about wine made out of — tent caterpillars.   A guy in Northland, MN, makes it, and it actually tastes pretty decent, reviewers said.  An excerpt from http://www.walterreeves.com/insects_animals/article.phtml?cat=21&id=469:

In a blind taste test — the reviewers were not informed what ingredients went into it before the tasting –

four local wine connoisseurs invited to taste the wine described it as dry, pale and crisp. They compared it to a pinot grigio or white bordeaux.

The comparison came before they were told exactly what went into the wine. Afterward, they joked that it was the best insect wine they’ve ever tasted. It’s also the only one they’ve ever tasted.

“I was surprised how similar it tastes to grape wine, said Derek Mahle, the Duluth area distributor for Quality Wine & Spirits in Bloomington, Minn.

“I’ve never heard of anything this bizarre,” said Mark Casper, owner of Keyport Liquor Outlet in Superior.

“If I was looking for a wine made from larvae, I’d choose this,” quipped Andrew Swanson of Fitger’s Wine Cellars in Duluth.

On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the best, all three gave the wine a 7. All in all, a positive review.

Zarafa (South Africa)
2007 Pinotage
$4.99 @ Trader Joe’s

Pulao and I started to frequent Trader Joe’s last fall, and we’ve waited for the wine on the cheap God-send to stock a Pinotage ever since. This past Saturday we found it.

If you’ve never had a Pinotage, get to it! Two of our friends, dbay and Duodecad, introduced Pulao and I to the Pinotage varietal a year or so back. “This red wine tastes like butter,” they said. If that doesn’t sound good to you — well, that’s understandable. But it is. Good. And they do — most of the most pleasant bottles of Pinotage I’ve tasted had smoky, creamy tones in the nose and the finish.

Zarafa’s 2007 Pinotage has that buttery, smooth texture, as well as a ripe, delicious berry-ness. Not too acidic, but not too sweet. This was the first bottle I opened with some folk Saturday night (by the time a party gets to the third bottle or so, remembering how the wine tastes gets a little more . . . beside the point) and it was well-liked. The following bottles, even a decent Chianti stand-by from Trader Joe’s, tasted a lot more like $4 wine when they had to follow the blossoming flavors of the Pinotage.

As you might have guessed, Pinotage grapes are a hybrid of Pinot Noir and (as you almost certainly have not guessed) Cinsaut Noir (which used to be called Hermitage — hence the portmanteau name Pinot-tage). Just like my experience with Pinot Noir, when Pinotage is good it’s great, and when it’s bad it’s total swill.

So on that note, an important note: this review regards the Zarafa 2007 Pinotage. Do not buy the 2005. The Zarafa 2005 Pinotage, as any quick blog search will tell you, is apparently pure death.

I also read that many Piontages, which I haven’t noticed, reportedly taste of banana — I’ll have to buy another 2007 Zarafa or two and test out that theory immediately.

At the sign of the loon

Smoking Loon 2005 Cabernet ($7.99 750 ml)

If you’re looking to impress your Three-Buck Chuck-swilling friends with your class at the next party, I’d recommend the Loon as definitely worth the extra bucks.  It’s a dark, opaque purple, concentrated drinking experience, an intriguing, well-balanced blend of potent flavors that can stand up against the spiciest food or the most charbroiled piece of carbon to come off the barbecue.  (Well, maybe not Indian hot, but pretty hot).  My dad recommended this wine, and it confirms my opinion of him as a highly intelligent man with discerning taste and a liking for a bargain.  

A distinguished panel of experienced drinkers (two friends and I) road-tested this wine at a cookout a few weeks ago and in the backyard last weekend and pronounce it highly satisfactory.  The panel: 

Experienced Drinker #1 craves intense tastes: coffee should be dark roasted, opaque, and thick as tar; chocolate must be at least 70% cocoa and not too much sugar in it; barbecued food should have half its exterior surface caramelized and/or carbonized, preferably both.  Food ordered in America should be American hot, though not Thai or Indian hot.   

[Or, heaven forfend, West African hot.  Those people are crazy and their peppers are evil. 

On one occasion E. D. 1 entered a greenhouse where West African varieties of peppers were growing, and was forced to leave by the mere fumes of the peppers growing on the plants.  They hadn’t even been bruised or cut, yet drove her from the premises.  Those are some strong peppers]. 

Experienced Drinker #2 has regularly imbibed a wide variety of wines over the past three decades, as well as being an aficionado of small-brewery beer.  She also enjoys American-hot peppers and intense tastes.  E. D. 2 is also a vegetarian, for what it’s worth. 

Experienced Drinker #3 favors light, fruity wines such as chardonnays and white zinfandel.  She tasted one small sip of the Loon, scrunched up her face, and pronounced it “Very dry.”   This reaction constitutes a recommendation to those who crave intense flavor. 

