Hungrily Ever After

It’s probably fair to say that in America, and the modern world in general, we revere ancient Greece, right? I mean, it basically provided the foundation for western civilization, and vestiges of the powerful, learned, culture are everywhere. Toga parties and fraternities notwithstanding, the evidence speaks for itself— look at the ruins of the Parthenon and the Acropolis in Athens, or the enduring mathematical principles discovered by Pythagoras and Euclid. Boring, you say? Perhaps. Alright, what about wine? Greek wine may not be revered, but it sure is enduring. Sadly, when the Romans defeated the Greeks in the Battle of Corinth, it foreshadowed Italy’s total eclipse of Greece in the wine arena. More than likely, both parties have buried the hatchet when it comes to ancient battles, but the oenophilic overshadowing rages on.

I’ll never forget my first (and only) visit to Greece; the food was amazing, the beaches were beautiful, the people were warm and wonderful, and the wine was Retsina— one sip and ouzo didn’t seem so bad. Unfortunately, it’s this maligned beverage that appears to be the spokes-wine for Greek viticulture. Retsina gets its distinct aromas from pine resin, added to a neutral base wine of Savatiano and Rhoditis (two local, and fairly innocuous white varietals). It’s been around for over 2000 years, and the practice probably originated when resin was used as a sealant for amphorae full of wine. The flavor was imparted to the wines, and even when barrels came into use and the sealing practice was unnecessary, Greeks had become accustomed to the resinous quaff, and continued to vinify in this style. With all due respect to Retsina drinkers, let’s just say it’s an acquired taste, but it’s also a taste that many Americans associate with all Greek wines. I, too, was in this camp, until a blind tasting introduced me to my first sip of Assyrtiko. I remember trying to place the wine, finding fragments of familiar flavors and aromas, but never having experienced the amalgam all in one glass.

Whether made with Assyrtiko or one of the many other indigenous and largely unknown white varietals, these wines have a distinct character, and a combination of traits that make them ideal for summer. Don’t get me wrong— Greek reds are also something special, but for now, when merely stepping outside causes sweat to start dripping down my unmentionable areas, chilled whites are where it’s at. Feel like playing? Here are two that I recently enjoyed:

The first was made from a grape called Moschofilero (I swear, half the fun of Greek wines is trying to pronounce them— I think my favorite is Xinomavro, or maybe Agiorgitiko…). Moschofilero is mostly grown in the Peloponnese, especially in Mantineia, which has AOC (Appellation d’Origine Controlee) status. The grape has a grayish skin, thus produces wines that can have a pinkish hue and tend to be crisp, spicy, and floral. This Moschofilero was a 2009 from Mantinia (alternative spelling) made by Cambas Winery. I picked it up at Urban Grape for a song, and at just 11.5 percent alcohol, I’m pretty sure I could sit in the sunshine and knock back a bottle solo. Hell, I wasn’t even in the sun and I managed to put a serious dent in this one. It had sharp lime aromas, almost bordering on petroly, a touch of peach, some waxiness like I’m used to getting from Pinot Gris, and just a faint hit of funk. While I think this wine is a great value for the price, I have to say that the nose excited me more than the palate, which didn’t quite have the concentration I expected.

Next up was a Robola. This grape’s grown primarily on Kefalonia in the Ionian Islands, and Kefalonia (or Cephalonia, depending on…some random and probably uninteresting distinction), also has AOC status. Robola does well at high altitudes, and while it’s fairly resistant to drought— a boon considering the dry, gravelly, limestone soils of the islands— it’s susceptible to mildew and botrytis. With minerally, sometimes smoky aromas, lemon flavors, and a long finish, it has long been considered one of Greece’s foremost white varietals, and it’s not hard to taste why…

My bottle, snagged from the shelves of Vinodivino last summer, was a 2008 Robola from Cephalonia made by Gentilini Winery. In the glass, the greenish-yellow wine was studded with a few pinpricks of petillance, and the aroma was similar to the Moschofilero in the bright, limey character, but had much more minerality— something between briny limestone and clean, fresh soil. The high acid, something that good Greek whites have in spades, was certainly not lacking, and while both of these Greek plums were well worth the under-twenty-dollar price tag, the Robola gets my vote. So next time you feel perspiration trickling down your [insert intimate valley-shaped body part here], forgo the Pinot Grigio, save the Bud for your moocher friends, and go for Greek whites; I won’t say they’re like a toga party in your mouth, but they’re a hell of a lot more exciting than the Pythagorean Theorem.