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VAMP: Home for the Holidays Dec 18, 2014 So Say We All's holiday storytelling revue features a myriad of stories that come from of our time-honored tradition of squeezing the family together in a confined space, plying on the food and the booze, and waiting for something weird to happen. 67 other events on Thursday, December 18
 
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Home / Articles / Eats / Wine on a Dime /  Name game
. . . .
Tuesday, Mar 03, 2009

Name game

You don't have to be an imaginary porn star to enjoy a good Carmenere

By Martin Jones Westlin

Riesling. Merlot. Chardonnay. Gewurztraminer. Cabernet Sauvignon. Y’know ’em. Y’love ’em. And y’may not be aware that they’re as much wine types as descriptors of the grapes the beverages come from. Carmenere is another such handle, ’sep it sounds like a last name instead of a fruit. There should be this guy called Raoul Carmenere—he’d claim his fortune as a clothier to the likes of Cher and Bowie (that way, he only has to design for a single gender). Benito Carmenere would make boxing history as the only fighter to defeat George Foreman, Mike Tyson and their cornermen at the same time. Loretta Carmenere likely raked in millions in the soft-porn trade, only to be squashed by a wayward press bus in rural Detroit after tripping over her own bazongas.

But the hard reality is that the Carmenere is a fruit. And a darn fine one it is, too, by golly. To confirm this, you need only score a bottle of the 2006 La Playa Carmenere Reserve. It’s from Chile’s Colchagua Valley, about 100 miles south of Santiago and the locale that’s produced about half the award-winners in Chile’s proud winemaking history. It has kind of a smoky essence to it, almost as if its manufacturers let the grapes ferment too long on purpose. And the aftertaste will last a while, which makes this a very good complement to just about any heavy meal you care to prepare (big fat meats are best).

Dear, departed Loretta didn’t live long enough to witness the phenomenon that is BevMo. If she had, she’d have happily trussed herself up, waddled on over and laid down $8.99 for a bottle of this stuff—she’d never have missed it amid her oodles of ill-gotten gains. The bright side is that neither will you. Even better: Your last name isn’t Gewurztraminer.    




 
 
 
 
 
 
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