Beer Glasses (Not Goggles), SF Chronicle

Delve into wine even a little bit, and you'll quickly discover the fetishistic appreciation of glassware. Crystal companies have made serious bank convincing the world that it needs a different wine glass for every style of wine, a marketing message that I find dubious at best, as it often reeks of pseudoscience.

But the wine world has nothing on the beer world, where it sometimes seems like every beer has a unique glass. I dug into that world a little bit for an article in today’s Chronicle. The subject is far richer than anyone can fit into 800 words, but I had a great time researching the history of beer glasses. (And related subjects: I found an interesting journal article arguing that George Ravenscroft at best funded lead crystal and didn’t develop it himself.)

For those who enjoy systems as much as I do, I found a couple of guides to beer glass shapes while working on this: one at beeradvocate.com and another at johnsgrocery.com, which is also a good retail source for esoteric glassware.

Belgian-Style Beers In America

Remember my not-very-subtle comment about a recent tasting of Russian River Brewing’s beers? Read all about them in this week’s Chronicle, where I write about American brewers who are pursuing complex Belgian-style beers.

Recent Drinks Of Note

Based on feedback from my survey — I will write about that soon — I’ve decided to change my “Weekly Wine Wrap-up” into a more irregular “Recent Drinks Of Note” with fewer items. The items left won’t all be good: If I’ve tasted a particularly unpleasant wine, I may mention it to steer you away.

As always, samples are marked with a *

Sparkling
I didn’t write tasting notes for the most memorable wine I drank in the last couple of weeks, the Roederer Brut Rosé Sparkling Wine ($25) from Anderson Valley. It’s a good sparkler, but what made this bottle so special was the setting: the empty dining room of the new house. We finally found a moment’s pause to celebrate this big, giant step we’ve taken. (But will we merge our libraries? That remains to be seen.)

White
Melissa and I had a string of corked white wines in the last couple of weeks. It got so bad that she called me on her way home one night and asked if I had put a corked wine in the refrigerator. Thankfully, that wasn’t an issue with the 2005 Les Jardins du Bouscassé “Le Jardin Philosophique” from the little-known Pacheran du Vic-Bilh Sec region in southwestern France. Too bad the name is so long that we’ll have paid the check by the time we finish ordering it in a restaurant, because this is the kind of white I like: searing acidity with a whoosh of rain-covered pavement. The “Philosophique” part of the name will hint to some that this wine was made biodynamically, a holistic attitude about growing vines that includes not only obvious agricultural cues such as phases of the moon but also more fringe beliefs such as magic potions buried in cow horns. (And speaking of our corked wines, one of them was from Clark Smith of wine technology company Vinovation, so I asked him why he doesn’t use screw caps. He answered.)

Red
Melissa and I love Vintage Berkeley. The owner, Peter, has a great palate — which is to say it lines up with mine — and he finds interesting and inexpensive bottles. The 2004 Mount St. Helena Charbono from Napa is a good, solid, food-friendly red wine: musty berries, pepper, mouthwatering acidity, and a nice body. I haven’t tried a lot of Charbono, which is the same as the all-but-extinct Savoie grape Corbeau, but it’s enjoyed a minor vogue at California wineries. I can’t remember the price, but it must have been under $15.

* I’ve been impressed by the (oops) wines. We tried their Cabernet Sauvignon with Carmenere (many “Merlot” vines in Argentina turned out to be Carmenere — oops), and it was a nice, relatively complex wine. Good blackberry aromas with just whiffs of smoke and mint expanded into a similar range of flavors. And its $12 price tag makes it affordable even to new homeowners.

* Do you remember when the Matrix II came out, and it got panned? Melissa and I went into it with such low expectations that we ended up not minding it. That’s how I felt when I found myself drinking a second glass of the Gallo Hearty Burgundy. This wine has nothing in common with real Burgundy, but it wasn’t horrible. I won’t say it was good, but there are worse wines to drink in this world.

