'Yellow Tail' Shiraz, Australia - 2011

I'm currently reading through George M. Taber's A Toast to Bargain Wines: How Innovators, Iconoclasts, and Winemaking Revolutionaries Are Changing the Way the World Drinks (that's WAY too long a title, Mr. George though I'm sure you didn't dream it up, at least not on your own), and have reached the part where Mr. George talks about the landing in America of Yellow Tail, potentially one of the world's most famous Australian bargain wines.

The book in itself is fascinating, and I'll probably write about it when I'm done reading it. The section I'm referring to discusses how Yellow Tail has Italian roots, originally bore the name Casella, and why it's a popular bargain wine. Taber says the wine was originally brought into the American market (which sooner or later means the Canadian market too) as a bargain alternative to Rosemont and pricier Australian wines.

To bring it to a more personal level, when I met my boyfriend, he was steadfast that Yellow Tail Shiraz was his wine. I don't remember thinking, "Ugh, an Australian drinker," but I think I remember a worry that he might not be adventurous beyond Yellow Tail.

That was not the case - my boyfriend is not the wine-drinking version of a person who is a die-hard fan of American college football (I've heard stories, people). In any case, I do come back to the Yellow Tail every so often because it's a consistently enjoyable wine. I might go so far as to say, after one has ripped their tastebuds with Baby Duck or Alberta vodka (which I understand once had a certain cardboard content percentage), Yellow Tail could be a gateway wine, introducing an appreciation for wine and its flavours.

All this to say that I will come back and re-analyze this wine when I've had less of it, but if you want a trustworthy bottle that isn't outrageously expensive but still performs as a good-tasting beverage, Yellow Tail, for all that it might not tickle more educated wine drinkers' left armpit, it certainly scratches my itch for a tasty, budget-range wine.

'Hidden Canyon' Malbec Reserva, Argentina - 2011

It is the Friday night before a long weekend, and while I know that it only looks like a whole heavenly three days stretches before me, I will inevitably reach Monday night and wonder where the hell the past 72 hours vanished to. I certainly didn't see them, or use them up.

Sounds like a good reason to have a last glass of wine before bed.

It was between the Obikwa Shiraz from South Africa and the Hidden Canyon Malbec from Argentina. Upon reflection, I could be announcing a boxing match or a wine decision. Anyways, since the Boyfriend has enjoyed Obikwa before, I decided to save it for tomorrow's pseudo-Valentine's Dinner.

I've enjoyed Malbecs from Argentina before, so I popped it open. One whiff of the bottle gave me the idea of graham crackers in a somehow-unpleasant way. Old graham crackers? Still, maybe it just needs some airing.

In the glass, scents area bit more mellow. A hint of peppery, fruity, but something very alive and fresh - if gamey were an enticing odor, this wine could be it.

The first taste is peppery and without wanting to sound like I'm making shit up, it makes me think of some of the ribs at Montana's, basted in one of their rib sauces. I want to say apple butter, but I don't usually get that flavour, so I don't know if that's a fair comparison. It's followed by a tannic splash at the back of the throat. It's of medium boldness, but its slow death leaves behind a slightly unpleasant feeling on the tongue.

I can imagine this going with spicy tomato pasta sauces with little meat. Meanwhile, I feel I have to go scrub little sweaters off my teeth.

Maybe a day in the fridge will tell this wine what's what. That, or cooking with it.

'Apothic Red' Blend, California - 2011

It is the Day of St. Valentine, of (what I think of as) commercialism trotting itself about in flowers and red ribbon, trying to convince us we must reassure our significant others that this day once a year is special in a way the other 364 (give or take with a leap year) aren't.

Myself, I wasn't about to miss my psychology class because I'm all romantic like that. I'm so romantic that I insisted no flowers, and I bought my own wine and chocolate to treat myself well. Take that, exploitative capitalist ventures!

The wine I bought is sort of a comfort-food wine in my house. Apothic Red is a winemaker's blend of Zinfandel, Merlot, Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon. I have no idea what ratio these four wines are in, but Apothic hit a stable, pleasing combination in this.

The back label describes it as 'layers of dark fruit complemented by hints of vanilla and mocha'. It does have a lovely plum colour, and is opaque in the glass (except to light of course, and even then). I would add the word 'cinnamon' to the description as well, and in attempting to describe it to the clerk who sold it to me, I said it was deep and rich, and would go well with heavier flavours that could stand up to it. It's not terribly rough on the tongue or tannic in the throat.

I do adore buying this when it comes on sale to $11 because until I've received a pay-raise, the usual $15 makes me bite my lip in sadness that I'm too cheap to buy it at that price. Don't mistake me that it's not worth that price - I'm just waiting for it to go on sale. It's a solid, stable, and wholly dependable wine that I enjoy a lot.

No Name-brand Red, Spain - 201?

I found out a few weeks ago that No Name, the poorman's best bet at decent prices, now makes wine.

Now if you're done laughing, we'll continue.

In the same way I love bad movies, I couldn't wait to try this wine. I bought it for $7.99 at the nearest President's Choice Liquor store, and brought it home... where it sat because I was both tantalized but terrified. My hopes were not terribly high.

The label is the generic yellow as everything else under the No Name sun. There is no description of which grapes went into this wine, not even a year of bottling (I don't count the copyright date as a bottling). There is nothing about the wine itself in the bottle except to say that it is red (and since the bottle is clear, thanks for the update, champ) and that it should be tried with pizza or lasagna. Erudite.

Upon opening, pouring, swirling and sniffing, I smelled vanilla.

The taste was initially peppery and very tannic. Now it sort of tastes like a red that sits heavy on your tongue, syrupy in how the flavour lingers.

This wine purportedly comes from Spain and I'd be more likely to believe it if it wrote the qualifier "Spain wine kit".

This is the type of wine you reserve for sangria or cooking. If you're having a terrible day, either have this wine to suit the mood, or don't have this wine because the taste won't make your day any better.