Wines for Buffalo cuisine:
A melodrama in three acts
By Mark Criden
 |
|
Illustration by Jean-Pierre Thimot.
|
I stare out Brubaker’s window into the icy February gloom. “You don’t have any idea why she said ‘Only one wine piece for April’?” he asks.
Sure, I have ideas. Lots of them. My writing sucks. My prose screeches. I can’t punctuate to save my life.
“Your writing doesn’t suck.”
I wave him off. “You don’t know …”
“It doesn’t suck and your prose isn’t screechy.”
Damn Brubaker. As Spree’s staff psychoanalyst, he’s heard all the excuses. “And your punctuation is fine.”
“But she’s marginalizing me …”
“You’re a wine writer.” He reaches over and pats my shoulder. “You’re already marginalized.”
I grab my coat and slink off. On the way down the Spree Tower elevator, Ron Ehmke tries to interest me in the upcoming Anna Nicole Smith tribute issue, but I’m not having any. What I need is some old fashioned therapy.
“And have the gentlemen decided?” The tuxedoed waiter taps his order pad, barely disguising his ennui. Just Pizza always hires the arrogant ones.
“Small cheese and pepperoni,” Howard orders.
“Ah, excellent. And has monsieur settled on a wine?”
No, I hadn’t. “Pizza wine” and wine for pizza aren’t necessarily the same thing. A “pizza wine” can be any easy-sipping, cheap and cheerful jug. Wine for pizza, though, is a whole ’nother pie. The rules of thumb:
•The wine shouldn’t cost much more than the pie.
•The wine should be something to remember long after recycling the pizza box.
•The wine should be Italian, with low acidity and lots of fruit to match the normally sweet, tangy tomato sauce.
“Chianti?” suggests Howard. A safe pick, but if John is crust, George is sauce and Paul is cheese, then Chianti is definitely Ringo: adequate, marginally charming, but not wholly up to the task. Luckily, Just Pizza’s wine list is as adventurous as their pies.
“An inexpensive Barbera or Dolcetto from Piedmont will rock your slice,” I say. “Look, they’ve got great producers like Seghesio, Scavino, Manzone, Vietti, Corino, Giacomo Conterno, Altare, and la Spinetta …”
The waiter cocks his eyebrow, finding an opening. “Ah, but in the same $10 to $20 range, maybe something from Sicily, like the silky, scrumptious Morgante Nero d’Avola, or a round, supple Cataldi Madonna Montepulciano from Abruzzo, or maybe even Leone de Castris Santera Primitivo, the zinfandel of Italy.”
Hmm, and all from the very good 2004 vintage. This penguin knew his stuff.
After killing off the pie and a couple of glasses of the Morgante, Howard sees I’m still down and suggests we swing by Anacone’s for a killer beef on weck to chase the editorial blues. Before we get to order a couple of rare ones, a fight has broken out at a nearby table. Naturally, Remy the sommelier is in the middle of it. “You bloody moron,” he curses at a burly biker. “You can’t have freaking Chablis with roast beef.”
The biker grabs Remy’s scrawny neck. “It’s my soddin’ money, mate, and I’ll drink what I like.”
Remy may be a pompous jerk, but he’s right: Chardonnay blows with beef. To get Harley guy to loosen his grip, I offer a glass of what we’re drinking. He takes a sniff, then nods in recognition. “2004 Chateau St Michelle Indian Wells Cabernet Sauvignon from Washington State, ain’t it?” He takes a sip and smiles broadly. “Beautiful nose, rich and decadent, wonderful texture.” He lets Remy go.
I say, “It’s a lot of wine for $15. Cabernet or Merlot-based wine, whether from California, Chile, or Bordeaux, is absolutely perfect with roast beef.” I grab a bottle from another table, and pour another glass. “Try this: Chateau Souverain makes a soft, silky, tasty California Cabernet; the 2003, 2004, and 2005 are all floating around, and they’re all under $15.”
The biker flexes his “Mom” tattoo and takes a sip. His beef arrives. “Good, but ain’t they got nothin’ French?”
“Remy?” I gesture to the still-bruised sommelier and he produces two bottles from the hot, ripe 2003 vintage in Bordeaux. The first is the Cabernet-based, immensely appealing Cambon la Pelouse, a great deal for $16. “If you want something a little softer, this mostly-Merlot Chateau Gigault Cuvee Viva is a great value, a stunning, full-bodied irresistible bottle for only $14.”
