Wither Hills Chardonnay (2014): Wither Hills, Marlborough

We have what I assume to be a very special bottle, tonight.  It got my attention because I initially thought that it was completely out of stock at Foursquare, but I happened to find a lone bottle that someone had left on a different shelf.  It's normally marked for $17, but was on sale for $12.

Aesthetically, it's a pretty unassuming bottle.  From the colors, to the font, to the graphics, there's nothing to really make you think this is anything but a run of the mill bottle of wine.  The one thing it does have is a uniquely shaped label.   The top of the front label is an angled, irregular line, presumably meant to emulate the Wither Hills from which the winery takes its name.  There is an image of some hills on the front label which, upon further inspection, actually have a textured element to them.  It's done in a way where I can't be 100% confident that it's not just a little too much adhesive in that articular spot, but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

The back label is where Wither Hills makes its big impression.  First things first, it's 13.5% alcohol, which is pretty commonplace for reds, but seems to be pretty rare for whites, so it's already winning points there.  The back label also features two full paragraphs of text.  It blows every other bottle I've ever reviewed out of the water as far as text present on bottle, which isn't a metric I'm not used to having to measure.  The first paragraph is a description of the winery itself, describing how it was named for the Wither Hills range near their vineyards, and how their location makes their wine unique.  I'll have to look into these Wither Hills.  Shingle Peak has left me suspicious of landmark based claims.

The second paragraph is the standard back of wine text.  It outlines the sensory experience that I'm about to have.  So flavor wise, I'm going to get white peach, fresh tangelo, lemon sorbet, and "subtle spicy apple strudel".  You might thing that apple strudel or lemon sorbet would be the thing I'd latch onto here, but I'm more interested in the tangelo.  I think this is the first bottle I've reviewed that features a hybrid fruit in it.  A tangelo is a mix between a tangerine and a pomelo.  I feel like the standard representation of hybrid fruits has always been as something fun and quirky, very different than your standard white wine messaging.  I think the first time I ever heard of a tangelo was in the "The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy".  Billy, the zany idiot of the duo, was walking around with a bowl of them strapped to his head in order to repel some nefarious force that I can't remember.  Maybe I'm just off base with the way the world perceives these fruits, but I'm kind of surprised that the wine industry doesn't view them as being abominations.

Back to the label, all those flavors I mentioned are apparently going to be bound together with "bright acidity" and "seductive French oak nuances".  Considering the confusion that oak has caused in the past, I'm glad that they went out of their way to specifically say that this is French oak, and I look forward to being seduced by it.  It's strange how common oak is in these cheap wines.  I wonder if it's just a matter of these wineries using their new barrels to makes these low end wines, so a lot of the wood flavor seeps into the product.  Bright is an interesting adjective to use for a mouth sensation.  I don't really know what to expect from bright acidity.  I generally view bright as being an overbearing amount of light.  Years of driving in Minnesota and North Dakota have trained me to associate the word with sunlight reflecting off of snow and into my eyes.  Finally, the wine is described, in summation, as being of "pristine texture, minerality, and style."  Again, I don't know what to expect, particularly in regards to "minerality".  I've never even seen that word.  My word processor doesn't recognize it as being a word at all.  I've definitely heard people in movies describe wines as "earthy", so maybe that's what I'm about to experience.  I'll do some research into it during the break.

Pouring the first glass, I'm struck by how clear it looks coming out of the bottle.  Sitting stagnant in the glass, it's got an unmistakable yellowish hue to it, like any other white wine.  The scent is sickly sweet.  There's something very familiar about it, but I can't quite put my finger on where I know it from.  It's not a pleasant association, whatever it is.  I almost have reservations about taking a drink. Almost.

The first mouthful is aggressively sour, positively mouth-puckering.  This is exactly what I was afraid of when the sourness was described as "bright".  Once that passes, there's a little more subtlety to the taste, with the peach probably being the most recognizable.  The aftertaste is distinctly that of pie crust, or maybe graham cracker, so props to them for coming somewhat close to hitting apple strudel as a wine flavor.  Early impression is that it's alright.  I'm particularly impressed with how distinctly some of these flavors are coming through.  I'm only halfway through the first glass, and the sourness is already becoming less overbearing.  Hopefully that's a good sign for things to come.  I'll be back after a few more glasses.

