walnuts on a sundae), you utilize red wines with at least a modicum of tartness.

• Since red wines are indeed best with meatier dishes, you apply this principle to meatier, as opposed to delicate, types of fish (going for heightened similarity, like syrup on ice cream)

• Since many dishes we eat are sums of their parts (example: a banana-cherry-walnuts-hot fudge-whipped cream sundae as opposed to a plain scoop of vanilla), we increase the chances of successful red wine matching by cooking our seafood with ingredients or techniques that are more likely to match red wines in terms of similarity and contrast.

• Since red wines, by nature (i.e. fermented with skins, as opposed to whites which are not), are more complex than white wines, we go one step further in our food preparation by consciously utilizing ingredients with some degree of umami -- “delicious,” high amino acid related sensations, which soft, complex styles of red wine such as Pinot Noir love (re my previous, Deconstructing Umami).

In the restaurant business the option of serving red wine with fish has been just what the doctor ordered because of the current consumer preference for red over white wines. In a multi-course dinner, for example, we can start with a sparkling or white wine with a seafood appetizer course, and then dive directly into a succession of red wines matched with either seafood or red meats.

Then there is this simple fact, explaining why: many seafood courses simply taste better with a red rather than white wine. Especially red wines the way they are made today – with more emphasis on smoothness of texture and balance of sensations. Add that to the way we and many of our favorite chefs cook seafood today – with lots of red wine matching components – there is all the more reason to drink red with fish.

Oh, many of us will always have a predilection for thick, heavy tannin, super powered reds like Cabernet Sauvignon, just like for all the popularity of seafood we will always love a good, charred, juicy chunk of steak. But if you prefer seafood and at the same time red wines, with sensible guidelines dialed into your own tastes there is no reason why you cannot enjoy a “perfect” match in every meal.

One final suggestion before I dive into specifics: if you do indeed enjoy red wines that emphasize softer tannins, more subtle balance and intricate perfumes rather than powerful singularities, you might want to invest in large round, bowl shaped “Burgundy” glasses (at least 15, going up to 22 ounces). These glasses (as opposed to more elongated, tulip shaped “Bordeaux” glasses) not only provide more inside surface area for fragrances to emanate from, but they also have a tendency to drop the taste of wine closer to the tip of the tongue where your taste buds sensitive to sweetness are concentrated. When you taste from tulip shaped wine glasses, on the other hand, wine falls on the middle of the tongue, closer to where taste buds sensitive to bitterness (hence, the tannins of red wine) are located.

In other words, if you want to feel the power and density of fuller tannin red wines -- those that match red meats better than seafoods – then you use “Bordeaux” shaped tulips. But if you want to enjoy the softness, delicacy of fruit, balance and harmony of reds more apt to match seafoods, then ideally you should be drinking from larger, rounder, “Burgundy” shaped glasses. These are not hard and fast “rules,” mind you; but it is more likely to get you where you want to be if you prefer red wine with fish.

Some specific red wine friendly foods:

Hawaiian Tuna

Seared rare or prepared raw (i.e. variations of sashimi, tartare or poke), the higher grades of Pacific ‘ahi tuna are the seafood lovers’ steak. Because of its red fleshed, high fat meatiness, tuna is one of those fishes that 99% of the time are better matched with red wines than with whites. Negligibly tannic, fruity red wines, like France’s Beaujolais vinified from the Gamay Noir au Jus Blanc grape (Joshua Wesson often describes this grape as a “cross dresser” – a red that thinks it’s a white), are natural tuna matches. But when you crust it with bitter peppercorns, char it with grill lines, or dress it up in sauces beefed up with earthy soy, umami rich veal stocks or meaty demiglace, all of the sudden red wines with stronger tannin underpinnings find balancing notes of similarity.

The all-star choice for tuna, in this day and age of Sideways, is of course Pinot Noir. “Pinot Noir with everything” is a mantra in many restaurants today, and for good reason: it is the one grape variety producing reds overlapping into virtually all food types – seafoods, leaner cuts of red meats, playfully cooked “other white” meats looking for moderate tannin, and even salads and appetizers better matched with wines with perceptible underpinnings of acidity.

Smoky Salmon

Although pinker, less meaty, and slightly stronger in fish oils than tuna, salmon still falls into a category of fish that are usually better matched with red than white wines. I’d put this percentage of this working at 80%; but when you apply preparations resulting in more aggressive sensations – like smoking, wood roasting or grilling, or crusting with pungent herbs and/or peppercorns – you strike notes of similarity pushing the percentage of successful red wine matching closer to 99%. Particularly Pinot Noir, a wine best finished in French oak, adding the woodsmoky qualities that amplify the grape’s intrinsic spice qualities.

