In the past few years, chocolate has gotten pretty complicated and high-minded. This is a fad, of course, but since I like — i.e., adore — dark chocolate, it’s a boon to go into a grocery store like Fresh Market or Whole Foods and see the array of producers and the almost infinite variety of products. Of course everyone offers plain dark chocolate in a range of “darkness,” usually listed as a cacao percentage, but they also seemingly compete to deliver combinations that range from delicious but mundane, like dark chocolate with roasted coffee nibs — I never noticed coffee having nibs — to infusions that are daring and sexy, like the famous and decadent “Mo’ Bacon” chocolate bar from Vosges, which indeed incorporates bacon in its make-up.

Many of these companies espouse worthy causes, utilize organic methods and and support fair trade. You’re not merely buying a chocolate bar; you’re buying (or buying into) a philosophy. Not surprisingly, quite a few of these chocolatiers are on the West Coast.

O.K., so I stand in Fresh Market and read all the text on the back of these various chocolate products, all about where the chocolate came from and the name of the estate and so on, and that’s all become standard stuff, but on the back of a bar of Chuao Chinita Nibs (“Dark Chocolate Bar with Caramelized Cacao Nibs and Nutmeg”) was a term I had never seen on the package of a chocolate bar:

“Slave-free cacao.”

Now I know that slavery is a grave problem in many parts of the world. Sexual slavery is rampant in Southeast Asia, labor slavery is found in many parts of Africa, women from former Soviet republics are sent to America to be nannies and maids in an indentured servant situation. Slavery is real, and it’s serious.

Considered from a marketing standpoint however — and what between the shining seas cannot be considered from a marketing standpoint? — Chuao, based in San Diego and run by two Venezuelan brothers, has scored a coup. If no slaves were employed in the farming and harvesting of the cacao that goes into the Chuao Chinita Nibs, what about all the other gourmet chocolate bars whose cacao originates in South and Central America? I mean, I might have to buy no chocolate other than Chuao Chinita Nibs just so I know there’s no chance that I might be supporting slavery.

Look at it this way. When a box of crackers or chips states “No Gluten” on the package, we know that assertion establishes a contrast with all the other cracker and chip products that do contain gluten because they’re made either completely or partially from wheat. I mean, when was the last time you saw a box of Ritz crackers or a package of Chips Ahoy — both names being hallowed trademarks and I mean no disrespect — that said “Gobs o’ Gluten!” Well, no. There’s a thin but discernible line between promoting and warning.

My point is that Chuao Chocolatier has, with this tiny gesture, cast doubt on all the other chocolate producers that do not tell us that no slaves were involved in the production of their cacao.

Think of that the next time you stop at the Pac’N'Snac to pick up a Snickers.

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Normally, readers — though which of us would define normal? — I would not select as Wine of the Week a product that costs $30 a bottle. I try not to go over $25 and usually make an attempt to keep the price under $20. If, however, I were to tell you that this 30 buckeroos would buy you what is perhaps the finest rosé wine you will ever drink, would you be tempted? I hope so.

The Domaine de la Mordorée — the word means “woodcock” — is a meticulously run property that produces Cotes-du-Rhone and Chateauneuf-du-Pape and the wine in question, the Domaine de la Mordorée Rosé 2008, from Tavel. The blend of grapes is what one would expect from a Cotes-du-Rhone or Cotes-du-Rhone Villages: 60 percent grenache, 20 percent syrah, 10 percent cinsault and 10 percent clairette, a white grape not of much account itself but often blended in small quantities into the red wines of the southern Rhone, Provence and Languedoc.

The color is what LL called “red tourmaline,” which to my eye appeared to be a sort of rosy-pink-light cherry hue with no copper or peach; this is pure radiance. The nose? Strawberry and raspberry with undertones of red currant and plum. Flavors encompass red currant with melon and dried red fruit and hints of dried thyme; a few minutes in the glass bring in some spice, an intriguing touch of Red Hots, a note of wild berry and heaps of limestone in the finish. Most roses can’t approach the Domaine de la Mordorée in terms of substance and style; it’s bone-dry, of course, yet ripe and seductive, deftly balanced between crisp, mouth-watering acidity and a silky texture. This should drink well through the end of 2010. Excellent. About — as I said — $30.

On Saturday for lunch, LL made some open-face ham sandwiches with black olive pesto and put some potato salad and white bean salad on each plate. This rosé was perfect with that sort of luncheon, picnic-type fare. Sunday afternoon, we finished the bottle sitting on the back porch. Again, perfection.

Imported by Kysela Pere et Fils, Winchester, Va.

