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The peep-toe pumps. The pencil skirts. The body-skimming dresses, swingy coats, sweaters and pearls. All underpinned by … the power girdle.

I’ve been secretly hoping sixties glamour would make a comeback. Then, Mad Men came along, and Hallelujah. Designers took notice. Michael Kors created a collection around the show. And then retro designs by Chloé, Jimmy Choo, Marc by Marc Jacobs and all the rest appeared before filtering right down to Walmart’s window dressing. Air kisses all around.

I’ve also been secretly hoping Tokaji Aszú — pronounced toe-kEYE ah-sue — would become the new black. But the truth is, if you mention the name “Tokaji Aszú” outside wine circles, the most likely response would be a polite “Gesundheit.”

Quite amazing when you consider this gorgeous Hungarian sweetie was the most expensive and sought after wine in the world for centuries — far more celebrated than top bottlings from Bordeaux or even Burgundy. It was favoured by the likes of Napoleon III, Beethoven, Catherine the Great, Voltaire and Queen Victoria. It was poured in royal courts throughout Europe during the 16th and 17th centuries. Russian tsars would send Cossacks to guard the vineyards. And ordinary mortals couldn’t even buy it.

Traditionalists, stand back. First came the debate over cork vs screw cap. Now, it's the decanter vs the aerator.

This has happened to you, right? You open up a bottle of wine for dinner only to realize that it should have been decanted half an hour before. Come on, I know it's not just me. Someone less impressed by wine and all its subtleties might wonder, who cares? There's a very good reason to care -- aroma and flavour (ok, two reasons, but who's counting?). Imagine being served a steaming plate of osso buco or chicken and broccoli in peanut sauce that smells faintly of something or other unidentifiable. When you take a bite, there's a noticeable absence of taste. You wonder distractedly (since your mind is now fondly remembering the ham sandwich you ate for lunch) if the chef used water to season the meal. Wine is exactly the same. Given that it's part of the meal, a food group in itself, really, its bouquet should be present, attainable, inspiring … you get the picture. If you've ever enjoyed wine, let's say a Chardonnay, that's had a chance to open up (that is, let its flavour and bouquet nuances come to the fore), you'll understand what I'm going on about. All of a sudden (alright, maybe an hour, give or take) every little nuance of butter, creaminess and minerality comes through. You take a sip and the flavours dance on your palate. But, knowing that wine should aerate isn't going to help your time crunch problem.

Enter Vin-Aire.

When in Rhône

Perhaps the reason why I want to pronounce Paso Robles in the familiar French fashion (and not “passo rowbles” like its residents) is because of the wine I was drinking there. Rhône varietals prevail and in some cases, meet up with Bordeaux, but in brash, bold ways that would send the French into apoplectic fits — after they finished the bottle and licked their lips.

El Paso de Robles (its Sunday name) is a smallish, wine-centric town in California’s Central Valley about forty miles from the coast, midway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. The Paso Robles AVA (American Viticultural Area) is quite vast (roughly 875 square miles), and really very new (est. 1983). Encompassing 26,000 vineyard acres, it has grown over the last decade from 35 to 180 bonded wineries. Artist Judy Lyon is amazed by the change. “When I came to Paso in the 1970s, there were only five wineries ... now there are hundreds.”

My first stop was at one of the newcomers. Like 95 per cent of Paso wineries, Anglim Winery is family owned and operated. Steffanie and Steve (Anglim) started making wine in their Los Angeles garage a decade ago, but now use a local shared facility with their own equipment and barrels since moving to the area in 2005.

I taste a lot of sock squeezings disguised as wine that sell for way too much dosh but I don’t write them up. Nor do other critics. We tend to focus on what’s good instead. How badly do you really want to read about a $50 bottle of wine that tastes like under-ripe raspberries crushed in someone’s armpit, steeped in black tea for 32 hours, and then strained through a pair of used boxer briefs?

I assure you, under par wines are out there and, though they’re annoying to come across at trade tastings where the spittoon is a discreet saving grace, nothing’s worse than paying good money for a poorly made, past-its-best, flawed, or just plain overrated bottle. Reverse that and spend, say, less than $21 on a wine that can make you believe in God, and we’re talking wine appreciation.

There are serious deals to be had if you know where to look. Any of the following wines that cost less than $21 could sell for much more. They tend to hail from reliable producers known for rigorous quality control from vine to bottle. So this list does two things: it points out best buys, and it reveals some of the most trusted names in the business.

For the 4th consecutive year, Tidings' tasting team has been hard at work sampling as many wines and spirits from around the world as possible in an effort to bring you a list of the best of the best. Each year, Tidings hands out the Mav Wine and Spirit Awards to those that best demonstrate each winemaker's goals and visions. The wines and spirits below exemplify what each winery is all about. Now it's your turn. Sit back and enjoy this year’s selection. The tasters were Gurvinder Bhatia, Tony Aspler, Sean Wood, Gilles Bois, Evan Saviolidis, Jonathan Smithe and Harry Hertscheg.

Before boarding a flight for a recent trip to central Portugal, I took stock of what I knew about the country’s food and wine. Port wine, a passing familiarity with the dry reds, salt cod (en masse), linguiça, caldo verde, pork and clams and pastel de nata (fabulous custard tarts) were the items that came readily to mind.

In regard to Portugal’s local wines, a high percentage are made from indigenous grapes. Its location on the western tip of the Iberian Peninsula, an anemic economy in the early 1900s and a military dictatorship which lasted for almost 40 years left Portugal in self-imposed isolation for most of the 20th century. Without outside intervention, vineyards were left to their own devices at a time when other European countries scrambled to plant as many international varietals as possible.

This is not to say that Portuguese wines were completely forgotten. Port and Madeira continued to thrive on the world market during this time. Also, one of the greatest wine marketing successes of the 20th century, the semi sparkling/pink wines known as Mateus and Casal Mendes flourished throughout these turbulent times.

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