Although pinker, less meaty, and slightly stronger in fish oils than tuna, salmon still falls into a category of fish that are usually better matched with red than white wines. I’d put this percentage of this working at 80%; but when you apply preparations resulting in more aggressive sensations – like smoking, wood roasting or grilling, or crusting with pungent herbs and/or peppercorns – you strike notes of similarity pushing the percentage of successful red wine matching closer to 99%. Particularly Pinot Noir, a wine best finished in French oak, adding the woodsmoky qualities that amplify the grape’s intrinsic spice qualities.

Although pinker, less meaty, and slightly stronger in fish oils than tuna, salmon still falls into a category of fish that are usually better matched with red than white wines. I’d put this percentage of this working at 80%; but when you apply preparations resulting in more aggressive sensations – like smoking, wood roasting or grilling, or crusting with pungent herbs and/or peppercorns – you strike notes of similarity pushing the percentage of successful red wine matching closer to 99%. Particularly Pinot Noir, a wine best finished in French oak, adding the woodsmoky qualities that amplify the grape’s intrinsic spice qualities.

In the Pacific-Northwest, for instance, Pinot Noir has long been a cultural gastronomic match as natural as Chianti in Tuscany. Native American inspired, open fire, alder or cedar plank cooked salmon is an easy one; but also other regional inflections such as pan seared salmon finished with wild berry infused demiglace (bringing out the berry perfumed qualities of Oregon grown Pinot Noir), or salmon glazed with sweetened soy marinades or ponzus reflecting the strong Asian-Pacific influences (both sweet and umami sensations mingling with the grape’s perfumed, earth and spice qualities).

But it’s not just Pinot Noir that works for salmon. In the past, the Wine Spectator’s Harvey Steiman has made credible cases for fruit forward, zesty edged red Zinfandels as natural salmon matches. When the salmon is roasted with, say, herbs like basil, dill or chives, or even finished with sun dried tomato or cheese, the even zestier, woodsy, finely textured red wines vinified from the Sangiovese grape (i.e. Chianti Classico, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano or Rosso di Montalcino) might make more sense. Try salmon simply charcoal grilled with pungent vegetables (squash, fennel, scallions, etc.), and see if even a lower acid, yet soft and smoky nuanced red like Tempranillo (from Spain’s Rioja or Ribera del Duero) doesn’t make a seamless match. Indubitably.

Oysters Any Way

At the Grand Central Oyster Bar, conveniently esconced in New York’s Grand Central Station, they’ll tell you that a soft, zippy Pinot Noir is just as good a match for raw oysters as a sharply dry Sauvignon Blanc. This might not work for you, but if it does it’s because of umami factors – the savory, high amino acid components of oysters combined with propensity of softer tannin, spice and earth nuanced reds like Pinot Noir to embrace that sensation. But if you’re skeptical, here’s the trick: grill the suckers (over wood or charcoal on a grill topper or just aluminum foil punched with holes), and you’ll find the smoky sensations in both wine and bivalve working in even more delicious synchronicity. But whether you’re consuming oysters by themselves, baked in any number of ways (from high umami bacon to sweet sensation black beans), or adding them to stews or other mediums (like Southern style oyster stuffed steaks), the point is that oysters are a red wine natural – don’t think twice, it’s all right.

Mussels

Like oysters, strongly earthy mussels – even when stewed as it usually is in seafood stock and white wine – are one of those dishes that open up to either crisp dry whites (offering contrasting notes of acidity) or softly textured reds (offering similarities of earth tones). An interesting thing to try is juxtaposing the two wine types, the white served chilled and the red served slightly chilled (60, 90 minutes in the fridge), and you’ll see how Wesson and Rosengarten’s theorem works in two different ways.

Charred Scallops

One of the longtime signatures of San Francisco’s Traci Des Jardins is scallops pieced with truffled mash potatoes. She’s also not opposed to browning in butter with smoked bacon and Brussel sprouts, or any ways that arouse the senses with clarity of smell. As far as I’m concerned, whenever scallops are flash charred and scented with earth tones they become dishes for Pinot Noir – especially those from Burgundy in France, where the Pinot perfume always seem more sharply defined, the tannins more supple, and the terroir notes more pervasive. When scallops are combined with winey balsamic syrups, cured meats like prosciutto, or pungent vegetables like spinach or mushrooms, they are more likely to respond to finely textured reds like Pinot Noir.

Mixed Seafoods

Two of the most famous ways of mixing fish and shellfish together in one dish are in the form of bouillabaisse and cioppino – the former fused together by one of the most elemental of spices, saffron, and the latter a San Francisco treat laced with tomato and wine. Then there are the endless variations of paella – rice dishes also based on saffron and cooking in earthy seafood stocks. Whenever you combine seafoods in these classic ways you are essentially piling on a plethora of high umami components –the one taste sensation that sings most sweetly with soft, multifaceted forms of red wine. Both saffron and tomatoes only intensify the need.

