The Bowdoin Orient

Ah, Nantucket. Take a deep breath and smell that salty sea air. The land of decadence and high society, an island of 20th century Gatsbys frolicking in the summer sun. Yachts, seabreeze, seagulls: the American dream. With a nod to CBS’s The Jeffersons: “We’re moving on up…To a deluxe apartment in the sky [over Nantucket].”

And what do they do in Nantucket, these captains of high society, fame, and fortune? They sail across the whitecaps in their yachts, wearing only pale red shorts and sipping the local vintage. We recreated the atmosphere by washing our underwear with red sweatshirts, taking to the sea in Ryan’s newly purchased kayak. The only thing left was the wine. The nectar of Nantucket, if you will. 

Nantucket Nectars Grapeade wine was dateless; its label gave no hint of its age or origin. The wealthy residents of Nantucket drink nothing but the best. This ambrosia of aristocracy is above such sycophantic labels as age or alcohol by volume. If we were to mingle with our peers successfully, we needed to figure this wine out on our own.

The avant-garde bottle surprised us with a Snapple like pop-cap (no time for wine openers when you’re yachting). Nevertheless, we managed to open the bottle. The exterior of the beverage’s vessel is emblazoned with a clump of what could only be Nantucket grapes. Massive orbs of crimson and violet rest in quiet repose on the grass. Nantucket is a small island nation off the coast of Mass-o-chumpchump. It remains populated with the wealthy and wonderful and isolated from the plebes of the mainland. Nantucket is governed by what can only be described as a “totalitarian theocracy.” A man known only as Murray controls access to his trademark red vintage with an iron fist. Fortunately, this local wine is sold in Maine.

Grapeade shines translucently, a pale orange-red that shows little sediment. Its nose is filled with sweet, sugary grape notes, without a hint of bitterness or earth tones. Forward, fresh and dangerous. This Nantucket wine suited us perfectly. 

Due to Murray’s legal system, ABV is not required to be printed. We thus have no idea how much alcohol was in our Grapeade, and we extend our compliments to the vintner on his ability to hide its flavor. The skill with which this wine was made is apparent. We noticed almost no alcohol as we drank this “ade” (an old oenological word used in Nantucket to characterize their wines).

Nectars should be drunk young and chilled, preferably on a yacht. However, the imprint on the bottom of our bottle told us that our Grapeade would be drinkable until February of 2022.

Without any trace of alcohol, the sweet nature of this wine shone through. It starts with a splash of grape on the tongue, fading to the pleasant refreshment of Nantucket spring water. A sort of granular sugar dominates the middle, leaving a nice, sugary grit on your teeth, before dropping out to leave an artificial taste of sour fruit.

You know that moment when you pee, look down, see that it’s red and say, “Maybe I should see a doctor. Oh well, it’s Ivies?” People in Nantucket do that every day. They drink Nantucket Nectars Grapeade, whether they like it or not. It is the only beverage allowed to be drunk on the Island. Be like them, drink like them. Persevere. It might seem like a long, dark road, but do you know what will be on the other side? Us, on a beach, sipping Nantucket Nectars Grapeade.

Additional Notes:

Dan: More like nom-tucket. Drink it for taste, drink it for power and prestige, drink it for Nantucket.Ryan: That was Nan-titillating.

Nose: Doesn’t matterBody: Doesn’t matterTaste: Yee-haw Nantucket

$1.89 at Bowdoin Express.

The editors of a should-not-be-named college paper, that may or may not be too proud of publishing once a week longer than anyone else, wanted us to review Franzia Chillable Red. You all know what that tastes like. 

In case you’re still wondering, it does not taste very good. Naturally, there are always worse things to drink, including: radiator fluid, chilled strawberry soup and orphan tears. 

Eric Asimov at The New York Times (which publishes every day) sent out a request for reviews of Beaujolais, a French wine that neither of us had ever tried before. So in our constant bid for retweets (find us on the Twittersphere), we found ourselves sitting in Tower 6A with a bottle of 2011 Jean-Marc Burgaud Les Vignes de Thulon Beaujolais-Villages instead (#payattentiontous).

The deep red of the wine grabbed our attention right off the bat. An inky erubescent, the Beaujolais remained translucent when held up to the light. The wine resisted clinging to the glass, in line with its lower alcohol content (12.5% ABV). According to wikihow, the best way to get retweets is to reference the J.J. Abrams upcoming Star Wars: Episode VII. So be prepared, Star Wars reference dropping is about about to go down like Alderaan in episode IV.