Alright, I've finished the bottle.  The sourness never went away quite enough for me, personally.  It did get better as the bottle progressed, but even as I was lapping up the dregs from the bottom of my last glass, it still was too sour for me to really enjoy.  I figured out what the scent was.  So, while I was working on my Bachelor's, I had a job with the North Dakota Geological Survey.  One of the jobs I had was photographing rock cores, and adding those photos to the core's profile in the state's database.  Before we would photograph we would dip them in an acid solution, to clean them off.  This wine smells like that acid solution.  This would also play into the mystery of "minerality", since we practically never switched those acid tub out and they were rife with sediments from the various rock cores that had been dipped in them.  I've also looked into the Wither Hills, and am relatively confident that they are a real place.  So points to this bottle, and more points away from Shingle Peak.

Final assessment is that as a $12 bottle, I'd definitely recommend.  As a $17, there's definitely better value options.  Presentation wise, nothing blew me away.  The front label is forgettable.  The back label has more text than what they can honestly expect anyone to bother with. I'll give it like a C for presentation.  It's not actively awful, but there's no reason to take notice of this bottle on the shelf.  As far as mouth experience, it's a strong contender for the best white I've reviewed here.  It was a bit sour for my taste, but there were different flavors that were very clearly present in every mouthful, and it did it while maintaining a high alcohol content.  That's admirable.  I'll give it a very solid A-, there.  That averages out to like a B- or B.  I'll give the nod to a B, especially at $12.

Riverstone Merlot (20??): Villa Maria, Auckland

Much like the Shingle Peak from last week, Riverstone is a bottle that is always available in my Foursquare.  The $8.99 label makes me take notice every time, and the bottle stands out among the other reds on the rack, but much like the Shingle Peak, it's one I already tried out once a few months ago.  I don't really remember anything particular about it, though.  In fact, if it wasn't for the unique label, I probably wouldn't remember having bought it, at all.

I simultaneously love and dislike the label on Riverstone.  I love what they did with the topographic map pattern on the front label, reinforcing the river theme.  The shade of blue they used is really pleasant and calming.  The blue really stands out among the sea of white and red labels that make up the rest of the red wine section.  You really can't help but notice it on the shelf, even if it wasn't literally the cheapest bottle available.  My biggest issue with it is that I immediately associate the color with blueberry.  The association is so strong that there is a solid couple seconds every time I see this bottle where I think the rocks on the label are actually blueberries.  Even today, seeing it for probably the 50th time, I picked up the bottle and read the back label just to make super-duper sure that I didn't miss the blueberry reference.  I love blueberries, so I get really excited at the prospect of a blueberry wine, and it disappoints every time.

What the back label does promise are "ripe, soft berry flavours".  So, I guess that doesn't technically preclude blueberries from being involved, but I tend to read "berry flavour" in more-or-less the same way I read "citrus flavour".  That is, there's not going to be anything recognizable, here, it'll just be generally sweet.  Calling back to Wolf Blass Shiraz from a few weeks ago, Riverstone boasts of it's smoothness.  In the Wolf Blass review, I speculated that "smooth" was code for high alcohol content.  Riverstone sits at 13%, which is higher than average, but not exceptional. 13.5% seems to be the highest that is relatively common, and the Wolf Blass was 14%.  In another connection with the Wolf Blass, the other flavor mentioned in the description is "savoury oak".

Now, what we learned with the Wolf Blass was that Australia has their own species of tree that they refer to as an oak, even though it is actually a type of Eukalyptus.  However, Riverstone is a New Zealand wine, so presumably they wouldn't be referring to the same tree.  Is there a "New Zealand oak"?  Is it just referring to North American and European oaks? Once again, I'll need to read up on the common names of tree species' before I can make a final call about whether the wine meets the expectations set forth by the description on the label.

The back label rounds off with a recommended pairing of pizza, pasta, or red meat.  I'm going to give points for having the balls to recommend pizza as a pairing option on your bottle of wine, but I'm also going to deduct some points for the vagueness of simply recommending "pasta".  Every bottle of wine goes with pasta, you've gotta be more descriptive than that.  There's a million different ways to prepare the million types of pasta that exist, the least you can do is give me a sauce color.