Beer
* And you’ll see a piece from me about this in a couple of weeks, but I’m a big fan of the Russian River Brewing beers, particularly Sanctification and Temptation. These are tart beers, which some people don’t like, but if you can handle it, seek them out.

Weekly Wine Wrap-Up

Brasserie de Blaugies, "Darbyste," Belgium - Fig juice adds its rich flavor to this tart saison beer, though dark caramel notes emerge as you enjoy the creamy mouthfeel and slight bitterness. Serve this alongside quail stuffed with figs. $10 (750ml)

2004 Herri Mina Irouléguy Blanc, France - This weighty Basque wine, made from the Gros Manseng grape, has nose-prickling petrol and pine scents and a mouthwatering acidity. (ordered from A Côté's wine list, along with an unrecorded Movia Tocai and a Royal Tokaji Wine Company dry Furmint, to accompany a variety of small plates).

Cantillon Fou' Foune, Belgium - Cantillon beer is in a class of its own, and this apricot lambic is a rare find in the Bay Area. Like the rest of the Cantillon line, this is a sour beer, though it has a more bitter finish than other Belgians. Surprisingly little apricot flavor cuts through the lemon pith taste, but the fruit rounds out the beer and adds complexity. Drink this beer with a pork shoulder roast. $10-$15 (from City Beer).

2006 Gauthier Jour de Soif, Bourgueil, France - This Cabernet Franc from the Loire Valley, made with organic grapes, gushes plush scents along every axis of the aroma wheel: upscale floral soap, hints of smoke and baking spices, and potpourri. Rich red fruit flavors dominate the palate alongside strong tannins and a soft acidity. Serve with a good roast chicken. $15 or so at Vintage Berkeley (I've misplaced the receipt).

Heft A Hefeweizen In The Chronicle

I love it when an editor assigns me a topic I don't know much about and asks me to research it. I like to learn, and that type of piece gives me an excuse to explore something outside my ken. A few weeks ago, if you had asked me about hefeweizen, I would have told you that I like it, and I might have remembered that it's made with wheat. After researching and writing a piece about it for today's Chronicle, I can distinguish between the different styles—turns out I prefer Germans—and display a degree of knowledge on the topic. My favorite in the last couple of weeks comes from Weihenstephan.

The word hefeweizen had some amusing side effects. First, the phonetic wordplay possibilities besieged my idle thoughts. Have, half, huff, wise, wizened, vise, ice. For a few days while I wrote the piece, my AIM status message said, "half of ice inn." I restrained myself in the final draft, but it was a tough battle.

Second, the word threw a hurdle in my writing path. I run Word's readability statistics two or three times near the end of my work on a draft. I'm not dogmatic about it, but I strive for nine or below—easy reading for high school grads—and I'm ecstatic when I get below eight. But you pay a high penalty in those calculations for higher numbers of syllables per word: You can guess what a page of hefeweizens does to the score. (The final text, which is all but the same as my final draft, scores an 8.9.)

But who cares about all that? Go read my piece and pop open a hefeweizen—or a hefeweissbier, or a witbier, or an American wheat beer—to sip in the summer heat. Just think how good one would taste as you wait in line for your iPhone.

Cantillon, C'est Bon!

I first learned of Cantillon beer, the most traditional lambic beer in Belgium, through The Art of Eating. Four and a half years ago, I posted about a visit to the Brussels brewery—though I warn you that I squirm and wince when I read my earlier writing. My respect for the van Roy family's commitment to tradition and artisan techniques has only grown in that time. When my editor at the Chronicle suggested I pitch him beer stories, I jumped at the chance to write about this unusual brewery. My article appears today.

If you've never tasted Cantillon, you've probably never tasted real lambic. Cantillon is sour. Its fruit beers are bone-dry. The brewery does not cut corners. Forget Lindeman's or other industrial brews; Cantillon is a beer unlike any other.

This assignment gave me the chance to get to know Cantillon again, and I think I'll be stocking up. If you're in the Bay Area and want to try some, the Toronado has a larger-than-normal selection as part of their Belgian Beer Month.