The spice must flow: mulling unshackles Liberty Creek from tasteless oppression

Bottom of the Barrel: Jug-gling savings and satisfaction: Carlo Rossi burgundy offers viticultural utilitarianism

Bottom of the Barrel: Wines of Future Past: Duplin’s “Scuppernong” fails to bridge generational divide

Like the Magi of Matthew 2:1-12, your esteemed critics have returned to Bowdoin bearing gifts from their distant homelands. From the maritime reaches of Silicon Valley, Will Danforth brings forth two tokens of the future. The first, the “VinOair,” is a plastic spigot that instantaneously aerates the wine through vacuum-tube technology. The second, the Cork Pops “Auto-Corker,” guarantees forceful wine stopper ejection via compressed air.
The introduction of such technological marvels raises serious ethical quandaries about the veracity of our expert appraisals going forward. Like Icarus, now we too soar at the boundaries of human potential. Have we transgressed against the laws of God, man and our editors through artificial aeration? At the dawn of this new year, does our use of these devices portend a millenarian shift for our column?
Perhaps these questions are best left to the philosophers; we have wine to drink.From the rolling hills of the Southern Piedmont, Martin brings a relic of our nation’s winemaking past: Duplin Winery’s Scuppernong. Derived from the muscadine, one of the only grapes native to North America and the alleged favorite of Founding Father Thomas Jefferson, the Scuppernong makes our tasting feel like yet another chapter in the perennial struggle between tradition and modernity.
Despite the historical import of the Scuppernong to Martin’s home of North Carolina, his public school education failed to enlighten him about his state’s viticultural heritage. He hoped that North Carolina’s best could hold its own against wines tried in previous installments with provenance in Will’s home state of California.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Scuppernong reinforces widely held stereotypes about the pace of life in the South. The wine imparted a flavor reminiscent of sweet-sticky molasses as it slid slowly down our throats. Quoth James Jelin ’16, “This is incredibly sugary. Please don’t make me drink the rest of this [glass].” Indeed, each quaff left our mouths coated with a cloying residue that made us feel as though we were rapidly developing dental cavities. It was as if a six-year-old child had imagineered his understanding of wine into existence.
Nonetheless, our journalistic integrity dictated that we, as well as James Jelin, finish the Scuppernong. Given the historical success of this variety, the wine’s viscous and saccharine nature left us confused as to how anyone could finish more than a minute sampling. As we sacrificed ourselves on the altar of our column, we sought elucidation as to the wine’s enigmatic appeal from the bottle’s label. Though the seagull and lighthouse graphics may have been composed of Microsoft clip art, we found them oddly comforting. With outstretched wings, the bird ruptured the frame of its rectangular sticker, offering us the promise that, like Jonathan Livingston Seagull, we too could ascend to a higher plane of existence if we just kept flying.
Enlightened by our journey, we finally concluded that the Scuppernong was nothing more than an inexpensive and disappointing alternative to port or sherry. We can only hope to avoid a renaissance of this anachronistic offering in our lifetimes.

Bottom of the Barrel

The spice must flow: mulling unshackles Liberty Creek from tasteless oppression

This piece represents the opinion of the authors:

December 3, 2015

As part of their recovery from Rossi’s Burgundy blunder, your esteemed critics looked for rejuvenation grounded in traditional American values. What better way to satisfy this yen than Liberty Creek’s Cabernet Sauvignon, located in the bulk shelf at Hannaford? The cracked Liberty Bell on the label pealed glad tidings that resonated in our marrow, promising fulfillment of our founder’s wishes for “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness” (LibertyCreekWine.com, 2015). Inspired by our forebears’ own zeal for cheap and/or untaxed beverages, we utilized the Powers of Hamilton’s dependable tender to acquire this revolutionary rotgut.

Once installed in Yellow House, we quickly realized the errors of our patriotic passion. While Liberty Creek boasted a great wine smell, this proved to be merely an obfuscating veil. Our quaffs exposed a faint fruit-flavored serum. Despite its invocation of American exceptionalism, Liberty Creek was far from noteworthy. Indeed, subsequent examination of our tasting notes revealed that we drafted only a cursory description of the wine.

Hoping to rectify our situation, we looked abroad to Martin’s semester in Europe. Fond memories of Christkindlmarkts drifted upon the wintry winds that buffeted 75 Harpswell Road. Remembering how the autochthonous glühwein had warmed his spirits in Berlin last year, Martin hit upon a way to salvage this week’s installment of BotB and simultaneously indulge our latent Teutonic tendencies.

Cobbled together from various Internet sources, our Orient-approved mulled wine recipe— listed in our additional notes and perfect for any celebration secular, Judeo-Christian, or otherwise—metaphorically hit the proverbial spot. And despite the characterization of cinnamon as the “bane of American cuisine” by Kritika Oberoi, Cornell ’16, we channeled House Atreides and let the spice flow.

In what was Martin’s inaugural use of his home’s two kitchens, we began by creating a mélange of sugar, water, cinnamon sticks, oranges, and cloves. After evaporating most of the water to create a concentrated syrup, we poured in a quarter of our remaining Liberty Creek, and the resulting mixture could only be described as a “wine-flavored energy drink.” To amend this botheration, we emptied the rest of our bottle into our mulling vessel, throwing in an extra handful of cloves because as college seniors, we love nothing more than living dangerously.
We kept a watchful eye on the contents of the pot in order to ensure that our wine was heated without evaporating the Liberty Creek’s greatest and only asset — its 12% alcohol content. After a sufficient period of mulling, our concoction was ready to consume. In order to protect our supple and well-moisturized hands, we substituted ceramic mugs for our usual Libby stemware.

The glühwein turned out to be just what we were hoping to cook up on this blustery winter’s eve. The mulling process imbued the wine with a comforting, nostalgic aroma and a vivifying warmth, and it is safe to say that Liberty Creek has never been so enjoyable. In short, it tasted like the love your esteemed critics had been searching for their entire collegiate careers.
Liberty Creek’s wallet-friendly price was certainly alluring, but it was only through culinary transmutation that we—like the Yuletide alchemists of yore—were able to harness the true potential of this Cabernet Sauvignon and turn viticultural lead into gold.

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