None of this is a matter, as Cole Porter put it, of “anything goes,” but rather a matter of what makes sense. If you prefer red wine and you love seafood, then you choose the wines and cook in a way that make it happen. But give Porter his due, because he certainly understood individuality of taste long before most others…

The world has gone mad today
And good’s bad today
And black’s white today
And day’s night today
When most guys today
That women prize today
Are just silly gigolos…
Anything goes

Where Dudes Abide (Wines for Turkeys)

I’ve been asked to ruminate on wines and turkey. From the perspective of undoubtedly many a wine professional – spending Thanksgivings at tables with as many as a dozen different bottles of wine at a time (the most ever for me: some five dozen with Greg and Gary Butch’s families at their restaurant, Elizabeth on 37^th in Savannah) – I think I can do this.

But first, about our quarry:

• In kindergarten we learn that turkey is a native American bird that Pilgrims hunted with oft-times depicted (and oft-times erratic), flaired blunderbusses (precursors to the shotgun – imagine the damage Dick Cheney could do with that). As new parents joyfully discover to this day, turkeys are also kids’ favorite things to draw (just trace spread fingers, add feet, and color to your heart’s content).

• A large percentage of 16^th century Europeans, when first presented with the North American turkey, thought it of eastern origin (or else, they thought America was part of Asia). Thus the French called it coq d’Inde (the “cock of India”); which, maddeningly enough, they do to this day. Good reason, I suppose, to boycott French wine every Thanksgiving (not...).

• Even before the first Jamestown Thanksgiving (circa 1620), the turkey was a favorite of European nobility. In 1549, for instance, Catherine de’ Medici served 66 of them in one feast. Considering her historical influence on French cuisine, it’s a wonder that a later monarch didn’t say les laisser manger coq d’Inde.

So considering the longstanding Italian and French connection, I suppose that wine lovers have been pondering the question for some time: what wine with turkey? A few years ago some of my hipper friends were tooling around with deep fried Cajun recipes (d’Inde frite, as Paul Prudhomme maddeningly calls it); something to do with 12 gallon pots (or industrial drums) filled with sizzling lard or something even more polyunsaturated. For safety reasons I think you should consult The Prudhomme Family Cookbook before proceeding further.

But what wine with a ten pound fryer? Well, if you’re a Prudhomme you might say that it doesn’t matter as long as it’s served in a wide mouthed mason jar (when K-Paul’s in New Orleans first opened house wines were served like that). But if you happen to live in the swampy Southeast, or a place perpetually sunny like Texas, Southern California or Hawai'i, I suggest correctly stemmed wine glasses filled with something white, cool and refreshingly fruity like a German (or better yet, American) Riesling. Crispy fried skins practically scream for crispy white wines; and besides, cooking out in the open air (deep frying turkey under cover is an invitation to local fire departments) can sometimes work you up a sweat, so no-fuss, light and easy Rieslings make all the sense in the world.

Riesling with deep fried turkey may be a gau-ron-tee (as my favorite Cajun cook, Justin Wilson, might have put it), but what wine with the classic roasted turkey stuffed with bread, sage and other herbs? The traditional turkey, in other words. After all these years (and I hate to break this to my hipper friends), I have to say that the best match for saged bread stuffed turkey is the traditional, super-oaked, big, bouncy California Chardonnay. So you “hate” Chardonnay? Get over it. It doesn’t have to be uncool. Bruce Neyers, for instance, makes creamy oaked Chardonnays that are just as cool as any white wine (Neyers’ winemaker is Ehren Jordan, for Pete’s sake – a hipper-than-thou winemaker if there ever was one).

I’m also partial to Chardonnays by Tandem (owned by Greg La Follette, original winemaker and architect of Flowers), DuNah (also crafted by La Follette), Au Bon Climat (by the incroyable Jim Clendenen), Chasseur, Ramey, Roessler, Keller, Patz & Hall, Mer Soleil, and Babcock. Dudes, these Chards abide. All barrel fermented with generous oak, it’s the richly textured (and yes, smoky-charred) qualities derived from this process that embellish the taste of herbs and roasted flavors in the skin and natural gravy of traditional turkeys. And if the turkey is roasted in a charcoal grill or hibachi, even more so a match for good ol' smoke-of-oak Chardonnay.