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… that Smith-Madrone made only 378 cases of its Riesling 2007, from the Spring Mountain District of Napa Valley. Smith-Madrone’s is a legendary California riesling, along with rieslings from Trefethen, Navarro and a few other producers.

Last night, LL brought to the dinner table filets of salmon (coated with gray sea-salt and thyme), a white bean and carrot salad and sauteed Swiss chard, while, for my part, I opened a bottle of the Smith-Madrone Riesling 2007. This is a wine that breathes the essence of crystalline clarity and purity, of perfect balance and poise. A pale straw color, the wine opens with scents of lychee and camellia, with back-notes of pear and peach and a hint of the grape’s requisite petrol-ish element. Sheaves of delicacies are strung on a wire of electrifying acidity that keeps the wine virtuous and vibrant without breaking the aura of subtlety and nuance. Mildly spiced and roasted lemon dominates citrus flavors imbued with a tinge of melon; the wine’s texture serves as an exemplar of how tautness and crispness may seamlessly coexist with juicy flavors and moderate lushness. Along with a tremendous wash of limestone minerality in the finish, the wine brings in a final fillip of lime zest and orange rind. Drink (well-stored) through 2012 to ’15. Exceptional. About $25.

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This pleasing duo comes from the inexpensive Elsa label of Valentin Bianchi, in the San Rafael area of Argentina’s Mendoza region.

Made all in stainless steel, the incredibly fresh and attractive Elsa Torrontes 2008 bursts with notes of honeysuckle and jasmine, lime and limestone, lemon curd and dusty orange rind. In the mouth, ripe and juicy lemon and grapefruit flavors are permeated by dried thyme and tarragon, smoke and minerals. The wine is quite dry, vibrant with crisp acidity, nicely balanced between a sense of spareness and moderate lushness; a bit of time in the glass adds to its richness and palatability. A lovely quaff for drinking through the end of 2009. Very Good+

(The label on the image is 2007; the wine under review is indeed 2008.)

A hint of oak gives the Elsa Malbec 2008 a degree of suppleness and a background of spice. The wine is luscious and flavorful, deep with ripe black currant, black cherry and plum flavors highlighted by touches of wild berry, dried flowers, smoke and leather. Drink through 2010 with burgers, pizzas, hearty pastas and pork tenderloin. Very good.

These wines are priced at about $9, making them (especially the Torrontes) Great Bargains. They are closed with screw-caps for easy opening.

The importer is Quintessential, Napa, Cal.

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Do 2006 and 2007 sound too old for rosé wines, which are supposed to embody all that is fresh and immediate about a delightful, dry, light wine made from red grapes? Can rosés age even a year beyond their making?

Last July, I wrote about two rosés from Prieuré de Montèzargues, an innovative producer in Tavel, a traditional (and often over-produced) seed-bed of rosé wines in the southern Rhone Valley region. The winemaker for Prieuré de Montèzargues, Guillaume Dugas, believes that his rosés, made from fairly high-elevation vineyards, can stand the test of time, as least for two or three years. Recently, I tried the 2006 and ’07 from the producer again, and I thought it would be useful to compare how the wines fare now with how they performed last summer.

Here’s the previous review:

Prieuré de Montèzargues 2007 offers a lovely color of bright garnet flushed with salmon’s orangy-pink. Notes of strawberry, raspberry, peach and orange zest waft from the glass and segue seamlessly to the mouth in consistent flavors. The texture is soft and enticing but energized by crisp acid and a scintillating mineral element that expands to dominate the finish. Great balance and freshness. Very Good+.

And here’s my impression of the Prieuré de Montèzargues 2007 from last week: Pale salmon-peach color; lovely aromas of strawberry and raspberry, melon and mulberry, with a hint of roasted lemon. Quite earthy, almost tannic in the mouth, silky texture, deftly balanced between bright acidity and a substantial quality that would tend toward lushness if a sense of mineral-like discretion didn’t keep it delicate. Flavors of strawberry and dried current are accented by touches of dried herbs. Quite tasty and certainly a completely viable rosé for drinking through the end of 2009. We had this with salmon tacos, made at home. This gets an upgrade to Excellent.

How about the version from 2006? Here are my comments from last July:

The color is similar, perhaps with a shade of magenta, but the wine is robust, ripe and fleshy, delivering scents and flavors of strawberry and peach with touches of melon and dried herbs. A few minutes in the glass bring up hints of cherry/berry and Bazooka Bubble Gum, with orange zest, limestone and earthy notes and a lingering hint of cloves on the finish. This is an unusually complicated rosé for drinking through the end of 2008. Great detail and dimension. Excellent. If you can find the ‘07 and the ‘06, buy some of each.

