Vine Lines: I was wrong -- again

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I felt sick.

Timing is everything, and this was about as ill-timed as it gets.

I had a small dinner party last Friday night, one at which my great pal and wonderful musical supporter Bernie Whetter, owner of The Green Spot, was a guest. He’d told me by email he was bringing a bottle of wine he liked over "to be critiqued."

While I’m thrilled when folks bring wine with them when they drop by or are invited over, I know they usually hope to delight me with their choices, or at least have me agree with them that whatever wine it is, it’s delicious or a great bargain or a surprise or whatever. And while I make it a point never to lie to folks about my opinion about a wine, I know they never bring over stuff they hate.

Well, check that. My cousin Marc once brought me a bottle of what he described as the worst swill he’d ever been unfortunate enough to be exposed to, or something to that effect. That’s the kind of relationship we have, though — he taunts and teases me mercilessly, but we really enjoy each other’s company. Well, at least I enjoy his. Hard to say if I’m imagining the affection is mutual, or whether he’s just always goading me for his own sadistic pleasure. If I ever figure it out conclusively, I’ll let you know.

Anyway, MOST people bring wines that, for whatever positive reason, they want me to try. And I’m more than happy to oblige. I’ve found some great new-to-me wines that way, and I’ve also discovered what other people like so I can take them something THEY enjoy when I’m next in their homes.

But back to my story. Since Bernie has great taste, I was extra-keen to see what he was so enthused about.

He arrived at exactly the appointed time — six on the dot — and as I greeted him, he set a bottle of what I assumed was "the wine" on my stoop. So as we made our way up into the kitchen, I grabbed the brown paper wine bag from La Boutique Del Vino, a private wine store in Winnipeg.

We chatted for a few moments more before I turned my attention to what he’d brought. With great anticipation, I pulled the bottle out of the bag.

My heart sank. The wine was called BenMarco. It was the 2009 vintage. It was from the hailed Mendoza region of Argentina.

And it was a Malbec.

It’s perhaps worth mentioning at this point that this get-together, which had been planned two months in advance, happened on a Friday evening. Vine Lines appears in the Saturday edition of the Brandon Sun. And I knew exactly what was going to be printed the next day. I knew what my friend would read when he turned to my column.

That I unabashedly, unapologetically, unequivocally, HATE Malbecs.

The situation seemed unsalvageable. But before I gave up the ghost completely, I had to give this wine a fair shake in order to preserve what has always been a very important friendship.

I made small talk as I took my time getting wineglasses out of the cupboard. He told me how he’d discovered the BenMarco, which sells for $21.99 — that a clerk at La Boutique Del Vino had recommended it as a favourite — and that he, Bernie, had purchased a couple of bottles, had taken one to a gathering in Winnipeg and had been impressed with it there, as had the others with whom he’d shared it.

And because he liked it so much, he thought he share it with me, too.

"Oh god, no" said the voice inside my head.

I took my time with the corkscrew, and commented inanely about how I always loved the lilac-tinted corks that came out of Malbecs.

And that’s true. I do. But that was about all I liked.

However, there was no delaying the inevitable. So I poured a small sample into my glass. The wine was deeply purple, as I expected, which was a good sign. I swirled it around a couple of times and took a sniff.

"That’s nice!" I thought, and said so.

But aromas can be deceptive. And one final step remained.

I had to taste the wine.

I made a bit of an issue about swirling and sniffing a few more times, waving my hand over the glass to get a bit more of the black fruit bouquet.

Then it was time.

I closed my eyes, lifted the glass to my lips, and took a sip.

I slooshed it around my mouth a couple of times, just to be certain. Then I set the glass down.

I turned to my friend. Our eyes locked. He smiled.

"This is great!" I said honestly, beaming and much relieved.

It really was. The BenMarco was lush and full of flavour — raisin, black currant, blackberry, with a hint of what seemed like mint or eucalyptus, maybe licorice, on the finish.

Then the whole story came tumbling out — about how I usually loathed Malbecs and how the next day’s column was going to be about that very topic.

"I kind of wondered if I remembered you didn’t really like them," Bernie said.

We both laughed. Then I tucked the BenMarco, which was quite warm, in the fridge until dinnertime because I knew this Malbec would go wonderfully with the prime rib I’d be serving in a while.

And it did. My husband, who also is not a Malbec fan, liked it, too. We actually preferred it to the Cabernet we usually drink with prime rib (and we opened a bottle the Cab to compare, just to be sure), so that was a real revelation.

While I usually like wine with a bit of bite to it, I think one of the reasons the BenMarco was such a hit with me is that it’s soft. It’s round. Some in the biz might even call it a bit flabby. But it didn’t grab me roughly by the taste buds and not let go. It caressed my palate and was smooth, a VERY pleasant change from most of the Malbecs I’d had in the past.

So a big thanks to Bernie for providing me with a great lesson. Even though I’ve tried dozens of Malbecs and have pretty much hated them all, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t one — or more — out there that I WILL like.

The search for more Malbecs to enjoy continues. And if I find any, Vine Lines readers will be the first to know. Well, maybe the second. I’ll write about them after I call Bernie.

Republished from the Brandon Sun print edition March 9, 2013