2007 Argiolas Costera

I'm fascinated by the wines of Mediterranean islands, and one of these days I'll rent a boat so I can wander around and sip from Balearic and Maltese and Cypriot bottles*, but for now I'm revisiting a Sardinian wine I first tried in 2008.

2007 Argiolas Costera
Serdiana Cagliari, Sardinia
92% Cannonau, 8% Carignano and Bovale Sardo
$20, 14% abv.

Lots of bright red cherry, good acidity, a brief finish and a spicy aftertaste. Little touches of fig and prune after it's had a chance to breathe for a few hours. I decided to serve the wine with a few odds and ends that don't really make a lot of sense together, but tasted amazing. There's slow-cooked and wilted red Swiss chard, tiny purple potatoes, a few slices from a roasted pink and rare T-bone, and a dollop of orange-tinted chipotle aïoli. It was a rather chromatic dinner, and not just because the addition of some pepper vinegar made the greens a little sharp.

The photo does not do it justice, but it was an amazing meal full of vibrant colors, flavors, and loads of vitamins. At some point you look at a plate of steamed chicken breast and white mashed potatoes and think, "Life's too short for this."

The flag of Sardigna/Sardegna features the classic heraldic Maure or Moor's head, which over the years has faced both directions and has sometimes been blindfolded instead of bandaged. Why do I use the flag of Sardinia instead of Italy?

For the blog's style guide, I use different flags for the various American states of the Union. For foreign countries, I use the most up-to-date internationally recognized version of the flag. For contested regions like Kashmir or Nagorno-Karabakh, I'd probably just skip the flags to avoid the hate mail associated with trying to say something nice about the local cuisine while showing, for the reader, the wrong flag.

I will not use soccer/football flags ever.

Europe presents an interesting quandary. Italy and Germany really weren't solidified countries until the 1800s, rather a collection of duchies, principalities, kingdoms, republics, city-states, and various other geopolitical formations. And I can't really write about Scotch while electronically flying the Union Flag (not the Union Jack), so I amended the house style to allow for some different regions. In the past I've used the flag of Sicily, and my reasoning for Sardinia is the same: islands that have a lot of unique history and identity outside of the parent country. I'm thinking that in the future I'll break out Alsace separately with its own flag. Not for any political or historical reasons, but more that when it comes to wine and food it's not quite France, not quite Germany, but it's own wonderful place.

At the end of the day, as writer, editor, photographer, graphic designer, and publisher of this blog, I can engage an interest in vexillology to the degree that it does not alienate readers. And as long as it's consistent, I'm happy with the little additions to the wine/food posts.

*This sailing fantasy is going to involve an eyepatch and a truly fearsome red beard. However, I shall sail under the flag of The Conch Republic and offer key lime daiquiris to all friendly visitors and blunderbusses to those who try to board without permission. If the day to day maintenance of my vessel becomes too much, then I'll send my wharfies into Cannes to press-gang a few drunken celebrities thinking they're going to enjoy a party on a yacht. Arrrr!

Benito vs. the Thoracic Cavity: Beef Short Ribs & Heart

When I saw beef heart at the market, I got the idea for an odd dish. Most folks would just grimace and move on to the socially acceptable cuts of meat, but I grabbed un corazón de res and a few pounds of short ribs for dinner. Naturally the two go together in the chest, so why not cook them together?

Out of respect for the more squeamish readers I've omitted the pictures of the heart during the trimming phase, but it's a highly educational experience if you've never done it. It's a good four times the size of the human heart but works mostly the same way. And unlike the formaldehyde pickled samples you may have encountered in biology class or med school, this smells like steak. Tastes like it as well--once you trim off all the fat and the various arteries, you're left with something like filet mignon: a perfectly lean, fine grained meat that grills beautifully. I tried a few pieces in this fashion before chopping up the rest for the braised dish.

I started by roasting the short ribs in a hot oven for an hour to render out the fat and get some nice browning. Do this on a deep lipped aluminum sheet pan and it's a lot easier than doing it in a skillet (hat tip to Cook's Illustrated). I heated the roasting pan in the oven and then added a few tablespoons of the rendered beef fat and a standard mirepoix. Then I added the chunks of heart, the drained ribs, a couple of cans of tomato sauce, a can of chicken broth, and half a bottle of Bordeaux (more on that in a bit). I covered it and roasted it in a low oven for a good four or five hours until everything was nice and tender.

The whole thing was rich, velvety, savory, and sinfully beefy. This is a great method of preparing short ribs. The heart is actually milder and more tender than the short ribs, so it's sort of lost in the stew, but the cardiac muscle does provide an interesting textural contrast.

For the braising liquid I used half a bottle of the 2005 Mouton Cadet from Bordeaux. $13, 13% abv. 65% Merlot, 20% Cabernet Sauvignon and 15% Cabernet Franc. The label comes with a quote: "Le vin, il naît, puis il vit, mais point ne meurt, en l'homme il survit." Baron Philippe (1902-1988). This translates as "Wine is born, it lives, but it never dies; in man it survives." There's a dusty nose with elements of black cherry and hints of vanilla and lipstick (I promise I was using a clean glass) with a smooth mouthfeel and restrained berry flavors. 2005 was a banner year for Bordeaux and this is a very economical way to enjoy it.

I was going to open the other bottle to try something different, but I decided to save it for later. That's a 2004 Sella & Mosca Cannonau di Sardegna from the Italian island of Sardinia. $15, 12.5% abv. I've written about the Cannonau grape previously and was excited to see a bottle from a different producer. A few days afterward I opened it up to go with grilled pork chops and an apple-garlic-sherry vinegar topping. The wine has an intensely spicy, grape skin aroma to it and a full black cherry flavor. The spice continues on the tongue, black pepper and allspice. Medium tannins, clean finish, a little unusual but certainly strong enough to hold up against the grilled pork.

2002 Argiolas Costera

Based on my prior experience with the Perdera, I decided to try the 2002 Argiolas Costera from Sardinia. 92% Cannonau (more on that later), with the remainder comprised of Carignano and Bovale Sardo. Served up with a little ribeye, some roast sweet potatoes, and assorted vegetables.

Even though they're from the same year, I felt the Perdera ($15) aged a little better than the Costera ($20). This one is leaning towards oxidation, with a mild sherry aroma. Still some hints of prune and cherry on the nose, and the flavor is a little tart, medium tannins, with elements of blackberry and leather. It's not spoiled, but it's probably near the end of its aging potential.

Back to the Cannonau. Some say it's the exact same thing as Grenache, some say it's a derivative or clone, others say that it's the father of Grenache. The Italians believe that Cannonau is Grenache, originated in Sardinia and that it was exported to Spain during a period of Spanish rule of the island (1400s). The Spanish say they brought it over during the same time period. Others say that Cannonau was brought there by Jesuits and is a derivative of Alicante. And let's complicate matters by pointing out that the island has also been ruled over the past millennia by the Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, Byzantines, plus a bunch of little Spanish and Italian city-states, kingdoms, and principalities. I have no solid data on the origin of the grape, and am not going to say a word lest this blog get hit with EU sanctions and some Sardo winemaker swears a blood oath against me and my descendants. Let me state again, though, that one of the things I love about wine is that it's truly history in a glass.