Take the intentional nature of food, its culture, restaurants, personalities, products, growers, producers & caretakers and their intentions, mix in wry commentary on how and why we collectively participate in the sacred sharing of food.....and you have our newest blog post, “The World of Intentional Food” by Nicholas Waerzeggers.Nic has a unique perspective to share, as Maitre D' and resident Dionysius of L’Etoile Restaurant (a personal favorite), he intentionally presides over and participates in nightly celebrations of food and wine. We hope you find Nic's contributions lively, informative and thought provoking.
Albariño and Commitment
Albariño - the Spanish white grape which more often than not zings with juicy flavors of nectarines and salsas happily with a lush sturdiness – is not frequently seen on liquor store shelves. Unfortunately, it’s just as seldom on restaurant wine lists.
This was disappointingly brought to my attention a couple weeks back while dining at a nearby restaurant that was featuring shrimp ceviche tostados. A glass of Albariño would have been so darn perfect with those tostados that I nearly wrote the restaurant in a brooding/longing personal classifieds missed connection frame of mind.
Above photo from The Wine Blokes.
It got me to thinking about Albariño’s relative scarcity. I thought maybe it was that intimidating ñ or the general unknown of Spanish white wine. Really, I think it’s just a matter of commitment. Not in a monogamy sense, but more along the lines of a redirected summer-love-interest sort of sense. Everyone had that summer, I think, where the expected reconnection at the lake or at camp was thrown upside down by the arrival of a new, more exotic girl.
“Look, Chardonnay. If there’s time maybe I’ll meet you after lunch by the docks. Albariño and I are going out to the sand bar.”
The Spanish, I’m told, drink Albariño in bucketfuls along side shellfish. Seafood is pretty easy to come by in Northwest Spain because of the many fjord-like extensions of land into the Atlantic Ocean. The resulting inlets, or rías, as the wine books say, invite bevies of seafood into the awaiting fishermen’s nets.
Albariño is not simply from the Rias Baixas, Spain, however. California and even Australian Albariños are at the ready and possess equally steely refreshing virtues. Perhaps it’s that steely quality as to why I associate nectarine and not peach, as the accomplished tasters do, with Albariño. Or, maybe it’s a bit of personal karma.
Above photo from Gerry Dawes'Spain.
I sort of understand that peaches and nectarines are the same fruit but with different textures. Maybe that’s why as a youngster walking through the produce department I sometimes dug my fingernails into nectarines. I did this, I believe, because nectarines didn’t immediately give way as the seemingly always riper peaches did. I liked the look of that crescent moon-shaped fingernail in the nectarines as opposed to a mushy thumbprint.
I see that I regret that behavior now, and I guess I want to believe that all those nectarines that were likely thrown out by the produce clerk ended up being used in some roundabout way. Therefore, I’ve committed to trying three or four Albariños this summer and come August, when nectarines are at their juiciest, I’m gonna sit on the balcony and enjoy one with a glass of Albariño. And while I sip, I’m going to write a letter to that restaurant saying how much I enjoyed their shrimp ceviche tostados and how I’d like to try them again with a glass of Albariño.
I’ll wait a month and if Albariño is still not on their wine list, perhaps I’ll attempt to bring in my own bottle. On the subject of bringing your own bottle of wine to a restaurant… (the next blog topic).
