The Isle of White
by Lucas Korth
W
hite wine has a bit of a stigma attached to it. Go ahead and
get a glass when you’re out at Bonefish Grille with your
ding-dong friends and nobody bats an eyelash, but order one at a
bar, or God forgive you, bring a bottle to a cookout or a party, and
you will find yourself the butt of loads of jokes.
“Oh, thanks for bringing this Fume Blanc, Luke. Will your
boyfriend be coming later?”
“Oh wonderful, Sauvignon Blanc. I didn’t realize that a bunch of
old ladies would be coming tonight.”
“Sauvignon Blanc is a superior
varietal, but what makes the New
Zealand breed so darn special?”
“We are your parents and we love you. Why do you insult us so?”
Anyway, I’m not here to rag on the Jeff Budweisers, the Todd
Curzlites, or the Mike Hardlemonades of the world. In fact, I
intend to enlighten the three of you still reading this about the
wonderful white wines of New Zealand. But first, a brief disclaimer:
I am not a wine expert; I don’t know how to spell sommelier (that
was a lucky guess); I don’t know what acescence means (and neither
does Microsoft Word, apparently). I am simply a fella who enjoys a
good glass of vino blanco from time to time so please don’t get too
upset about my stupid opinions. Oh, and one last thing: I do realize
that the “Lord of the Rings” movies were filmed in New Zealand
and there will be no further mention of that, you damn nerds.
I first noticed my affinity for Kiwi wines two years ago. I was a
casual white drinker, known to occasionally enjoy a Benson Mullet
(glass of Chardonnay, shot of Tequila) on a steamy July afternoon.
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But lo and behold, one particularly stifling summer day (the type
that grabs you by the shirt collar and knees you in the groin when
you step outside the door) my local watering hole was out
of Chardonnay.
Soggy and parched, yet undeterred, I begrudgingly ordered a
Sauvignon Blanc. I eagerly gripped the chalice with both hands,
still trembling with anticipation. I brought it to my turgid lips.
The liquid swirled through my m