If you haven’t noticed yet, we have an entirely self-serving agenda in writing this column. Step one: review Beaujolais instead of Franzia. Step two: get retweeted by Eric Asimov. Step three: gain Twitterverse momentum (#masstimesvelocityequalswinecolumn). Step four: get retweeted by J.J. Abrams. Step five: use our notoriety to meet our personal hero, nationally acclaimed and beloved superstar chef Guy Fieri.

If you would like to help, please submit our column to Buzzfeed (“15 pictures of wines and pandas that are better than Franzia”) or Upworthy (“These two college students drank a bottle of wine and you won’t believe what happened next!”).

Viticulture has been practiced in the Beaujolais region of France since Roman times. Modern Beaujolais wines are made primarily from the gamay grape, a 14th century grape that became popular when residents of Gamay realized that it ripened far quicker than pinot noir. Recovering from the black death, village residents had occasion to drink and began planting the grapes everywhere (because seriously, #blackdeath #winewednesday). In 1395, however, Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, declared the grapes to be full of “very great and horrible harshness” and outlawed them to increase pinot noir production. Grape cultivation retreated south to the Beaujolais region, a Degobah-like refuge.

With a relatively weak nose, this wine made us feel like we were like two patrons in a Guy Fieri restaurant, wandering in search of olfactory hints to the character of what lay before us. We were able to detect notes of blueberry and blackcurrant, with hints of sugar. As the wine warmed, alcoholic heat began venting, bringing to mind Asimov’s instructions to chill a Beaujolais slightly before drinking.

The taste stood in contrast to the nose. Hints of dark berries were trumped by a strong sour acidity and a metallic taste on the back of the tongue. The saccharine elements we recognized earlier were nowhere to be found. 

You know what else is nowhere to be found? Retweets of our column. Get on that. A low alcohol content left the Beaujolais light in the mouth, with a slight tartness that intensified as the wine became warmer. Beaujolais are fresh wines, meant to be drunk at a young age. A 2011, our Beaujolais was certainly pleasant, but was not fantastic. Promised fruit tones die out early, leaving only acidity and a weak sour feeling.

For the money, you would be better off buying an order of Guy Fieri’s dragon chili cheese fries or another bottle of wine. We were left slightly bored and underwhelmed. That being said, this wine is easy to drink and perfect to bring to a party and show you’re sophisticated and deserve more twitter followers. Additional Notes:

Dan: This wine is as great as Guy Fieri’s frosted tips.Ryan: Still better than Franzia.

Nose: 2/5Mouthfeel: 4/5Taste: 2.5/5

Be this Valhalla? Nay, tonight we drink in the great hall of Tower 6A. We have fought long and hard and laid with women, men and beasts, but now the horn of plenty showers our heads with golden mead. A reward from the gods of Hannafjord aisle four for our fortnightly efforts.

Honeymaker semi-sweet mead is produced in Portland, Maine. Many meads are simply a type of wine, aged to allow the honey-derived sugar to convert to alcohol. Others may be brewed, hopped, spiced, and fruitened (a technical term). Ours is made from honey and water, simple by design.

Meads are some of the oldest alcoholic drinks in existence, dating back to 2000 BC across Eurasia. Mead’s first professional review came from the Brythonic bard Taliesin, in his song Tanu y Med, which peaked at No. 3 on the Brythonic Billboard Hot 100 in 550 AD. Mead was famously consumed by the Norse gods and dead warriors in Valhalla, where it sprung forth from the udders of the goat Heiðrún. Unfortunately, we struggled to find a mead goat, so we bought a bottle from Hannaford and duct taped it to Jordan Goldberg ’14’s  belly.

While suckling at Jordan’s singular teat, we were struck by the incredibly rich golden color, effervescent in the torchlight of our banquet hall. Our drinking horns amplified the sweet honey nose. Anything normally expected in the nose of a wine was nowhere to be found; a pleasant scent of honey was the start and finish. We weren’t that surprised when the taste followed suit. A strong, sweet body was moderately supported by accents of light wildflower and a noticeable alcohol presence with a touch of dryness on the back end. We were happy to find that the mead is not at all syrupy; the body stays light and refreshing rather than heavy and cloying.

In Norse mythology, mead imbues whoever imbibes it with either berserker rage or poetic inspiration and intelligence. Mead—as well as immortal goat milk—has its origins in divine spittle. When the gods of Æsir and Vanir made their peace, they hawked heavenly loogies into a vat; from their spittle the man Kvasir was born. 

Kvasir was quite intelligent. In fact, he was so smart that he embarrassed a bunch of dwarves, who, in turn, became angry with him. They killed him and poured his blood into a new set of two vats and a pot, respectively named Óðrerir, Óðrørir and Óðrœrir. 