The biker pours and swirls the Gigault, sips then aerates the wine in his mouth, making a horrible sloshing sound. I cover my ears; Remy once again rushes the biker’s table.
“Put down the soddin’ horseradish, ya freakin’ idiot. It’ll pulverize your palate, ya won’t even taste the wine.” I think I hear the thwack of a pool cue as we head for the door.
 |
We’re still hungry, so Howard heads his Honda Element west. Buffalo’s become quite the barbecue town, with numerous chains joining stalwart local favorites, like One-Eyed Jack’s, Kentucky Greg’s, or the great new Buffalo Barbecue and Brew on Elmwood. But none are better than Suzy Q’s Bar-B-Q Shack in Riverside.
Suzy Q’s does many things well, but their pulled pork—and their wine service— is second to none. The smoke and spice and often-sweet sauces make barbecue marry best with straightforward, fruity, and quaffable wines, and the Carte du Vin the wine steward hands us is full of them. An Argentinean Malbec, like the 2004 Altos Las Hormigas, or the 2004 Rosemount Diamond Shiraz, is a terrific value at $10. Zinfandel is a natural match, a quintessentially American wine with a traditional American food. And they have a good one on the list: the 2003 Three Thieves Zinfandel, a spectacular, jam-packed bargain at $12 for a one-liter jug.
The steward delivers a piggy platter. “There’s nothing like a spicy, low-cost Côtes du Rhône from southern France with barbecue.”
Howard—like the rest of us—hates the French, but the sweet meat is crying out for a Grenache/Syrah blend, like the delicious 2004 Domaine d’Andezon Cotes du Rhone, or Le Petit Vin d’Avril, a non-vintage blend made by the great Chateauneuf du Pape estate Clos des Papes. Both are about $10, but for a little more, honors go to an old favorite, the 2003 Château de Ségriès Lirac Cuvée Réservée, a heady, beautiful crowd-pleasing steal for $12.
The steward brings the Lirac, and I take a sip. “You know, Howard, this wine is made from …”
“Can you just shut up and drink it?” Howard asks.
 |
Later, alone at the Anchor Bar, I stare at the single order: hot with extra blue cheese.
“Anything to drink?”
I eye the chalkboard wine specials. 1999 Lafite? Too young. Niellon Batard-Montrachet? Too white.
And then I see the Krug.
Few people know the story I’m about to tell, the untold, secret, known-only-to-me story of the birth of the chicken wing. Conventional wisdom has it that one evening at the Anchor Bar, Dominic Bellissimo asked his mother, Teressa to prepare something for his friends to eat. Teressa scrounged around and found some leftover chicken parts, butter, and hot sauce. She fried the wings, bathed them in butter and hot sauce, and created Buffalo’s greatest eating sensation.
This is a charming story, but only partly true. In the version I offer you, the bar’s liquor supplier had accidentally left off a case of Krug Champagne with the Bellissimos, leaving them unsure how to match it with food, this no longer being a caviar-and-blini joint. “We need something hot and spicy,” said Teressa.
Wine’s normally a dicey choice with hot-and-spicy dishes. The alcohol in normal table wines interacts with the otherwise pleasant fire of the food to create a sensation known in the wine trade as “gargling with lava.” So with incendiary fare like hot wings, beer’s normally the best choice.But sparkling wines go well with spicy foods; the carbonation ameliorates the heat. And so Teressa scrounged around, found some hot sauce, and then had to figure what to coat with it. “What about these chicken wings?” asked her hungry son.
If the Anchor Bar, or your favorite wing spot, is out of Krug (normal tab: about $200), most sparkling wines will do, including all the usual suspects (Taitinger, Mumm, Dom Perignon, etc.) And if your hedge fund had a bad week, think of less costly alternatives, like McGregor Vineyards Sparkling Riesling or Dr. Frank Celebre from Keuka Lake for about $20, or Glenora Brut or a sparkler from Domaine Ste. Michelle, the best $10 sparklers in the marketplace.I took a sip of Krug and smiled at the chicken wing. If a marginalized food product can go on to fame and fortune, there’s hope for marginalized wine writers, too.
Mark Criden (mcriden@yahoo.com) is a non-profit executive and the former chair of the Buffalo Branch of the International Wine & Food Society.
Back to the Table of Contents
Back to Top