Have you heard of Marcelle Bienvenu’s paen to South Louisiana cooking, Who’s Your Mama, Are You Catholic, and Can You Make a Roux? Check out her oyster-rice dressing, complete with chicken livers and gizzards. Stuff your turkey in similar fashion, sprinkle some chili flakes over the skin. Start at 425 F. at midnight, take it down to 300 F. and let it crisp up all night long; rest it in the morning, and dish it out at noon. The perfect vinous foil? Here, I go for something a little lighter, but no less flavorful, than a Chardonnay: Pinot Gris, baa-by (in the fall we all start to talk like Dick Vitale). I’m talking about lush, creamy textured styles of Pinot Gris with just enough acidity to titillate the taste of an oyster stuffing: those of California’s Babcock, Handley and J Wines immediately come to mind; and from Oregon, WillaKenzie, Soleña, Cristom and King Estate. What the hey, you can do almost as good with Pinot Grigio from Italy (if it’s by Zenato, Tiefenbrunner, Kris, Lageder or Felluga); or from Alsace, France (if you’ve also forgiven the French, the Pinot Gris bottlings of Ostertag, Deiss, Weinbach or Zind-Humbrecht).

Then there is any one of the even more richly stuffed styles of turkeys: like cornbread with chile peppers (or ham hocks or collards), wild rice with wild mushrooms (or truffles, for the congenitally spendthrift), or with assertive breads like sourdough and brioche (mixed with lardons, celery, combinations of chervil, sorrel, tarragon, etc.). This is where red wines become the higher percentage match, although I say this with the eternal caveat: turkey can be a dry bird, and so red wine choices probably need to be lighter in (potentially) palate drying tannin. This means that you’re better off with soft tannin reds like Beaujolais from France or anything made from Pinot Noir, rather than anything palate-jarring like Cabernet Sauvignon or even Merlot.

California Zinfandel and Syrah (or Shiraz from Australia) can be robust with tannin, but I say they have the advantage over Cabernets and Merlots with richly stuffed turkeys because of their sweet toned, often jammy fruitiness (particularly good when you mix in the inevitable cranberry relish).

But Pinot Noir remains the easiest yet most elegant match. Which Pinots am I enjoying these days? From California: La Follette’s Tandems (he produces a stable of exotically spiced, cool climate, Sonoma Coast Pinots) are tops on my list, followed by Kathy Joseph’s irresistible Fiddleheads (she makes great ones sourced from both Oregon and Santa Barbara), Au Bon Climat (ABC's "Isabelle Morgan" my all-time favorite), Belle Glos, Melville, W.H. Smith, Keegan, Failla (Ehren Jordan’s), Patz & Hall, Flowers, Etude, Babcock, Pessagno, Papapietro-Perry and Merry Edwards. From Oregon, I’ve always liked Rex Hill for value and accessibility, Ken Wright, Soter or Penner-Ash for sheer purity of Pinot-ness, and Cristom, Hamacher, Gypsy Dancer, Beaux Frères and Chehalem for pure power (in the refined, wild berryish Oregon vein, of course).

Wine shoppers, start your engines – and enjoy the holidays!

What Wines with Tennessee Cheese?

Gayle and Jim Tanner of Waynesboro, Tennessee’s Bonnie Blue Farm got into their handcrafted goat’s milk cheese business in typical (for contemporary Americans) artisan fashion: round and about. Jim was born in Kentucky and plied multiple trades in Northern California (from stock broker and motorcycle mechanic to sailor and Asian history professor), and Gayle is a native Californian whose earliest goat’s life began on her 21^st birthday when her mother gifted her with a Native On Appearance Nubian doe.

Attention connoisseurs of foods and wines with sense of place or terroir: Bonnie Blue is technically a farmstead, all their cheese produced from the milk of their own Nubian and Saanen dairy goats. The goats wander freely most of the day, and the Tanners’ life is arduous and monastic. Yes, each goat is easily recognized by face and addressed by name, and Jim and Gayle sometimes finish each other’s sentences. But they are also strong individuals with a rare sense of center and purpose. How so? When I taste their cheese I also taste selflessness and meditation. The same mindfulness – culinary dharma, if you will – that I’ve felt when tasting Hanno Zilliken’s phenomenally explosive late picked Rieslings on his porch peering precipitously down over the Saar River, or the first time I walked through meticulously hand trained rows of Pinot Noir with Ken Wright in Oregon.

Beyond their variations of chèvre, the Tanners produce a variety of cheese types which made our recent wine/cheese tasting trials a fascinating study of sensory interaction. Some observations on wine matches with Bonnie Blue Farm cheeses:

Fresh Chèvre – Consummate goat cheese; creamy, meadowy, refreshingly tart around the edges. The classic match is French (as opposed to any other) grown Sauvignon Blanc, as much for its pervasive acidity and minerality as its absence of distracting fruitiness or excessive herbaceousness. Pouilly Fumé (I prefer Regis Minet’s) and Sancerre (like Hippolyte Reverdy) are the natural choices; or if you’re warming up to a holiday mood, any number of light, steely sparklers (Prosecco on a budget, French champagne for celebration) will give you the requisite tartness to meld with a pure Bonnie Blue chèvre.