I was not so impressed when we tried the Prieuré de Montèzargues 2006 last week. The color was a radiant pale copper-salmon; aromas of raspberry and cherry with a touch of roasted peach were seductive. In the mouth, this rosé was very earthy, almost smoky and sooty around the contours, and while flavors of red currants, roasted peach and rhubarb were tasty, the wine lacked middle, and the fairly fragile finish felt overwhelmed by acid. This gets a downgrade from Excellent to Very Good, perhaps to drink with fried chicken or roasted veal, but I greatly prefer the ’07 version.

These wines cost from $18 to $23. They are imported by Henriot, in New York.

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With her quiet, pleasant yet commanding and even iron-willed manner, Alice Waters tends to get what she wants, and what she Alice Waters got — or what she was a huge influence in getting — is a vegetable garden on the grounds of the White House, a symbol of sustainability, sensible and local eating and connection with nature and the food chain. The image of First Lady Michelle Obama helping to delve the initial shovelfuls of dirt with a group of school-children made all the print and broadcast media last week, and that’s as it should be. Let the White House vegetable garden serve as an inspiration to the rest of America at a time of economic hardship and rampant obesity. Let’s eat right!

Now, how about the White House becoming a symbol of the diversity of American wine.

Grapes are grown and wine is made in all the 48 of the continental states. No, I’m not going to be so patriotic as to assert that every state produces wine good enough to showcase at the White House, much less on anyone’s dinner table. I was in Indianapolis last summer for a few days, and I tasted through a range of wines made in the state. No wonder the labels say: “For sale only in Indiana.” (Though that’s a curious notion; does any other state make that restriction?)

Considering the states and regions that do produce good and even great wine, however, gives the White House a chance to bring American wine and its industry into focus as a national effort and treasure. Every major wine-producing country in Europe fields a government-financed trade bureau devoted to publicizing the wines of those countries and increasing awareness of them in this country; even separate regions in these countries — I mean France, Germany, Italy and Spain primarily — employ trade units to bolster their presence through advertising and education on these shores. Our government does nothing like that, heaven forbid! so it’s up to the White House to take up the slack.

Now is the time to build a thoughtful cellar in the White House that encompasses the complete range of what American wine offers. At the next state dinner, instead of just making the easy choice and hauling in products from California, as was the case with the inaugural luncheon, how about beginning with a sparkling wine from New Mexico, continuing with a viognier from Virginia, going to a pinot noir from Oregon’s Willamette Valley and concluding with a dessert wine from New York’s Finger Lakes region? And when this happens, make certain that the menu and wine choices are known and written about, that a sense of pride is felt in the use and enjoyment of American wine.

Sure, the chief executive and his cabinet and advisers have a lot on their minds now. I don’t expect President Obama to jump up and rush down to the kitchen or wherever they keep wine at the White House and say, “This Koeppel guy has the right idea. Let’s get in touch and follow up and see what can be done.” But I hope somebody reads this and starts to ponder and then realize that my plan is just another small but important way for Americans to feel good about their culture, their country and themselves. I mean, I’m working on that list now.

Image of Alice Waters from creativeloafing.com.

So, I’m embarrassed. I concluded my post Friday about BTYH winning the “Best Wine Reviews” category in the American Wine Blog Awards with the injunction, “So, back to work.” But I didn’t do it!

Well, you have probably inferred, readers, that one of the philosophies of this blog is Never to Go Off-Topic, and while it may occasionally seem as if I skirt perilously close to violating that principle, I try to make certain that every post has something to do with drinking or eating. A five-day hiatus, however, seems to me reason enough to edge down the slippery slope of the personal and mention that I have been, as the phrase goes, “under the weather,” though isn’t that an interesting way of saying that one has been ill, since, we are always, when you think about it logically, under some kind of weather. Stew about that for a while.

Anyway, I apologize, and I’ll get things back in motion in a couple of days. Until then, thanks for all the positive reaction to the award, both here on the blog and in email messages.

You all are just so freakin’ nice!

I love this stuff, this elixir!
… I finished the bottle — and I’m not sorry!

I do love this stuff, this elixir of medieval medicinal indulgence, such as monks would concoct in the moldy cellars beneath their monasteries, employing their arsenal of ancient herbal knowledge; their exploration into the healing powers of hallowed, astringent, Alpine flowers; their initiation into the arcane catalog of knotty, pungent, tea-like roots; their unholy penetration of the primal secrets of the European heritage of folk remedy and the magical conjunction of the sacred and the profane; and you’re thinking, readers, “Damnation, F.K., do you never give up? Go to bed, man!”

