The Icewine Theorem

OK, OK ! So sue me if I can't always be the responsible Bloggist and get this thing updated on time and under budget! I've been so busy and never seem to have enough time and

(Insert Excuse Here)

So anyway, this week was this first time Chefguy RJ has invited paying customers to our beloved tasing group (now unofficially called Meet the Geeks) and the whole dynamic of the thing changes. Normally, by the time I show up at Molinari's on Thursday afternoon, I'm finished being Mr Wine Salesguy. No more bullshit, no more coddling unintelligent sots who need to feel like lords of their own imaginary kingdom, NO MORE SELLING.

I mean, really, selling's a bitch - no matter what it is you're selling. And as much as I like wine, it'd be even MORE likeable if I didn't have try and dish it off to customers.

But I digress...

So now with paying guests sitting opposite me at the table I have to stay in Salesman mode and tell these people about the wines and try and educate and pretend I still care, when I'd really just like to say, "This is whateverthehell Cotes du Blah Blah and it tastes alright, yeah..."

But I smile and give 'em the lines and try and cash out on the week early. But enough of this. What I really wanted to try and put into words is The Icewine Theorem.

Jim and Nancy (or was it Ted and Judy? Or Tom and Leslie? Or Ward and June?)
Listen Intently to Chefguy's Lecture About......?



So The Icewine Theorem basically postulates that, for the novice wine drinker, Icewine has become the Holy Grail and is instantly granted supreme status when tasted in any type of group setting, regardless of quality. Furthermore, because Icewine is instantly pleasing to the palate, it is impossible for the casual wine drinker to even attempt to discern the exceptional from the merely palatable; the dynamic from the mundane.

Wheretofore, when truly World-Class Icewine (usually very, very, very expensive German or Austrian Riesling) is served to these same novices, they are unable to understand the high price or subtleties that make said product worth so much more than the domestic versions.Goddamn, that sounds snobbish, doesn't it?

How can I explain this more simply?

Over the last two years, due to the strong influx of fairly-priced Canadian and Eastern US wines, I have tasted a huge amount of mediocre Icewine. When I have happened to taste one of these Icewines while in the presence of others, I have been looked upon ruefully when I dared criticize this mediocre delight, because undoubtedly, those around me have mostly been drooling and jockeying to get seconds and thirds.

I would conjecture that it is the combination of affordably average Icewine coupled with blissfully ignorant spendthrifts which undermines the ability of importers to sell the truly premiun Icewines at the prices they should warrant.

More simply put, if it's all sweet and it all says Icewine on the label, why should I - the consumer - bother to spend a good deal more simply to experience an intangibly more complex and superior wine?

If ALL Icewine is always great, I'll just buy the cheapest Icewine because they're ALL great.

And the whole reason I've launched this train of thought is because the two wines below, and the customers pictured above, perfectly illustrate The Icewine Theorem at play.


Southbrook Winery Framboise & Cassis Fruit Wines


Corky brought these unusual wines today, and they were greeted with moderate aplomb. The guests (Sid and Nancy?) absolutely LOVED the Framboise (especially Nancy) which made sense when applying The Icewine Theorem. It was fairly sweet and immediately familiar, which instantly made it stand out in comparison to all the unusual flavours at play in all the other wine selections today.
With no frame of reference upon which to frame your wine evaluations, it is quite often the most average of wines which are the most enjoyed, while the complex or challenging wines are dismissed as not tasting good.

Enough! Get your wine review below...

So upon first taste, I found the Framboise to be pleasant, and the Cassis to be super-duper-funk-O-riffic. And so I ended up trying each of these wines three times. And the conclusion I came to is that neither of these wines is particularly good. The Framboise had sort of a leafy, waterlogged flavour which carried through to the mouthfeel that leaves you wanting...

And the Cassis, oh the Cassis...
This stuff had a thickness and weight twice that of the Framboise. Much more viscous and mouth-coating from the start. Yet the taste was almost indescribably weird.
Low in acid, with a powedered-chocolate flavour combined with some of that same leafy essence as in the Framboise. I don't have TONS of experience with blackcurrant beverages, but this stuff was abnormally rustic; HEATHEN, EVEN...