Rosemary/Garlic Chèvre – This is still chèvre, so a wine match still needs balancing acidity. Pinot Noir (we presented a Tandem “Sangiacomo Vineyard” Sonoma Coast Pinot in a public tasting, although cold climate New Zealand Pinot Noir makes an otherworldly match) is a natural for its propensity to retain zesty palate notes beneath spice and earth perfumes that embrace dried garlic (think bourguinonne) and rosemary with ease.

“Southwest” Chèvre – This fun variation incorporates smoked chipotle and other mildly hot and earthy spices. Pinot Noir is still a good choice, although you may find the chilies are overwhelming in the aroma and flavor for this grape. Therefore I lean more towards either peppery Petite Sirah (Bogle for value, Earthquake for teeth rattling intensity) or sweet spice and toasty French oak driven Syrah, striking pleasing notes of similarity with the smoky chipotle. Stylistically simpatico Syrahs: Lodi’s Delicato or Spain’s Carchelo for value; Glen Fiona or K Vintners from Washington State, California’s Red Car or Copain, or any Crozes-Hermitage, Saint-Joseph or Côte-Rôtie from France for stupendousness (is that a word... well, who cares?).

“Italian Herb” Chèvre – Hand rolled with dried oregano, basil, thyme, marjoram, and rosemary, this cheese does beg for the woodsy, dried berry and leathery nuances of classic Sangiovese, which also retains a zesty acidic edge matching the acidity of chèvre. Examples: Chianti Classico by Castello di Fonterutoli or Castello di Ama, although the soft, snappy Villa Antinori works just fine.

Goat Milk Gouda – Who doesn’t love the nutty, mushroomy, soft and lush taste of gouda? Chardonnay based whites are gouda naturals, but Bonnie Blue’s goat milk version almost requires a white with the same round, filling, fruit driven taste of typical Chardonnay, but with a more tightly wound, acidic edge. For that, you almost have to source from Burgundy in France – particularly a good Chablis (I like Olivier Savary and Lavantureaux for value), a Saint-Aubin (look for Marc Colin), or even a good ol’ fashioned Pouilly-Fuissé (any of the Louis’s).

Goat Milk Feta – The sensory factors here are the brining of feta plus the natural tartness of goat milk. Both salty and sour sensations respond best to sweetness, and so I can’t imagine a better match than an off-dry (don’t need a lot of sweetness), tart edged German Riesling such as Gunderloch’s “Jean Baptiste” or Zilliken’s Saarburger Rausch Halbtrocken (“Half Dry”). The way this particular feta sings with these Rieslings, you’d almost think that this was a primordial match; but with suspension of disbelief, I guess it is.

Smoked Goat Milk Feta – Here’s where salty/tart feta gets interesting: hickory smoking. Yes, you can stick with Riesling (especially flinty, slatey Mittel-Mosels like Mönchhof’s Ürziger Würzgarten), but I like to go one further by turning to a good, crisp, honeyed demi-sec (“half dry”) Vouvray from France (Champalou’s “Cuvée de Fondraux” a good start). This match’s resulting effect is almost disconcertingly (yet pleasurably) like “honey smoked ham.” If you feel a need to dial down the sweetness, a good Savennieres (try Château d’Epiré’s) socks this cheese with nearly equal amounts of honeyed flavor and tartness, but in a bone dry format.

Goat Milk Cheddar – Where does Bonnie Blue’s inventiveness end? Made from goat (rather than the traditional cow's) milk, this version of cheddar is balanced by an intrinsic sharpness calling for a red wine with some intrinsic zest. All cheddars, by virtue of their flavor deepened by the aging process ("cheddaring"), make you think of Bordeaux style, Cabernet based reds, but Bonnie Blue’s makes you think “Bordeaux with attitude.” If there ever was a call for Malbec – less outwardly tannic, thus slightly more defined by acidity and extract than the Cabernet and Merlot grapes – this is it. Argentine Malbecs (like BenMarco and Laurel Glen’s “Terra Rosa”) are easy choices, but for something adventurous find a Cahors from France (Clos la Coutale as reliable as they get).

And maybe you'll find religion, too!

Memphis Blues Again (Soul & Barbecue Wine Matches)

Oh, mama, can this really be the end? Thank you, Mr. Dylan, for your prophetic line.

I absolutely adore Memphis, Shelby County, Tennessee. Historic epicenter of the blues, place of birth and final rest of Elvis. I can feel these gods in the air when I simply walk outside my Downtown apartment onto Main St., steps away from Beale and the mighty Mississippi. And it is with great regret that I have to say that I will be departing soon.

