So there I was, drinking a wine from a grape variety whose name meant nothing to me but whose taste suggested I was losing touch with my profession. It was one of those all-too-rare moments when you’re drinking a wine that you know is inexpensive but utterly delicious. The word ‘brilliant’ flashed across my mind on at least two occasions as I fought with my inability to recognise the name of the grape, for it’s a wine well deserving of more than a touch of hyperbolae. Especially when it’s $15, ready to drink or cellar; to drink by itself with thirsty friends or to pull out from the bottom shelf whenever a rich, rustic casserole emerges from the kitchen of your dreams. But could I recognise the grape? No. Not in the least. Was I feeling professionally threatened, challenged or inadequate? You bet I was.Honestly, though, could you have done any better? The wine was made from a red variety that originated in Bordeaux but has since been lost in the sands of Gallic time. Oddly, it’s still a permitted component in the Californian blend of red Bordeaux varieties called ‘Meritage’, which suggests that someone at least might still be growing it there. Apparently there are several plantings along the West Coast. But does it taste of a Bordeaux variety? Hardly at all. So, doing my best to put a brave and competent face over something I knew less than nothing about but frankly something I felt I should have comfortably been aware of, I confess here and now, totally and absolutely, that at the age of 48 and in the Year of Our Lord 2010, I have just discovered the grape Saint Macaire. You have no idea how much this hurts Ð especially given that for a number of years I harboured genuine ambitions of becoming a top-drawer viticulturist. Having confessed this, I am however happy to declare with complete confidence and surety that there’s more than a hint of truth in the old adage that ‘it’s never too late’. For I am now, after but a single bottle of this stuff, a complete and total devotee who will live out his (hopefully) long remaining years in complete enlightened adoration of Saint Macaire, especially when Bill Calabria and his team at Westend can churn it out like this at a mere $15 a bottle. No, stuff it Ð and despite what Tyson Stelzer might pontificate on this issue Ð I’d still say the same thing if it were twice the price, perhaps even more.For the wine in question, the Calabria Private Bin Oak Aged Saint Macaire 2008, is a ripper. A Godsend. A hero, to tune into the modern marketing vernacular. Its taste, as I have tried to suggest earlier, has about as much to do with Bordeaux as a vintage Fiat tractor. It’s a rustic wine of memories past. It’s about as contemporary as a Robert Menzies speech, but as earthy and as passionate as a Sicilian operetta. It’s pungent, ripe and meaty, with a deep, luscious presence of blackberries, dark cherries and plums, prunes and currants. Sure, the oak is assertive and patently American, but the wine is wild enough, briary enough and packed with enough character and personality to get over it. And you won’t ever get perfection for $15 per bottle, although this Saint Macaire, which happens to be the only one grown and made in Australia, cuts it pretty darned close.So, if you’re dropping by my place and I pour you a glass of my new house wine, don’t be offended if I wasn’t required to take out a loan first. If I’m splashing out the Calabria Private Bin Oak Aged Saint Macaire 2008, that means you know I’m letting you in on a very close, very personal secret. Oh, and a very professional one at that!
