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.