Today, in fact, I’m heading out of town for one more swing (well, I hope not my last) into the outskirts of Memphis. Planning lunch at one of Tennessee’s country stores – mom ‘n pops where you can pick up home cured slabs of ham as lush as any prosciutto, jars of pickled pig’s feet or barbecue. Did I mention barbecue? I don’t have to leave Memphis for the greatest (for many) pulled pork, rib tips and slabs in the world, but it’s everywhere here on the west side of the state (extending a few minutes away into Mississippi, as it were) as well. Memphis is known for dry rub – piquant mixes of red spices, charred and caramelized on roasted pork – but the city’s barbecue sauces take the back seat to no others.

Then there’s soul food. I always wondered exactly what it was, but living in Downtown Memphis brought it home for me. One of the first places I visited when I landed here last April was the Cotton Museum, standing in the old Memphis Cotton Exchange on Front St. (i.e. fronting the big River), one block from my doorstep. There they bring you the centuries old story of the South – King Cotton, slaves from Africa, the resulting cultural mix, the momentous musical evolution, and then, of course, the diets. Essentially, the masters ate the loin and chops, and the slaves got the tails, the feet, the skin and the chitterlings (intestines) of the pig. Like much in history, necessity turns into preference; or if you will, misery into music and foods that inspire and feed our souls today.

Soul food, of course, is also fried or smothered chicken, cat and buffalo fish, meatloaf (gourmet quality here), yams, collard greens, boiled cabbage, okra, peach cobbler, chess and sweet potato pies. Then there’s one of my favorite Memphis idiosyncracies: barbecue spaghetti. Reminds me, in a different way, of the chili spaghetti of my youth (and most of my adulthood, for that matter) in Hawaii. Barbecue spaghetti is as roll-in-the-mouth sticky, spicy, sweet and succulent as it sounds. Hot dang! (They don't say that here - just me).

So that’s what I’ll miss about Memphis. And always, of course for me, there must be a beverage. Over the past six months a favorite thing for me to do was walk into a joint (new one or favorite), order up two or three plates to go, take it back to my apartment and sit down with glasses of wine (always a new one, and two or three opened ones in the fridge). I’m a big believer in leftovers, of course; so I could go for days in Southern bliss. Some favorite matches:

Interstate Barbecue’s Rib Tips – Always had a oral fixation (as a baby, a famed drooler); hence my rib preferences for the soft, chewy, crazily edible cartilage at the ends. Jim Neely and his family smothers his smoky tips in vinegary picquant red sauce. Favorite wine choice: red, picquant Zinfandel, especially from Lodi (Earthquake and Jesse’s Grove two house favorites). Why? Lush, almost sweet fruit combined with blackpepper/clove spice and thick, meaty body of these particular reds make consumption all the juicier.

Melanie’s Soul Foods’s Oxtails – I was often off on Tuesdays, which is oxtail day at Melanie’s. Would always need to get there by 11:00 a.m., though, because after that it’s a goner (lines at Melanie’s are longer and more continuous than the Krispy Kremes’ in their heyday). No problem for me: a good Rioja (best value is Bodegas Bretón “Loriñon” Crianza) always provides just the right amount of breathy earthiness, soft leather glovey texture, and pinch of acidity to match the fatty, meaty taste of oxtails, stewed in their natural juices. Beaujolais (preferably a plump grand cru de Beaujolais like Morgon) would be my second choice.

Cozy Corner’s Barbecue Chicken and Cornish Game Hen – Cozy Corner’s barbecue meats (best with Cozy Corner’s spicy barbecue spaghetti and coles slaw – even the cole slaw is spicy here) are inundated with nostril tingling smokiness, the sauces as thick and palate expressive (spices touching all the taste buds – sweet, spicy, sour, salty, bitter and umami) as anyone’s. The fruitiness of softer style Zinfandels (like Earth, Zin & Fire) makes an the effortless match, but the more blatantly sweet oaked, smoky, sun ripened fruit forward qualities typical of Australian Shiraz might be even better. I’m always partial to those of Marquis-Philips, but part of winemaker Sparky Marquis’s new portfolio is an incredible value, the Mollydooker South Australia Shiraz.

Central Barbecue’s Dry Rub Rib Slabs– Each specialty house in Memphis has its own “secret” rubs (variations of paprika, onion powder and cayenne, and taking it from there), and it’s in the roasting mediums that you get further distinctions. Central’s comes out earthy and caramelized – lessons in sensory overload (you can order “wet” slabs at Central Barbecue, too, but sauces sometimes blur the dry spice sensations). The best wine matches are thick and meaty, with enough tannin and chewy wood to absorb the fat and stinging red pepper spice. Sounds like a job for Petite Sirah, and it is. For starters: those of Earthquake, Rosenblum and Two Angels deliver the uncontained tannin and sweetness of fruit (like peppery blueberries) you expect in this grape. Pure Syrahs, of course, also have enough peppery spice to dial in the red and black peppery spices of Memphis dry rub. But there are never enough excuses to drink Petite Sirah, so there.

Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken – Give Gus his due. This chicken hits you like a sledgehammer – crackling hot, unrepentantly spicy on the outside, drippy and luscious on the inside (I’m a thigh man, so that’s the way it comes out). Nothing pre-made here – whether you’re at a table or waiting for take-out, the wait is a good 15 to 30 minutes for your food. When I’m out the door with my order I’m running as if I were carrying a time bomb. And when I finally make it to my door, it’s still ready to explode (ka-boom!). What spells relief? Whites with slight sweetness and samurai sword acidity, which means Riesling – especially the German off-drys, like Zilliken’s scintillatingly tart Saarburger Rausch Kabinett, and Gunderloch’s racy, stony “Jean Baptiste.” If you opt for either the steely sharp styles of Riesling from the Saar or the emphatic, dried honey veneered styles of the Rheinhessen, you can’t go wrong. These Rieslings, by the way, also do the trick with the country style hams of Tennessee (caveat: the style entails salt consumption you might not think still possible or sane in this day and age; no matter, because German Rieslings smooth it all out).

Williams St. Grocery’s Chitterlings and Pig’s Tails – These are vinegary, textured experiences - slimy yet satisfying - best mopped up with the store’s buttered “hot water cornbread” (shaped like a swollen pancake), as much at home with Rieslings (like the aforementioned) or light, dry, but unmercifully sharp whites (like Austria’s Grüner Veltliner, Spain’s Albariño, and Southern France’s Picpoul). Don’t go half-way with your choice of high acid in the wine, for if there ever was a time for lime/lemony wine, this is it.

Well, I’m off to the country…

Umami (At Long Last) Deconstructed

When I think of many of the natural food and beverage combinations I've enjoyed in my life – like sushi and beer, ‘ahi tuna and Pinot Noir, salmon in green tea, and maybe even corn chips and coke -- I used to think it was because various sensations of sweetness, saltiness, sourness, and even bitterness were coming together in perfect harmony and balance. Lately I have learned that it might not be because of these four tastes at all, but because of another sensation: the fifth element known as umami.

If this taste sensation eludes you, don’t worry because you are not alone. The taste of umami is less obvious than sweet, salty, sour and bitter sensations. Umami more often manifests itself as an overall reaction on the palate to certain foods and beverages rich in amino acids, whether attained through cooking processes or activated by high amino acid ingredients. It is not, however, a textural quality (hard, soft, smooth, crunchy, etc.), but rather a "savory," "delicious" or somewhat “meaty” sensation.

According to the Japanese food scientist who made the first formal identification of umami in the early 20th century, umami is one of the two senses (along with sweetness) that the palate perceives as pleasant. Sensations of salt, sour and bitter, on the other hand, are not pleasant in themselves, except in the context of other sensations.

A common demonstration of this pleasing taste is a pinch of MSG (monosodium glutamate) – essentially a sodium salt of glutamic acid originally manufactured from seaweeds to stimulate umami sensations -- mixed into lukewarm water. What the palate feels is a stimulation of saliva, alerting the taste buds and tactile senses, giving a mouth-watering effect while boosting aroma-related sensations of flavor. Making bland food taste “delicious,” no wonder MSG is a key ingredient in many of our packaged foods!

Lest there be any further misunderstanding, when we are talking about umami we are not just talking about a food sensation. We are also talking about actual taste buds on the tongue that are more likely to be stimulated by components such as monosodium glutamate. Sugar tastes sweet, salt tastes salty, and high amino acid ingredients taste, well, like umami. In recent years two American scientists named Charles Zuker and Charles Ryber have identified these specific taste bud cells as “T1R1” and “T1R3” (without, however, pinpointing any specific area of the tongue where they are located) which working in tandem create palate receptors sensitive to foods high in amino acids.

The perception of amino acid compounds occurs in many combinations of foods and wines (wines containing small amounts -- roughly 20 grams per liter -- of amino acids) that give us distinct pleasure. One of the leading exponents of umami today is a Master of Wine named Tim Hanni. According to Hanni, only the phenomenon of umami explains the “deliciousness created by fermenting, curing and preserving" of certain foods. Two basic examples: well matured cheeses like Italian Parmigiano or Pecorino, and cured meats like smoked bacon, lardons or Pancetta – all commonly used by cooks, or at the table everyday by consumers, to enhance our enjoyment of dishes.