The last interesting thing about the outside of the bottle is that it doesn't seem to feature a vintage year.  The year being on the bottle is something so ubiquitous that I had assumed until now that it was required.  For $8.99, presumably it's from within the last year or two, but it's interesting that it was excluded.  Maybe bottles from the current year, don't need to be labeled?  I'll have to keep a lookout for any 2016 bottles next time I'm in Foursquare.

Opening the bottle and pouring the first glass, it's distinctly not citrusy or sour smelling, relative to the other bottles.  It's much softer; more subtle.  Raspberry is the immediate connection that I made, but that's not quite right.  I think that's as close as I'm going to get, though.  Only so much you can get from "mixed berry".  It's a deep, deep red in color, almost approaching black.  There is no light making it through the glass, whatsoever, it's entirely opaque.  The first swig is mostly just non-descript sweetness.  There's no flavor that stands out as being particularly overbearing, or even notable.  It finishes on a distinctly more bitter note that could either be the oak, or just the alcohol.  All in all, it's much more juice-like than any of the previous bottles I've reviewed here.  I'll be back after a few more glasses...

So, I've had about two-thirds of the bottle.  It still is mostly just playing as fruit juice.  The bitter ending has given way to a little bit of a more sour note, though not mouth-puckeringly so by any means.  It's been a pretty easy to get down drink since the start.

I looked into oak trees, as well.  There is a tree that was once referred to as the "New Zealand oak" relatively commonly, but it's more commonly know by its Maori name, titoki, now.  It's from a genus that I know nothing about, native exclusively to Southeast Asia and Pacific islands.  So, I can only assume that the savoury oak found here is in reference to North American and/or European oaks.

I also did some research on vintage dates.  I've always assumed that the vintage of a wine referred to the date it was bottled, but apparently that isn't the case.  It actually refers to the year the grapes were picked, and it's not uncommon to have grapes from multiple years in the same bottle.  When that occurs, it's not uncommon to not give a vintage.  I couldn't find anything specific to New Zealand, but apparently getting other fruit besides grapes involved also complicates the process of putting on a vintage date in some places.  Who'd have thought I'd actually learn some wine stuff while reviewing wines?

Final grading time.  Just looking at the bottle for pure aesthetics, it's very strong.  It's minimalist, but something about it really draws me in.  I might just be a crazy person with all my associations with that particular shade of blue and blueberries, so I won't dock too much for that.  I think a B+ feels about right.  I really like the topographic map label.  For the actual drinking, this is a wine that's made to be drunk like I'm drinking it.  Just crack the bottle, and drink until you don't feel like drinking, anymore.  There's no subtlety to the taste, there's nothing gained from putting extra effort into appreciating it.  It doesn't have any delusions of being anything more than a means of someone getting drunk.  As someone who is a big fan of crunk music, I can respect that mentality.  Not every bottle needs to be a transformative experience for the drinker.  Sometimes people just want to get shit-faced, and there needs to be products to accommodate that.  So i think I give the drinking experience a B.  That puts the average somewhere between a B and B+.  I'll give it the B+ bump because of the educational x-factor. I learned about both trees and wine vintages this week!

Shingle Peak Chardonnay (2014): Shingle Peak Wines, Waimauku

Shingle Peak is a mainstay of the Four Square wine-rack.  When I'm just perusing for a bottle to pick up, I'm looking at price tags more than anything.  Shingle Peak catches my eye every time I'm there because it's tag is simply a piece of paper with "10.99" Sharpied onto it, and I have to look up at the bottle itself to see what it is, at which point I think to myself "Oh, Shingle Peak", and move on.  As you may have gathered, I've had Shingle Peak Chardonnay before.  I don't necessarily pass it by because I disliked it, so much as it is because I've had it and I want to try something new.  Well, there wasn't anything new that jumped out at me this time, and it meets the 13.5% alcohol mark, so it's time for Shingle Peak to get another shot to "Wow" me.