In Denver, Colo., pots are still named to this day, but more along the lines of “Sour Diesel” and “Maui Wowie.” Back to Kvasir. The dwarf mixed his blood with honey, told the gods he had drowned in his own intelligence (specifics on this are still unclear), and mead was born. Then it was somehow put in that goat.

 Whether found in vats, goats, or on the shelves of a local Brunswick supermarket, mead is a wonderful way to expand your palate. Who knows? It may just give you the wisdom to ace that test next week. 

Or maybe, you’ll get written up for berserker rage. Either way, pour a horn of Honeymaker, recite a skål or sumbel, and drink up, for the battlefields of Ásgarðr shall await us in the morn.

 Additional Notes:

Ryan: I think I grew a third chest hair.

Dan: Tanu y Med is on my “spring jams” playlist.  

Nose: 3/5Body: 4/5Mouthfeel: 4.5/5Taste: 4.5/5

Pairs well with noble death. $13.99 at Hannaford.

According to the ever reputable urbandictionary.com, Woop woop is “an expression designed to express approval, happiness, joy, and/or excitement usually accompanied by a knocking together of the fists with a buddy.”

The two of us work on a strictly professional basis, but we couldn’t help but bump fists over glasses of this 2012 Australian Cabernet Sauvignon.

When we first poured this wine we were immediately struck by its rich red color. We haven’t seen a red like this since our ill-fated experience drinking dragonfruit MD 20-20. Or that time Ryan ate a Sharpie. Woop Woop looked different. Its red was acidly bright but beckoned seductively, like crimson lipstick in a bottle. Had it done something new with its hair? Was it showing us a little too much leg? Or was it just a really red wine?

As we brought the glasses up to our lips we encountered strong earthy tones and subtle notes of berry. For $13 a bottle, this wine’s nose was surprisingly sophisticated. Understatedly high-brow, Woop Woop Cabernet could find a kindred spirit in a newer Matthew McConaughey film (maybe not that NC-17 one where he kills people), or that freshman lax bro with a solid grasp of Hegelian philosophy.

Our tasting sessions are conducted in silence with an occasional muttered critique of the wine.

As we got our first impressions of this wine we tried to maintain our composure but couldn’t help but scream “Woop woop!” The call echoed through Coles Tower and across town, cracking the white silence of winter. Strong earth tones of peat and moss are balanced perfectly with sweet cherry and plum carried over from the nose. The mild sweetness is balanced well by tannins that developed after allowing the wine to breathe for five minutes.

Mother nature herself must have heard our exclamation, for snowflakes began to lazily drift down from the sky. A sharp mewling from the Coles Tower lobby broke through the muffled breeze. We opened the door to discover six direwolf puppies huddled around their mother’s body. We knelt, the rusty scent of the she-wolf’s blood permeating the sixth floor.

“Valar morghulis. Valar morghulis,” the man whispered. The steel sunk into one back, then another. The wine columnists fell to the ground and Jaqen H’ghar was gone. This column is now brought to you by HBO. “Game of Thrones” starts April 6!

Woop Woop is produced in Australia: a country with the distinction of both being founded as a prison and being filled with things that have evolved to kill humans. The grapes came with the prisoners, brought along with the First Fleet of 11 ships in 1788. The unfamiliar climate proved problematic, probably because it tried to kill everything, and grapes were not successfully grown until the mid-18th century. Today, Australia is a major producer of wine and most grape varietals have found success in the country.

Our one reservation about Woop Woop is that the sweetness can be a little overpowering initially. Allow it to breathe, or just drink with a friend. In Westeros there are no friends, no enemies. There are only players and pieces. And dragons.

This Cabernet tastes good and is backed by a solid body with a high alcohol content (14 percent). Despite the body, it is not at all heavy, and feels silky and cool in the mouth.

Additional Notes:

Dan: My mind was telling me no, but my body said yes.Ryan: Is it wrong that I think Jaime Lannister is the most sympathetic character?

Nose: 4/5Body: 4/5Taste: 5/5

Pair with Parents Weekend dinner, Thorne Dining Hall. Thirteen dollars at the New Hampshire State Liquor Store.

Have you ever wondered what a gold medal tastes like? Or how about defeat? They say victory is sweet, but so is eating packets of Sweet & Low. While Ryan was in the oxymoronic state of “dry season” for swimming and attempting to win his own gold this week, I tried to find my answer through wine. I turned to the Fates to find me a new compatible columnar colleague. As the divine trumpets of a passing ambulance were faintly heard from Maine Street, my calls were answered as Sam Karson ’14 sauntered towards me. So now, glasses in hand, Sam and I shall venture forth to review the Casa de Campo 2012 Moscato.

