Around 1972, when I was ten, I remember the outdoor grills my father enjoyed. He tossed lesser cuts of beef – we weren’t rich – lamb chops and sausages onto the hotplate. The full panoply of fleshy comestibles sputtered and spat. Fat and heat are an exciting combination.
Then he’d get a glint in his eye, look at me, and out of nowhere toss his glass of wine over it all. For a few seconds the whole hot fatty mess sizzled, steam rose, and the impression of culinary secrets impressed the urchin.
Weirdly, he was probably right. The sugars and other weird molecules in his glass of shiraz likely added the kind of contrasting note chefs nowadays call interest, or zest. Fat is flavor, and sugar is appeal; what could go wrong?
Fear not, this is much to do with wine. And the meat is not peripheral. This wine is quite something, a product of the earth, and it shows. That’s related to the meat in the same way that steak reflects the life of the beast. We pay for free-range raised animal flesh. In the same way, we should prefer wine free from the industrial-booze complex. Are you willing?
For a start, buy this bottle. Fruit, earth, must, tapas, siestas, bullfights, secession, heat, torrid sex – it’s all here.