The design of the bottle is one that I like more the more I look at it.  Because it's a glossy element surrounded by matte, the first thing you'll notice is a stylized image of a mountain, presumably the titular Shingle Peak, It stands above a black horizon, in front of a sky that gradates from white into progressively deeper blues. It boasts no visible awards, or certifications.  One element that I do appreciate, but didn't notice until just now, is a stylized "SP" that is watermarked on the black portion of the label.  The same "SP" is also on the cap.  I think cap marking is something underappreciated in wine.  I've definitely been in situations where there are multiple bottles of wine around, and had to go through the struggle of matching caps to bottles just based on process of elimination.  Something else I'm noticing is that the font on the neck and cap is also light blue, rather than the white that I though it was, in passing.  I like that it kept in theme with the blue sky from the main label.  They picked a shade kind of in the middle of their established gradient, though.  I can't help but feel like going with the dark shade from the top would have been more suitable, given that this is text far above the peak.

 And then, of course, there's the bottle, itself.  It's that shade of green that I can only really describe as "wine bottle green".  It sits somewhere in the neighborhood of olive and the color of pickle juice and really isn't a pleasant color to look at.  It's common enough in white wines that I have to assume there's some reason behind it, like preventing certain types of light from hitting the wine, or something, but I can't imagine your $10, 2 year old Chardonnay is really seeing much benefit.  I imagine for bottles like this, it's more about perception, than anything.  "The expensive bottles are green, so mine has to be, too."  This bottle would look much better with blue, or even just clear glass, though.

The text on the front label talks about how the mountain inspired their wine making philosophy.  Something about the purity of the mountains beauty made the founders of the winery need to find that purity in other things.  They settled on grapes as the thing they would unlock the purity of, apparently.  More power to them, I guess.  There have certainly been worse things done in the name of "purity."  The final line on the front of the bottle reads "Inspired by the majestic Shingle Peak since 1983".  I feel like, as a winery, 1983 isn't nearly long enough of a tenure to be bragging about.  Like, if you've been around sine 1883, ok, I'm impressed.  Something about this product has made this brand be able to withstand the test of time through some major changes in the world.  On the other end, if was like 2013, you're still the fresh and exciting thing that gets to bring something new to the table.  1983?  You're just another winery.

As is the standard, the back label describes what flavors and sensations I can expect to experience as I'm drinking.  The thing they chose to lead with was "biscuity creaminess".  I don't know if this is meant to describe a particular taste, or more of the general mouth experience.  I read that and assume there is almost going to be a degree of viscosity to it.  I also appreciate that they weren't afraid to make up an adjective in the word "biscuity".  Apparently, along with the biscuity creaminess, I'll get some underlying citrous fruits, which are always welcome.  The next bit worries me, however.  They brag about their "lively acidity".  As we learned a few weeks ago with the Mills Reef Merlot, acidity can be an issue when you're looking to drink a lot of wine in one sitting.  Hopefully it isn't as overbearing here.  The description finishes with "clean, refreshing" peach and nectarine flavors that "linger long and smooth on the palate", which actually sounds quite pleasant.  The back label is an interesting divergence from the other bottles I've reviewed in that they kept everything pretty familiar.  There's some vagueness with the biscuity creaminess and just general citrus fruits, but I at least have a general sense of what i can expect going in.  Going back to the Mills Reef bottle, I had no idea what I was in for when it was describing the "leather complexities" and "lingering star anise".  We'll see if this pays dividends for Shingle Peak.  Of note is that there is no recommended food pairing.  I know the general rule is white wines with white meats, but I'll assume that day-old Domino's pizza with beef as a topping is an adequate substitute.  They also reiterate that they've been "Inspired by the majestic Shingle Peak since 1983".  It's still not worth bragging about.

Opening the bottle, the citrus is immediately apparent, it dominates the scent.  Nothing about the pour strikes me as being particularly noteworthy.  It's a very light yellow-green in color.  I'm immediately reminded of low-end light beers in the US.  Keystone Light, in particular.  Taking the first drink, the citrus definitely leads the show.  The spikes dangerously close to sour right as it hits your mouth, but pulls itself back before going too far.  I feel like the peach is to thank for bringing back from the brink, and then settles into a surprisingly smooth experience, before the alcohol taste comes through.  There's a citrus taste that lingers around a little longer than I'd like it to.  Presumably, it's that nectarine.  Overall, I'm quite enjoying this so far.  We'll see how I'm doing after a few more glasses.