The remaining members of the panel continued about our serious work of tasting, sipping assiduously until we reached the bottom of the bottle.  We came up with these flavors:

Full-bodied but not overwhelming, dry but not too tannic [to me a mark of too-cheap wine], a nice blend of flavors with no one note overwhelming the rest.  Mainly we got a definite blackberry jam-like flavor, spicy with hints of cinnamon and woodsmoke, with an even slighter dusky flavor of mushrooms and walnut skins. 

Finally, we detected a faint trace of banana oil, otherwise known as fingernail polish remover, but that was when we were almost at the bottom of the bottle.  Anything was possible.   

With a name like Smoking Loon, and a price at $7.99 for a 750 ml bottle, that the damn thing also taste good is almost like icing on the cake [which we did NOT discern in this particular wine, at this particular tasting, anyway].   If you love strong flavors or are going to a place where you’ll be eating carbonized whatever off the grill or spicy foods, bring a bottle with you.  You won’t be sorry. 

I think this post breaks many of the rules set up for the wine section. I’m not even quite sure how to post this in the wine section. But I’d like to alert 12apostrophe readers to a new type and style of wine Dbay and I discovered last night. Since I can’t find an official name for them, I’m going to the name the type of wine ”The Volcanics.” Named so if only because it sounds better than ‘grapes of origin grown in high mineral content soil, such as those found near volcanic eruptions.’

The first and only experience I’ve had with such a wine came last night with a wine from the Campania region of Italy, located near the famous blast of Mount Vesuvius. Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio is a moderately expensive wine, which the waitress warned, has “a hint of sulfur in the nose.” On most occasions that would probably be enough to scare most off (it nearly did us), but we ventured forward. And I’m glad we did.

Wine Spectator says wines of this type are: “Dry and balanced on the palate with a persistent mineral finish.” I don’t know about that, but I certainly liked it. A lot.

Also, a little interesting tidbit: Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio is so named for the legend of Christ’s ascension into heaven and his emotion upon seeing the beauty of the Bay of Naples beneath him. The grape, Coda di Volpe, refers to the foxtail shape of the grape bunches.

Sometimes you come away from a nice glass of wine, hoping for a better tomorrow, a prouder moment, a less stressful day etc. I came away last night with one more specific hope: more volcanic eruptions in wine growing areas!

Trader Joe’s grocery store sells wines on the cheap. For the same price as a bottle of “Mad Dog” 20/20, or the dreaded Night Train Express, you can get wine made from real grapes, that won’t even make you go blind.

The most well-known is the Charles Shaw vineyard, called “two-buck-chuck” (or in Minneapolis, “three-buck-chuck,” since a bottle sells for $2.99 here). Chuck is actually made by Mr. Franzia, a California vintner-type person, well-known, at least to my college friends, as the man who brought us fine varietals like “Chillable Red,” sold by the box (the key to box-drinking, my friend Eric taught me, was, when you think it’s tapped, crack open the cardboard, take the silver-looking plastic skein out, and squeeze a whole nother 3/4 of a glass of goodness right into your mouth).

But Franzia’s two-buck-Chuck’s a winner. The 2005 Chardonnay took home the gold medal in the 2007 California State Fair Commercial Wine Competition. And better yet, Trader Joe’s in general has enabled, in every sense, Pulao, me, and many of our friends to afford to drink a lot of wine. Like a lot.

So 12apostrophes has a Wine on the cheap page now, with a snazzy logo, where folks will post reviews of wine, on the cheap, using very few French words, and misunderstanding those that we do.

I’ll start:

“Sick Chicken” Wine
La Ferme Julien
Blanc 2006
$5.99 @ Trader Joe’s

For years, I drank whites like Pinot Grigios and Sauvignon Blancs, tried my best to rehydrate my mouth afterwards, and thought I didn’t really like white wine. But for six bucks, La Ferme Julien’s white blend is light, fruity, not dry (what’s the opposite of dry in oenophile-speak? fruity? wet?), and not-too-sweet. If I was to get poetical about it, I’d say bright. It’s a bright, refreshing wine.

It’s a blend of Bourboulenc, Grenache Blanc, Ugni Blanc, and Roussanne grapes. Separately, I never heard of them. Together, they make a beautiful wine.

We’ve enjoyed Le Ferme Julien equally well at a summer picnic with cous cous and pasta salad; watching a movie at home with a supreme pizza; and at a party where La Ferme Julien was a nice change after some heavy reds.

The first time we drank it, some of our friends saw the rooster on the bottle, consulted their shaky knowledge of French, and decided La Ferme Julien probably meant “the sick chicken.” I can see it; “la ferme,” like infirmary, infirm. And then there was that chicken on the bottle . . . But it really means “Julien’s Farm.”

If I ever see a bottle called Le Poulet Malade, I’m buying the hell out of it.