And so I will.

Dear readers, colleagues, friends, neighbors, passing acquaintances: Bigger Than Your Head has been nominated for the 2009awbafinalistbadge.jpg second year for an American Wine Blog Award in the category of “Best Wine Reviews on A Blog.” The competition is fierce; I’m up against three excellent wine blogs that I look at myself frequently — sterling company indeed.

The ranking is based 70 percent on the popular vote — that’s you — and 30 percent on a panel of anonymous judges. That’s why I need your votes. Anyone can vote by going to http://www.fermentation.typepad.com

The American Wine Blog Awards are organized and hosted by Tom Wark at Fermentation: The Daily Wine Blog. Sponsors are Riedel Crystal, OpenWine Consortium and Mutineer Magazine.

Thanks for your readership, your attention — and your vote!

Pulling the cork on a bottle of Kendall-Jackson Vintner’s Reserve Riesling 2006 last week, I noticed something written on the label. cork_p1160013.jpg That phenomenon is not unusual; corks often have words and numbers printed on them, from practical matter, such as the name of the producer and year the grapes were harvested (which should match the name and vintage on the label; that’s why the waiter presents you with the cork, to check the wine’s authenticity, not really to smell the cork), to the whimsical, as in the “Ribbit” that Frog’s Leap Winery puts on its corks.

This, however, was different. The words were: “I selected this cork to ensure the highest wine quality.” Under this screed was the tiny printed signature of Jess Jackson, owner of the Kendall-Jackson empire. Well, O.K., Jess, that certainly reassures us that your eye is on the cork, if not the sparrow, though was it actually necessary to inform us of the fact? Why not just say, “We buy a million of these doodads because that’s what we decided to do”? Must we get up-close and personal with synthetic corks?

(BTW, I like the legend printed on the cork in this illustration, which translates as “Bottled in France.” That’s really reassuring.)

The cork in question is quite ordinary and is not, as is the case with so many corks today, made of cork. It is, rather — and as the cork industry likes to point out — a synthetic cork, made of some slightly creepy-feeling plasticky space-age material. Many wineries use such bottle stoppers nowadays, made from a variety of materials and all designed to replace the increasingly marginalized “real” cork, a trend that makes the hitherto mentioned cork industry very anxious. As most wine drinkers have experienced, “bad” corks, like bad apples in their barrels, have a deleterious effect on wine, making it “corked,” that is smelling of damp cardboard.

What really struck me, though, standing in the kitchen rolling this ordinary object in my hand, is that a cork stopper for a bottle is an example of a thing made of a certain material that has taken on the name of the material itself. First came the cork tree (an evergreen oak, Quercus suber), and then the small cylindrical or tapering object that someone discovered was perfect for jamming into the necks of bottles so the contents did not flow out. Eureka! And then, in the mid 16th Century, according to The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (Vol. I. A-M), that object became known as “a cork,” not just “something made of cork.”

The NSOAD mentions that this object, this stopper, may be made “of cork or some other material,” acknowledging the fact that a cork is not required to be made of, you know, cork.

Anyway, I spent almost a week trying to think of another example of this occurrence, an object known by the same name as its glass_empty.jpg material, and then yesterday, I was standing in the kitchen staring at the cabinet that holds the — you know what’s coming, right? — glasses, and I thought, “Oh, yeah, right.” Glasses, vessels made of glass for holding and conveying, generally, liquids, are known by the name of the material from which they are made.

The NSOED offers, as part of a long segment on “glass,” this definition: “A glass vessel or receptacle. Also, the contents of such a vessel or receptacle. A drinking-vessel made of glass; a beverage, (esp. alcoholic) contained in such a vessel,” in the sense that we say, “Have a glass of wine,” when what we mean is “Have a glass filled with wine.” And when the responder replies, “Sure, I’ll have a glass,” they mean, “Sure, I’ll have a glass filled with wine.”

We also say “glasses” for the objects we wear on our noses to enhance vision, a locution that goes back to the mid 17th Century. And from the early 17th Century, magnifying objects like telescopes and microscopes with lenses made of glass were called a “glass,” as when the dreaded pirate says, “Pass me the glass, matey, so I can spy out the cut of yon jib.”

Well, we have wandered far from our original subject here, but if you object to this linguistic digression, all I can say is “Put a cork in it, Jack,” though it’s up to you to decide of what material the cork is made.

Images from wikimedia.

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