OK, I've finished the bottle.  As is normal, the alcohol taste became less noticeable over time.  The thing that didn't, however, was that lingering citrus taste.  I abandoned the glass to drink from the bottle and still found myself puckering after every swig because the aftertaste was too sour and stuck around for too long.  It still goes down pretty easy, relatively speaking, though.  The "dynamic acidity" never became an issue, or was even really noticeable, which I am glad for.

Also, I've done some research.  Shingle Peak is apparently in Marlborough, a region on the northern end of the South Island.  I happen to have a flatmate from the area, and he tells me he's never heard of Shingle Peak.   Other Kiwis I've consulted have told me the same.  Somehow, this mountain that was so beautiful as to inspire an entire winery to exist for 33 years is entirely unknown to local residents.  Google image search consists mostly of images of the bottle, itself.  Images of mountains aren't immediately identifiable as being the one depicted on the bottle, or even of all being images of the same place.  A Google Maps search places a point among some mountains in Marlborough, but it's not immediately apparent which of those mountains, if any, is actually Shingle Peak.  On top of that, I've learned that Waimauku, where this winery apparently is located, is on the very northern end of the North Island, nowhere near where Shingle Peak supposedly resides.  Did Shingle Peak Winery make up a place, unironically describe that place as their "muse" and then not even bother to have that place be near their winery?  I don't even know how to deduct points for that.  I'll give it a B+ for presentation, and a B- for in mouth experience, which averages to a B.  I'm going to take a grade away for not being located anywhere near Shingle Peak, even if it is real.  So Overall is a B-.  If i find out Shingle Peak isn't even a real place, I'm dropping this to a C.

Red Label Shiraz Cabernet (2015): Wolf Blass, South Australia

I know this is supposed to be "Kiwi" wine tour, but tonight we actually have a bottle from our friendly neighbors across the Tasman, Australia.  It's a brand I hadn't seen in Foursquare before, and for $8.99, I just couldn't resist.  Not to mention it's raised the bar for what I previously thought was possible for alcohol content, up to a whopping 14%.  I didn't even notice the "2015 Winery of the Year" award that it modestly presents on the neck.  I'm torn as to how I feel about the rest of aesthetic of this bottle.  I can't tell if it's bold and eye-catching, or just tacky. I feel like if someone just showed me the label with the wine references edited out, my immediate assumption would be that it was from like a candy bar, rather than a wine.  I immediately noticed it on the rack, which I guess is the ultimate goal, so I really can't fault it too much for presentation.

Reading the description on the back of the bottle, it seems the red label indicates that it is part of Wolf Blass's "Smooth Blends" series.  The front label also boasts of its smoothness.  The first things that come to mind when I think of alcohol that presents smoothness as a primary feature are Red Dog (Uncommonly Smooth), and Hurricane 40 (Brace for the smooth taste!).  As far as I'm concerned, that's good company for an $8.99 bottle of wine.  Oddly enough, those two are also feature relatively high alcohol content for a beer and malt liquor, respectively.  Maybe that's a trend I need to put more research into.

As far the flavors advertised,  we have a "bouquet of fresh red fruits, spice, mint, and balanced oak".  It describes itself as "soft, fruity, and full of flavour" and recommends drinking it "young and fresh" with a "rich, hearty dish".  The part of this that I'm immediately drawn to is the "balanced oak", for a number of reasons.  First, I don't know what it means by "balanced", but I'm excited to learn.  Second I'm curious as to weather they have oak trees in Australia and if so, how they differ from my familiar red, white, and burr oaks of America.  I can only assume that oak flavor basically translates to acorn flavor, since that's the only part of oaks that is at all edible, and the acorns I'm familiar with do not taste good.  I also appreciate the mystery around "red fruits" and "spice" as flavors.  They could be anything!

