Malbec: Where It’s At
Without a film like Sideways singing its praises, without being name-checked in any Diddy songs, Malbec has staged a quiet American invasion over the past decade as a reliable, approachable wine with good depth.
Easy to drink, great fruit – New World to the core, right? But there’s a lot of tannin in the mix…let’s get Jill to give a primer.
Goes great with: a nice exchange rate, a juicy steak, inveterate white drinkers.
I’ve only ever kissed one Argentine, but he looked like a dark-eyed Beck, was fluent in four languages, and boy, could he kiss. In my mind all men from Argentina are like this: sun-dappled and dreamy. Reminds me of Malbec: I have yet to drink one that wasn’t yummy.
Like many important aspects of wine and smooching, it started in France. Malbec was traditionally a blending grape in the southwest, frequently grown as untrellised bush vines and used to add color, renowned as The Black Grape of Cahors. Thing is, inky, thin-skinned Malbec needs heat, baby, more than Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot; brought to Argentina in 1868, the grape found its perfect home.
A good kiss: soft, plush, with good pacing, not overpowering. Argentine Malbecs are lush and concentrated, their tannins juicy instead of dry. Some people complain about Malbec going limp in the finish – feh, I say. If the mid-palate magic is this good, it’ll take a few seconds for me to raise my eyelids anyway.
And – Jill here – a smooth, solid Malbec can be had for around a 10-spot. To paraphrase Evita, “They’ll keep their promise – don’t keep your distance.”