In the cooking process, complex, slowly evolved, stocks derived from chicken, veal bones and shellfish, as well as the reductive aspects of slow cooking, pot a feu, nages, and natural essences, all achieve elevated degrees of umami; as does the blatant appeal of chicken fried with eleven herbs and spices. Wily chefs bind sauces, broths, and even vinaigrettes with umami intense ingredients like dried shiitake mushrooms, truffles, and vine ripened tomatoes; while the instant home cook reaches for cubes of bouillon (in which the primary ingredient is umami stimulating MSG).

Not surprisingly, it is in Asian cuisines -- in which ingredients and cooking techniques are often very simple or understated, but very strong in the sum total of parts -- that umami naturally plays a significant role. Seaweeds, dried fish and fish stocks are high in umami, as are seasonings such as Japanese shichimi and Chinese five spice. Umami plays a restorative role when dashi (a broth made with bonita flakes and dried kelp) is added to Japanese dishes, and conducts the electrical, hot/sweet reaction of sambal (chile paste) when added to Southeast Asian dishes.

The significance of umami when it comes to wine is multifold. It goes a long way towards explaining why certain wines -- especially the more complex and mature wines in which amino acids are more in balance with other taste components -- seem to naturally relate to more foods. A refined, silken, crisp yet soft, fruity yet multi-spice scented Pinot Noir, for instance, seems to do a lot more for a wood grilled salmon than a soft, fruity, but simple, one-dimensional Beaujolais made from the Gamay grape.

The wider range of contrasting sensations of wines made from Pinot Noir tends to stimulate a more umami-like effect on the palate. This is why Pinot Noir, as opposed to other red varietals, is often amazingly simpatico with oysters, clams, mussels, squid, salt cod and other unlikely varieties of fish, especially in bourrides, cioppino, and other seafood broths. It is probably the umami factor that is behind the feeling of epiphany often experienced by wine lovers when they first realize that Pinot Noir goes better with certain fish – like tuna and salmon -- than most white wines!

Years ago I did a tasting on the possibilities of pairing Cabernet Sauvignon -- the thickest, fullest and richest of California's red wine grapes -- with different foods. We tried salads, fish, game, beef, and even sweet/bitter chocolate desserts with a number of different Cabernet Sauvignons. Young and soft Cabernets, young and hard (high tannin) Cabernets, simple Cabernets, complex Cabernets, fruity Cabernets, earthy/leathery Cabernets, and an older, well-matured Cabernet. Some Cabernet Sauvignons worked better with certain dishes than others, but the one Cabernet that seemed to work better than all the others across the board was a richly matured, smooth and suave ten year old Cabernet Sauvignon made by Silver Oak. Why? I would attribute this to umami-like effects -- the mature, quietly balanced qualities of the wine drawing out more savory sensations on the palate, and thus allowing it to embrace a broader range of food sensations.

When it comes to food preparations, the significance of umami determines many of our wine selections. A young, thick, fruity California Cabernet Sauvignon, for instance, is predictably good with a simple cut of wood charred beef. But if you braise beef with a myriad of seasonings and vegetables and serve it in a complex natural reduction, you are creating a high umami flavor “bridge” that is less welcoming for young, tough, belligerently tannic California Cabernets. On the other hand, an older, slower, less fruity but gently balanced style of Cabernet Sauvignon from France's Bordeaux region is more likely round out the taste of braised beef and pot roasts, and vice-versa. It ain't the meat, it's the motion.

Hanni likes to illustrate the effect of umami by citing the way a squeeze of lemon is used in a well salted bistecca alla fiorentina -- beef raised and prepared in the way of Tuscany in Italy -- to cut through the fat and balance the salt of the dish, and then perform a double duty of mellowing out the bitter tannins of young red wines made from Cabernet Sauvignon or Sangiovese grapes. Salty beef and lemon? Definitely unorthodox, but a graphic demonstration of umami related effects.

Because we don't habitually squeeze lemon on beef or have access to bistecca in the U.S., Hanni goes even further by recommending (brace yourself!) drinking White Zinfandel with American reared beef. Why? Because the slightly sweet fruitiness balanced by mildly acidic qualities in White Zinfandel are more likely to round out the fat and char of grilled beef, thus simulating the flattering effect of umami.

But relax, beef and Cabernet lovers. You needn't embrace all of the ramifications of umami. If you prefer your favorite brand of heavy red wine with fatty beef or lamb, or a lemony dry white wine with your fish and other white meats, the important thing is that you know what you like. In this respect – within the realm of personal taste -- umami is as much a state of mind as an actual taste sensation.

Bottom line: if a combination of foods (wine, in the traditional sense, considered a “food”) tastes good to you, then for all intents and purposes it is good.