Booze Muse

By Michael Nagrant

I love champagne like fat kids love cake. Of course I’m a fat kid and I love cake, too. But the state legislature isn’t banning the out-of-state retail sales of cake. On August 7, both houses of the Illinois legislature passed bill HB429, which is supposed to reconcile state law with a Supreme Court ruling that requires states to treat in-state and out-of-state wineries the same.

Under old laws, Illinois vineyards could sell up to 10,000 gallons of wine straight to consumers, while out-of-state vineyards only two cases a year. The new bill allows for both out-of-state wineries and in-state wineries to sell up to twelve cases directly to consumers. Small Illinois wineries are now also allowed to bypass Illinois’ distribution system and sell a portion of their wine directly to restaurants and retailers, while larger Illinois wineries will have to sell most of their production through traditional distribution.  Finally, the bill bans direct sales to consumers from out-of-state retailers.

The first two provisions of the bill shouldn’t impact most consumers. Unless you’re North Shore old money, it’s unlikely you’re buying twelve cases of wine from any single vineyard. The second provision adding the distribution middle man might raise the prices on bottles of wine from larger Illinois wineries, but Illinois isn’t Napa—hell, it isn’t even Michigan, which is making some extraordinary wines right now (Brys Estate in particular). Consumers would probably be better off spending their money elsewhere anyway.

Still, I disagree with the first two provisions. While their passage is lauded with rhetoric about promoting equitability between vineyards, the truth is this law is really about a naked protectionist power grab by Illinois’ distributors. Distributors could care less about the marginal businesses of the small wineries, but you can bet they’ve been flashing their grinning wolf teeth and salivating at the possibility of snagging the high-volume direct-sale business from the larger wineries.

If there’s any doubt about the distributor’s hand in these provisions, just follow the paper trail. According to online campaign finance statements, the bill’s primary house sponsor Edward Acevedo received $7,500 in political contributions from the Associated Beer Distributors of Illinois (ABDI) in the last year.  In fact, my cursory non-scientific glance of a years worth of campaign-finance statements showed at least $30,000 in contributions from ABDI to sponsors of the bills.

As anyone who reads this column knows, I love pork—just not the legislative kind. These new laws are forged in the same spirit that forced premium craft brews from Bell’s out of our city. Distributors are limiting our freedom of choice in order to protect their almighty dollar.

Consider the third provision, which limits retail purchases to in-state retailers. While Sam’s and Binny’s seem to have more bottles than the front lawn of a University of Illinois frat house on Saturday morning, they really only carry a small proportion of small producers, collectible vintages and artisan products.

Consider my champagne addiction. For centuries smug writers have compared flavor profiles of wine to wildflowers. As a landlocked urbanite, who’s likely trampled more elderberries and honeysuckle in Grant Park than ever smelled or identified them, I’ve found the easiest way to learn about wine is to grab a particular grape variety and drink as many examples of that grape as possible. My gateway to wine has always been champagne, and so I’ve geeked out pretty hard over the last five years, drinking as many bubbles as possible. In doing so, I’ve found some of my favorite bottles from out-of-state retailers.

In fact, as I write this, I’m staring at a bottle of 1985 Rene Collard Brut Rose I purchased last year from California merchant K & L. It’s one of my favorite sparkling roses ever.  Until 2003, renowned artisan winemaker Collard didn’t export his wines to the United States. Through a personal meeting with K & L’s champagne buyer, Gary Westby, the semi-retired Collard was persuaded to part with some bottles from his personal cellar. Westby travels to the region every year, drinking with and establishing personal friendships to procure bubbly from the some of the smallest-quality producers around. The allotment he got from Collard wasn’t available anywhere, not even at excellent local specialty retailer Hart Davis Hart. Under the new laws, unless I flew out to France and hunkered down with Collard myself, I probably never would have tasted this bottle.

Even if you have no interest in geeking out on small-production wines, by eliminating out-of-state sales, state retailers will now have a geographical monopoly, and there’s no reason they can’t set prices so high you’ll be shelling out ten clams for your two-buck Chuck.

Governor Rod Blagojevich still has to sign the measure into law, which is likely since it passed by large margins in both houses. Not to mention he received $2,000 from the Illinois Licensed Beverage Association PAC last year, an advocate for Illinois liquor retailers. So, there’s still time to contact your local legislator and the governor. Check out freethegrapes.org for more information. In the meantime, let’s hope the aldermen don’t get around to that trans fat ban, or you might be reading a lot about my cake proclivities soon.

By Michael Nagrant

I started drinking in elementary school, but unlike most young drinkers, I was lucky enough to avoid the Wild Irish Rose, Mad Dog 20/20 and Boone’s Farm. Though I would revisit these malted fruity classics in college, my tipple of choice was a Beaujolais Nouveau.

