Those who know me describe me as a reasonably mild-mannered soul. It takes a lot to get me agitated. But I'm agitated. The "Wine Notes" column of the Wall Street Journal on September 27 dealt with a reader question about "comfort wines" that provide solace in trying times - much like "comfort food." The authors - correctly, I believe - spoke of comfort wines as those that tie memories to a softer flavor profile. Then they proceded to cite specific wines from France's Rhone Valley, Portugal, Sicily, France's Loire Valley, the Piedmont region of Italy - then threw in comments about Cava, Prosecco, and Sauternes for good measure. The ONLY reference to an American wine (forget about California) was "slightly oaky American Chardonnay).
Now maybe I'm being short-sighted here, but when I'm looking for comfort, I think of the home hearth. I don't have that many comforting memories about a French Muscadet or an Italian Arneis. My comfort wines have their origins in the friendly, welcoming hospitality of local tasting rooms - whether it be at Solomon's homes in Murphys and the Old Sugar Mill or at most of the tasting rooms of Calaveras, Amador, El Dorado, Yolo - really any of the Sacramento Wine Region's sphere of influence.
My prescription for a true comfort wine (and comfort wine experience) is simply this: escape from the pressures of your daily routine with a day trip to the slow-paced, friendy, welcoming world of the Sierra Foothills wine country. I'm betting that virtually any winery you visit will offer at least one wine that fits your personal definition of a "comfort wine." Absorb the tasting room experience, buy a couple of bottles of that wine and when you open them at home with good friends and loved ones, let your thoughts drift back to the memories of your Foothill tasting experience. Ahhh - now that's true comfort.
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