Adios Chardonnay, Hello Hungarian Furmint by Ash Rajan

Trade in your comfort whites for tasty exotics????. For just one season.

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes,” according to Marcel Proust.

Marcel, Seriously. Can we do both? Seek new landscapes and have new eyes? With implied consent from the great essayist, I am going to embark on making this month’s column as much about discovery – that mystique element of human behavior – as it is about wine. As humans, we tend to cuddle up to our comfort zones and safe harbors. Discovery to most of us is like a xylophone to a rock band, intriguing but rarely used. Yet we are in awe of the Columbuses, the Vasco da Gamas, the Magellans. And to think if Chris just hunkered in with his paella in his native Spain, you and I would never seen Oreos or peanut butter. So follow this pied piper on a grape discovery and repeat after me, “Goodbye mac and cheese; hello ratatouille!

Armed with the poetic license of an economist to make assumptions, I assume you love Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Grigio and Reisling as your comfort whites. All are delectable beauties in their own right; so addicting to the souls of your taste buds. Yes, taste buds have souls. A gentle hiatus from those blanky wines will only make your bonds grow fonder.

See You Later Sauvignon Blanc

It is hard to resist the spray of fresh cut grass, peach, pineapple and herbs. It’s like imbibing all of New Zealand in a gulp. You can’t break up by text on this one. It will be a teary farewell even if it’s for one summer. Try to let go. You can always hook up when no one is watching. More about your new fling, Chenin – as in Chenin Blanc from the Loire Valley in France. The climate is moody and volatile and gets it family face from its elder brother to the West, the Atlantic Ocean. Honey, nuts, ginger, fig and the ubiquitous apple are the common notes but the texture is acidic and firm, not a goose down bed but futon.

The limestone-dressed hamlet of Vouvray happened on me when I took a wrong fork in the road back from Chateneuf Du Pape. The 16th century Nitray Castle was the gatehouse to the discovery of Vouvray, with its loft tasting room above the chapel, the stables and the barrel cooperage. The heady elixir of horses, leather, oak, mesquite and the breezes from the castle’s rose garden played like a thousand flutes to the stark purity of the chenin blanc.

As I imbibed the last drop of a miserly tasting pour, the chapel bell chimes, as if by divine invitation, and Vouvray was etched in my soul forever. Ask Domaine Huet in France and Paumanok Vineyards on the North Fork of Long Island, if they will sell you a bottle. They are usually gone.

Loire is where it began but good Chenins come from Argentina, New Zealand and even Israel, while the bounty is South Africa. However, you have to pick the princes from the plonk. The Winery of Good Hope and Ken Forrester are consistently good producers. Simonsig is under $12 and a Chenin-Vigonier blend from Pineridge, under $10, are often available at Gary’s in Bernardsville. And if your fling with Chenin fades, boomerang back to the Zealand Marlboroughs, but also soak in the crystalline minerality and the aromatic intensity of the sauvignon blancs from the Alto Adige region of Italy. My favorite, introduced to me by a dear friend, is Quarz from Cantina Terlan. (Ask the folks at 56 Degree Wines in Bernardsville).

Press Pause On Riesling

Before you fret looking at these Unidentified Written Objects (UWO), let alone mouthing them, watch a fifth grader spelling bee to get inspired and cure your resultant low self-esteem by pronouncing GUH-woorts-TRAH-minner and GREW ner VELT lee ner. Now that you have it down, Fritz, expect a blue ribbon in the mail from the Alsace and Austrian Chambers of Commerce.

The Trams are intensely floral, aromatic, spicy wines that range from bone dry to decadently sweet. They are a crisp, grapefruit-rinsed, oak-agnostic wines that pair as well as the over-used pairing of Rieslings with spicy Asian food. Perhaps because I am a vintage car geek, Trams from Hugel and Helfrich top my list from Bugatti’s birthplace, Alsace. Closer to home is the well-structured Claiborne & Churchill from California and Bidell, in North Fork on Long Island. As for the Gruners, the Austrians pack gobs of juice coated with a veneer of acidity that makes for a summer wine that is as upbeat as a tour guide with the austerity of a librarian. The usual flavor cavalry of peach, citrus and apple show up here too but the better producers extract white pepper and a gaggle of minerals to the spectrum.

Chardonnay, Goodbye To You My Trusted Friend, We Have Known Each Other Since Nine Or Ten.

Breaking up is really hard to do with this grape. Even for a summer. Knowing Chardonnay devotees for years, it is next to impossible to wean them off those waves of butter, oak and coconut. For the Kistler crowd, its crisp, stony and acidic notes. I am already hearing a loud Fugggedaboutit. Jump ship and drop anchor in the quaint hamlets of Viognier, Sancerre and Furmint.

Viognier’s (Vee-own-yay) straw-gold color dates back to the Roman Empire. Legend has it that one emperor ripped up an entire viognier vineyard when the locals, fueled by viognier, revolted. Grown in Roussillon Languedoc and Northern Rhone in France, its reputation of being a finicky grape, much like a pinot, delivers, when done right, powerful aromas of peaches, apricots, and violets with a rich mouth feel and a flash of honey.

All that with one of the longer finishes for a white. I recall the geo-mystical phenomena of the vivid ochre, crimson and magenta hills of Roussillon and my utter fascination for a home near the village square, gobbled up entirely by an old vine like the tentacles of a giant squid around a small row boat.

Michel Gassie, French and Anthony Nappa, North Fork Long Island are ideal starting points for your Viognier discovery. Sancerre, a fraternal twin of sauvignon blanc, is the antidote to the creamy, buttery chardonnay and is an acquired taste for recovering fruit bombers. Its austerity comes from it being on the same chalk fault line as Chablis and some Epernay champagnes. I pair Sancerres with over-the-top gooey fruit pies and cobblers; its dry, crisp demeanor contrasting the moist decadence. Furmint (Furwho?) from Hungary’s Tokaj (pronounced Tokai or Tokay) region is a relatively unknown yet versatile grape, whose late harvest dessert avatar, Aszu, was Wednesday wine at Versailles when Louis XV was in residence, where it earned the immortal moniker, “Vinum Regum, Rex Vinorum” (“Wine of Kings, King of Wines”).

The Furmints that debuted on my palette by way of the gracious Hungarian Ambassador to the U.S., made a lasting impression. The “grape of many faces,” Furmint is bits of white burgundy meets reisling meets sauvignon blanc. Patricius, at less than $15, is summer’s left field discovery. The lychee, white pear, flint, honeysuckle and sourdough mélange of notes is screaming to be sampled. I will delve further into Hungarian wines following my vineyard expedition to Tokaj in August.

I close with the words of André Gide: “Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

This article was written for The Bernardsville News by Ash Rajan, who is a French-certified Master of Bordeaux wines while his day job is that of a Wall Street practitioner at Janney Montgomery Scott. [email protected]