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“A culinary desert” is how Janna Gur, editor of Israel’s leading food and wine magazine and an authority on the country’s culinary history, described the food scene in the 1970s. Few people in the 70s looked to Israel as a culinary centre. Gur explained that food was considered frivolous, as the populace was more concerned with fighting for its future due to political and civil turmoil.

According to Gur’s The Book of New Israeli Food, food has always played a role in Jewish history, but Jewish cuisine evolved over two thousand years in the Diaspora as Jews scattered to neighbouring regions and beyond. The cultures and countries in which they settled influenced them. The differences, Gur continues, arose from keeping kosher, which meant avoiding shellfish and pork and not mixing dairy and meat.

In the 1900s, Jews began immigrating to Palestine led by those coming from Russia, Poland, Eastern European countries, and Germany in the 1930s. In the 1940s and 1950s, immigration to the new state of Israel continued with Jews arriving from Arab countries, North Africa, Europe, Iraq, North America, and many other countries. Each brought their own style of Jewish cooking and dishes shaped by the lands from which they emigrated.

Before I was a wine lover, I was (and still am) a beer lover. I drank a lot of beer while going to university, and while the large commercial breweries dominated the market, a couple of small (at the time) microbreweries (Granville Island and Big Rock) began producing beers that stepped outside the flavour box and introduced many western Canadians to unique, handcrafted brews.

But it wasn’t until I went to grad school in the States (the summer class in Europe helped too) that I really got into the craft beer scene. Craft beer producers are united by a philosophy to produce unique, flavourful handcrafted brews. Small breweries such as Rogue, Pike, Goose Island, Brooklyn and, a little later, Dogfish Head were providing many sought-after options to the mass-produced generic offerings of brewing giants Miller, Coors & Anheuser-Busch.

Even the giants have forayed into the craft beer market by either acquisition (Granville Island is now a Molson property and Goose Island part of Anheuser-Busch) or producing faux craft beers (the motivation for Molson introducing Rickard’s Red, which many sceptics believe is simply Molson Canadian with food colouring).

I'm not a picky wine drinker (okay, I am), but my pet peeves stem from a desire to drink good quality and be able to enjoy it. Wineries, wine importers, retailers and restaurants should all endeavour to enhance the consumer’s enjoyment of the grape, not detract from it.

Those who love and enjoy wine may have noticed many of the following annoyances. Someone who finds these pet peeves troublesome shouldn't be considered picky or pretentious. After all, no one should have to drink from wine glasses that smell like the musty cabinet where they are stored, or suffer a discussion with a restaurant server on whether wine that is oxidized is “supposed to taste like that.”

The following list of wine pet peeves is a compilation based on an informal survey of consumers and wine professionals.

Get a bunch of book nerds, put them in a room and have them defend a book they are passionate about. Sound boring? Well, it’s anything but.

In its relatively short existence, CBC’s Canada Reads has become a literary institution while making it “hip to be square” by reading books... Canadian books. Each year, five books are chosen to compete and each is championed by a well-known personality. Active, passionate, often combative debate ensues leading to books being progressively “voted off the island” until a single winner remains, earning the distinction as the book Canada should read. The premise is brilliant. It promotes reading by involving personalities in an intelligent, articulate, yet entertaining and un-stuffy game show-like format.

In February, my good friend, renowned food writer and all around smart person, Jennifer Cockrall-King, in conjunction with the Literary Saloon, a “highly eclectic reading series” in Edmonton, asked me to pair each of the Canada Reads nominated books with an appropriate wine selection. Wine and books? Why not? After all, there is a wine that goes with everything.

The Chilean wine industry is at a defining point in its evolution. Historically, Chile’s place in the wine world has largely been identified as a producer of inexpensive wine. This label served it well when first entering new markets in the 1990s, but producers have discovered recently that there is little consumer loyalty (or profitability) at the seven-to-nine-dollar price point. Australia, and now Argentina, have both eroded Chile’s market share for entry level wines, and, in general, the wines from these countries are more approachable and consumer friendly.

For years, Chilean producers ignored their greatest asset ... the country’s geography. It is only in the past 10 to 15 years that producers have started to identify the country’s diversity of soils and microclimates. And as vineyard managers and winemakers improved techniques and gained a better understanding of what grapes grow best in what areas, the quality of the resulting wines improved dramatically.

I’ve long extolled the virtues of the wines from the Adriatic-bordering, Italian region of Le Marche. The wines generally over-deliver in quality versus price. And while Le Marche might not have the cache of Tuscany, it’s for that very reason that this region is still able to offer wines at bargain deals compared to its Mediterranean big brother.

Neglected by tourists, Le Marche is sparsely populated, but one of Italy’s most serene and beautiful areas. The region is actually quite rural with a population of just over one million people, yet its largest city, Ancona, only claims 100,000 residents. That leaves the majority of the population living in small villages, medieval hilltop towns, and in the country. That country consists of beautiful rolling hills, vineyards, and pastures for raising cattle, sheep, and pigs.

As good as the wines of Le Marche are, the food does not

When I received the invitation to attend a Penfolds Re-corking Clinic in San Francisco hosted by Chief Winemaker Peter Gago, my first thought was, “cool, I get to taste a bunch of old vintages of Grange (Australia’s most famous and collectable wine whose current release commands $425+ per bottle).” But shortly after arriving, I realized that the clinic was going to be about so much more (although I did get to taste a bunch of old vintages of Grange).

The concept of the re-corking clinic is simple yet brilliant, and the ultimate in post-sales client service and public relations. Started in Australia in 1991, the clinics, lead by Penfolds’ senior winemaking team, have since hit the road to offer the service in various parts of the world. The purpose of the clinic is simple. Natural cork deteriorates over time (the average life being 20 to 25 years), and many of Penfolds wines, Grange in particular, have shown their longevity to be beyond that. What better service to offer your longstanding clients than to have a senior winemaker assess, and if necessary, open, taste, top-up, re-cork, re-capsule, and certify your wine on the spot? The only requirement is that the wine must be at least 15 years old (and a Penfolds product of course).

I had the good fortune to shadow Edwin Young, an ICU pediatric physician and quintessential southern gentleman, from North Carolina. Young is a generous bon vivant and avid collector of Penfolds Grange who clearly enjoys sharing as much as he enjoys consuming great wine and food. He brought six bottles of Grange to the clinic — 1989, ‘88, ‘86, ‘82, ‘81, and 1977, the oldest vintage in his cellar.

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