Cracking the bottle, I'm greeted with a sickly sweet aroma, of no particular distinction other than "unmistakably red wine".  Pouring the first glass, I'm noticing that it falls deep into the purple spectrum, as far as color.  It looks more like grape juice than wine.  Further sniffing reveals nothing more to me other than "red".  This must be what the label meant by "red fruits".

The first drink is immediately a sensation very different than previous wines I've had.  It doesn't swish in my mouth so much as it slithers around.  I'd almost liken it to milk.  It's not an entirely unpleasant feeling, but it certainly caught me off guard.  As far as taste, there's no sourness, no tart, no vinegary to be had.  It's just the sweetness of the fruit, and the bitterness of the alcohol, and they hit one right after the other.  The aftertaste is just nothing but alcohol.  I definitely wouldn't describe it as "soft".  One thing that I do need to give it credit for is that smoothness that it bragged about.  I don't think I've ever had a wine that goes down as easily as this does.

So, first glass down, first impression is that this is definitely going to be a bottle that gets easier the more I drink.  Right now that alcohol taste, is pretty overbearing.  I guess it's not inconceivable that the alcohol flavor I'm tasting could be that oak.  Acorns are bitter as hell.  At any rate, I'll come back after a few more glasses to wrap this up.

Alright.  I've had about half the bottle, now.  As expected, the alcohol bitterness has subsided, significantly, making drinking an overall more pleasant experience.  I still can't pull any particular flavors out, though.  It's just kind of generic fruity sweetness.  Also, I did some research on oak trees.  Apparently, Australia does have trees that they call oaks, but aren't actually closely related to the oaks of North America, Europe, and Asia.  They're a type of Eucalyptus.  So, I'll probably never know what that balanced oak was supposed to be, for sure.

So, for final grade, I'll give the presentation a C+.  The color of the label caught my eye, and I liked where they put the award sticker, but the wine, itself, looks kind of grossly artificial and the design of the label just feels low-end.  For drinking experience, I'll give it a C.  Smoothness can only get you so far, eventually you have to have some flavor to back that up, and this wine just doesn't.  There's no complexity to be found here, it just kind of just feels like a shitty mixed drink, like a vodka and cran-raspberry, or something like that, where the fruit flavor is just there to take the edge of the alcohol taste.  Overall, I'd give it like a C, I'll bump it up to a C+, because I learned some fun tree facts.

Estate Merlot Cabernet (2014): Mills Reef Winery, Hawke's Bay

Today, we actually have a slightly more expensive bottle than my standard fare.  I wasn't on the ball enough when I bought it to remember the exact price, but it was on sale, and I was enchanted enough by the awards that the bottle boasts to be willing to drop an extra couple bucks.  The bottle features not one, but two separate bronze stickers, one for the 2015 New World Wine Awards, and one for the Air New Zealand Wine Awards.  The latter is even a "Pure Bronze" award, which I can only assume is better than just regular old bronze.

One of the first things I look for in a bottle of wine is alcohol content.  As far as I can tell, 13.5% is the peak that gets sold in my local Four Square, and this bottle meets that mark, so it's already starting out strong.  The label promises "lovely blackcurrant and blackberry aromas and flavours, complimented with delicate floral notes, subtle leather complexity and a lingering star anise finish."  I'm immediately suspicious of these claims.  Outside the blackberries, my frame of reference for these things ranges from "that is definitely not a thing I'm supposed to be tasting" to "I don't even know what that is", to "I've only ever seen this in wine".  I must admit that I am excited to experience that subtle leather complexity, though.

The label also recommends pairing this with a pasta dish.  This is an interesting disparity from most bottles, which typically recommend pairing with a particular meat.  I can only assume I've stumbled upon a vegetarian wine, here.  The proudly featured "Sustainable Winegrowing" certification could lend credence to this assumption.  Unfortunately, I already ate dinner tonight, so the wine is just going to have to stand on it's own merits.

Pouring the first glass, I immediately like the color.  It sits a solid couple shades darker than most of the other reds I've bought.  I have no idea what implications this has to mainstream wine connoisseurs but in my rubric, color matters, and for some reason, I associate dark with class.  As far as scent, nothing in particular stands out.  I've also had a perpetual stuffy nose for the last 20 years, so I'm probably not the best judge of that particular metric.  It's entirely possible that those floral notes could just be too "delicate" for me to fully appreciate.

