A Valentine's blind tasting

Comparing a 2018 Fall Creek GSM, a 2018 Famille Perrin Vacqueyras, and a 2020 Clos du Caillou Côtes du Rhône

Year round, Michael and I regularly come up with reasons to celebrate—You got recognized at work last week! That revision was really good! Your birthday is next Wednesday!—and these celebrations are always centered around food: splurging on a good meal in town, buying ingredients for a new, complicated recipe, or indulging on cocktails or a bottle of wine from the grocery. Valentine’s, though we celebrated early, on the eighth of February, was a great excuse to do something we’ve been wanting to do for a while: a blind tasting at home.

From the store, we selected three bottles of similar blends from different regions:

• Fall Creek Vineyards Salt Lick Vineyards Terroir Reflection Texas Hill Country 2018, a Grenache, Syrah, Mourvèdre blend

• Famille Perrin Les Christins Vacqueyras 2018, 75% Grenache, 25% Syrah

• Clos du Caillou Côtes du Rhône Le Caillou 2020, 80% Grenache, 10% Syrah, 5% Mourvèdre, 5% Cinsault

Because wine is fermented, it reveals the nature of its journey in a sip. The feel, texture, and flavor are all suggestive of the quality of the environment the grapes were grown in—what they call terroir—and the winemaking process employed by the maker. Wine lives and remembers. In it is a mystery that has enchanted people for centuries, and I am no exception. I am fascinated by the storytelling around wine and the labor-intensive, years-long endeavor behind it that, ultimately, results in a bottle filled with something remarkable. Something delicious.

We uncorked the bottles and poured each into three separate, identical glasses and marked them with a corresponding sticker at the bottom. As a beginner’s crutch, Michael and I first smelled the bouquet of each wine. Interestingly, all three shared a deep ruby hue. The Vacqueyras wasn’t very striking, and it was difficult to tell if it was due to a lack of vocabulary or just very subtle aromas, but we thought it was earthy, with notes of licorice and cacao. The Fall Creek had the brightest bouquet: green shoots, ripe fruits, lightness. Like abundance. Finally, the Le Caillou had a very strong metallic, mineral-rich smell—iron, specifically, reminiscent of blood. It wasn’t the most pleasant, especially after smelling the Fall Creek, but it was certainly intriguing.

We conducted the blind tasting on each other one at a time. One would turn around as the other mixed up the sequence of the glasses on the table. Having smelled each wine prior to the blinding, it was quite easy for me to determine which was which. I’ve always had a strong sense of smell—I would catch a whiff in the air and know someone had just left, or that something is askew in the house—so as soon as I brought the glass to my nose, I recognized immediately what I had.

We used up less than a fourth of each bottle for this tasting, and saved the rest for subsequent meals.

Notes

2018 Fall Creek GSM, sweet, peppery, coats mouth, distinctly oaky, flavorful and fun but fades quicky—flavors virtually disappear upon swallowing. This was the easiest drink, and, unpaired with a meal, was our favorite. That we found the Texan wine more impressive than either of the French ones may sound blasphemous, impressive, or revelatory of a certain bias, perhaps. It was far from great, but we agreed it was the most enjoyable of the three.

2020 Côtes du Rhône Le Caillou, licorice, dried fruit, bold, smooth, and balanced—I initially didn’t like this, but it grew on me after a few more sips. The aeration seemed to reveal a sweeter side, like berries. Despite the strong aroma, the wine didn’t carry metallic notes. As this was the cheapest bottle, its dynamic character surprised us.

2018 Famille Perrin Vacqueyras, notes of cacao, high acidity and alcohol—beyond that, it seemed so coherent and balanced it was boring. Like a perfectly sterile bottle. I imagined it was the kind of wine that would reveal more of its character in the right setting, but on its own, it was unremarkable.

I never thought I’d live so close to vineyards. Less than an hour from us is the city of Fredericksburg, the heart of the burgeoning Texas wine country. While Michael and I haven’t been to many wineries, and there are over 50 in the area, it feels extraordinary to be so close to these vast spaces occupied by rows of grapevines, these cellars and buildings of varying architecture ranging from tacky to sleek and modern to Mediterranean-style. Attitudes toward Texan wines seem to be as diverse as the wines produced, though I personally have not tried enough to form a strong opinion. I have no ambition to become a sommelier or vintner, but in another life I think I would have enjoyed working as a cellar hand. For now, I strive to eat well and, occasionally, drink great wine. Recommendations are welcome.