Casa de Campo is a Moscato. Muscat grapes are tucked away in the northeastern region of Piedmont, Italy. The Muscat grape has both red and white varieties, but the Muscato wine is exclusively made from the white grape Muscat Blanc á Petits Grains variety. When wine is made using grapes specifically from the Piedmont region, it may be called a Moscato d’Asti or simply an Asti. However, the Casa de Campo is from Mendoza, Argentina and thus cannot receive such lexiconical labeling. Instead of a fancy name, our wine had an amateur painting of a cow. The artist decided to color the cow green, but apparently abandoned that idea halfway through the process, leaving the depiction of a cow in Astroturf stockings.

The first thing you recognize about the Casa (or as Sam and I like to affectionately call it, “The Big House”) is its rich golden color. It harkens back to memories of Brian Boitano or that Keystone Light you poured down the sink last Saturday when you told everyone you were going to shotgun it. 

Lingering outside is impossible in the cold weather that consumes Maine, so we have taken to the comfort of the great indoors. 

In the midst of swirling eddies of cold air, we watch Drake shine bright through a MacBook in “Started from the Bottom.” He does not hashtag “polarvortex,” but rather throws his arms wide in the whirling snow, his all-white outfit shining in gaudy defiance. Winter will not shatter his soul. He’s flying low over Toronto in a jet borne on ketamine wings.

Welcome to the new year and the new us. We fancy up here. Who needs a $10/bottle price maximum? We’re moving up in the world. 

With the holiday season upon us, we wish to remind you all of the importance of family and friends—those who support, cherish, and most of all love you. MD 20/20 will love you. It will greet you with a gentle kiss, a splash of color. It will whisper sweet nothings into your ear, grab you by the hair, and smash your nose into the sink. You will wake up in a bathtub full of ice, your kidney gone, and the empty bottle of Mad Dog Blue Raspberry faithfully by your side.

MD 20/20 is produced by Mogen “Shield of David” David in Westfield, N.Y. It’s made from Concord grapes, sugar, flavor and, we suspect, Scrubbing Bubbles toilet bowl cleaner for the color. We can only assume that it’s the terrifying love-child of the Kool-Aid man and a demonic bottle of Welch’s.

We sampled both the dragonfruit and blue raspberry flavors. We’ve never heard of wine pressed from Concord grapes, but the blue raspberry bottle was wearing a necklace that said “bling bling,” so we assumed it was a winner. Both pour vibrant neons: a highlighter left to soak in a glass of water. Light moves through the liquids lazily, the opacity hiding smudges on the glass, broken dreams or our dignity. 

Trevor comes home from school.

“How was school?”

“Okay. We had a test.”

The wine had a picture of a truck on it, so we kept it in the car. Wines are best kept in cars. Freshly-chilled pinot noir in hand, we poured two glasses that resembled cranberry juice.

Fortunately, the drink was so cold that we couldn’t tell whether or not it was actually wine. Pinot noirs, like most reds, are not meant to be drunk cold. When cold, a 2011 Red Truck pinor noir tastes like tannic cherry, with a lackluster body. After utilizing traditional warming techniques like clenching the bottle between our thighs and breathing on it very hard (not blowing, that would cool it), our Red Truck was turned on and ready to go. 

Pinot noirs are an ancient grape varietal possibly dating back 2000 years, but as of late have become associated with France’s Burgundy region, where they reached their greatest prominence. The grapes—though relatively difficult to cultivate—are grown in most of the world’s wine-producing regions due to their popularity in their production of higher-quality wines. 

We found a corkscrew—good for us. Off to a better start than last time, we poured the bottle-proclaimed “Chief of Lions,” a 2012 Panilonco Chardonnay-Viognier blend from Chile’s Colchagua Valley. The label was pleasant enough, featuring a roaring stone lion with his paw on what appeared to be a little basketball. 

The Colchagua Valley lies in central Chile, and is world-renowned for its grapes and relative proximity to the Pan-American Highway. You might recognize it from the postcard that your friend studying abroad sent you. He didn’t actually go there, but his mom read about it in Bon Appétit, so that’s nice. 

Chardonnay is one of the most widely consumed wine grape varieties in the world. It originated in France’s Burgundy region, but has since spread to every wine-producing region in the world. Its successful production is often considered a coming-of-age rite for a new region. 

According to an educational YouTube video, there are seven easy ways to open a wine bottle without a corkscrew. First-hand experience proved to us that two of them don’t work: the nail and the screw hook. 

After overcoming this immediate hurdle and shoving the cork into the bottle, we poured our first wine for this column into two hastily rinsed mason jars. 

Charles Shaw, affectionately known as “Two-Buck Chuck,” sells multiple varieties of “extreme bargain wine,” perfect for the college connoisseur looking to whet their whistle without breaking the bank.