I know during wine tastings, you're supposed to swish it around in your mouth for a period of time, so I'll go ahead and follow that procedure.  I assume the purpose is to pass it over different parts of my tongue, because of the whole "different parts of the tongue taste different flavors" thing, even though that's been debunked for years.  There's probably something to be said for different tastes coming in in a specific order, as well.  This bottle does make note of a lingering star anise flavor, which I can only assume means it's one of those tastes that shows up fashionably late and sticks around.

First swig, it's immediately sweeter than what I'm used to in red wines, I might even go so far as to say it's bordering on sour.  It's distinctly not vinegar-y though, which is something that plagues cheap red wines.  I can't say I'm surprised.  It doesn't really taste distinctly like blackberries to me, but blackberries do run pretty sweet, even as far as berries go.  I also associate black currant with being relatively sweet, just based on other wine that I've had.  I'm noting that holding the wine in my mouth for more than a few seconds is physically painful.  There's a definite acidity here that I'm gonna have to deduct some points for.  We're not about the thrill of painful tingling here at Kiwi Wine Tour.  Ultimately, the sweetness gives way to a flavor that feels like it can't decide whether it wants to be bitter or tart, and gets progressively more bitter as an aftertaste.  I'm reminded of black licorice, but less awful.

Early impression is that this bottle is mostly style over substance.  It seems like the first glass is always the worst with wine, though.  I'll report back after I've had a few more.

Alright. Half the bottle down.  The acidity is still a major issue.  My esophagus is definitely feeling the strain, and the sides and tip of my tongue are tingling like I just ate half a pineapple.  Maybe this is a bottle that isn't meant to be drunk all in one sitting, but that's not the Kiwi Wine Tour way.  The bitterness at the end has lost some of its edge, with the tartness coming to the forefront a bit more.  I'm on board with tart being the predominant sensation over bitter.  For me, tart is the perfect balance between bitter and sour.  It's got that little bit of an edge to it, just tor remind you you're drinking something alcoholic, without pounding you over the head with it.  It's not something I really associate with wine as much, but the idea of "I'm just going to make this as bitter as possible, and say you have poor taste if you don't love me for it" is something that plagues the beer sphere (looking at you IPAs).  There's a subtlety to tart that I can appreciate.

I've now finished the bottle, so time for scoring.  I've gotta give the presentation of this wine a solid A.  As I said, I was wooed to buy it by the award stickers, and I loved the way it looked in the glass.  You can't go wrong with a white and gold label, either.  There's a sort of lattice pattern on the label that is actually raised, as well.  The effort required to have 3D elements of your label is something I just can't ignore.  As far as the actual in-mouth experience, I can't be quite as gracious.  There is a certain progression of sensations that I experience with every drink, from sweet to sour to tart to bitter, that is more complex than what I generally see in like $10 merlots.  I can appreciate that complexity, but I'm not sure how much that actually adds to the overall pleasure of the drinking experience.  Also, the acidity is a definite problem.  I'll give the drinking experience a C+, approaching B-.  I've definitely had reds that I've enjoyed more, for cheaper, but this was enough of a diversion that I'm not mad about it existing.  Overall, it comes out to like a B.

An Introduction

Hi all, Ryan here.  I'm a student currently working on a Master's Degree in New Zealand, but deep down inside, I'm a red-blooded American Midwesterner.  One of the starkest differences I've noticed since arriving in the land of Kiwis a few months ago, is the drastic disparity in the price of alcohol.  Hard liquor is prohibitively expensive.  Bottom shelf beer is also going to run you double the price of what it would in my native rural Minnesota.  There are no 30 racks of Red Dog or Hamm's for $15 to be found here.  Instead, case of 15 Double Browns is going to cost you $20, or more.

Not one to be discouraged, I've resorted to other means of getting by booze fix.  As it turns out, New Zealand is a major producer of wine, so wine prices here are relatively reasonable.  This blog is about my journey through the the wine rack of my local grocery store, as I seek out the perfect budget bottle.