It is not that I was a sullen young drunkard, but that my father, an amateur wine buff, allowed my brother and I a small sampling, usually during Thanksgiving dinner. We would trade our taste impressions across the table. At the ripe age of 10, unaware of phrases like “tannic,” “leathery” or “hint of cassis,” I would usually declare the wine to be “bad grape juice.”
To be fair, most of the French and the wine snobs don’t think too differently. Beaujolais Nouveau is released, according to French law, a few minutes after midnight on the third Thursday in November. Since the mid eighties, the release became an international marketing campaign, generally credited to Georges Duboeuf, the largest producer. Ridiculous gimmickry abounds, with relay runners, hot-air balloons, elephants and the Concorde employed to deliver the appellation.
Harvest, fermentation and final bottling of the Nouveau take no more than six weeks. Generally, because of the popularity of the wine, vineyards do not control the yield and often overgrow the Gamay vines, from which the wine is derived. In wine-speak, controlling the yield means that the concentration of flavor in the grape is higher, because it is not spread out over too many buds. Less is more.

The economically minded wine-making practices may also be the reason for the popularity of the wine in the United States. Acidic components don’t have a lot of time to develop, and the dustiness found in big Bourdeauxs doesn’t exist. There are no oak vats of Beaujolais Nouveau in the back of forgotten dank caves.

As a result, you either have a tart thin-bodied wine or, at its best, a super-fruity drinkable concoction. Except for Riunite, (On ice! So Nice!), it’s as close to a white a red can get. Despite the movie “Sideways” and the Pinot Noir invasion, Americans still like their whites—and the Beaujolais Nouveau, served lightly chilled, is a white disguised as a red.

That being said, snobs are snobs. The proof is in the bottle. Drink it and make your own decisions. The 2003 was considered one of the best harvests in years. Even Robert Parker, the famous Bordeaux evangelist, gave the vintage 95 points out of 100. Unfortunately, the wine is expected to be drunk within a year, and probably best in the first few months, so the 2003 won’t be found anywhere.

The 2006 was released about six weeks ago, and it’s a bit late to be writing this column, but I just broke open a bottle last night as an afterthought and got my first taste. It’s not the best I have had in nineteen years, but it’s nowhere near some tart harsh Beaujolais dogs I’ve had over time. It’s thin and bubbly with a lot of fruit, especially strawberries, but not a lot of substance, kind of Lindsay Lohanesque.

There’s still a balance that separates the Nouveau from Boone’s Farm, so consider grabbing a few bottles and think of it as a cheap daily wine ($9.99) for fun and friends. There were still many bottles left at Sam’s and Trader Joe’s a few weeks ago, and you could do worse with some of the two-buck swill mucking up shelves in local wine stores. Either way, for me it’s more about tradition, and each November, with a trip to the wine store, I get one more chance to conjure up 1986, our circular oak-laminate dining table, glistening Butterball turkey, and amber goblets filled with Beaujolais Nouveau.

By Michael Nagrant

The complexity of beer is underrated. There are infinite combinations of malted barleys, herbal hops and brewer’s yeasts that can be combined to yield uniquely crafted beers. Harvested barleys are roasted like green coffee beans, yielding different taste characteristics. “Terroir,” the character of the earth in which a plant grows, is important to beer, and also like wine, there is probably a beer for every food or occasion.

We decided to ask some of Chicago’s top sommeliers, wine directors and beverage experts how they would steer a customer who might be a beer enthusiast, or who didn’t particularly like wine, in three classic food scenarios:

Steak with a red-wine reduction sauce like merlot

Foie gras  on brioche toast with a fruit sauce like cherry or huckleberry

Lobster in a white wine butter sauce

We also asked the sommeliers to recommend their favorite personal “go to” or “under the radar” beers.

Alpana Singh, Director of Wine and Spirits, Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises

Steak Pairing: Goose Island Bourbon County Stout—“It’s heavier and richer with the same weight as red wine. Any beer that you can’t see through, that’s got more of a brown chocolatey color to it, or a dense mouth feel that can stand up to the intense red wine reduction is good.”

Foie gras: Hoegaarden white ale—“It can act like a Burgundy white.”

Lobster: Lindeman’s Gueuze—“It’s light and crisp to counter the butter sauce.”

Go To Beer: Stella Artois

Steak: Bell’s Stout

Foie gras: Bosteel Tripel Karmeliet

Lobster: Mendocino Red Tail Ale—“It’s got a creamy consistency that will play up the richness in the lobster.”

Under the Radar: Three Floyd’s Alpha King

Matthew Gundlach, Sommelier, Moto restaurant

Steak: Summit Great Northern Porter—“I think of a porter, the bold flavor going with the bold flavor of the steak. We used the Summit in a wine progression paired up with a black bean soup with chocolate marshmallows.”

Foie gras: “I would probably just grab a mix-and-match six pack and have a lot of fun with this.”

Lobster: New Glarus Spotted Cow—“It’s an amber with light fruity flavors.”

Under the radar favorite: New Glarus Uff-da Bock

Joe Catterson, Wine Director, Alinea restaurant

Steak: Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale

Foie gras: Binchois Reserve—“It’s a Belgian beer, off dry, rich with a nice touch of spice.”

Lobster: Pilsner Urquell—“It’s light and clean”

Go to beer: Guinness Stout

Adam Seger, Wine Director/Bar Chef, Nacional 27

Steak: Chimay Blue—“I’d go towards Belgium, because you get the higher alcohol like you would with a full-bodied wine.”

Foie gras: Lindemans Kriek

Lobster: Anchor Steam—“Nothing too hoppy. I’d go more towards a lager because of the lighter acidity.”

Under the Radar: Goose Island Pere Jacques