The Gouda, the Boar, and the Ugni: A Spaghetti-Western Anniversary Dinner, with Barolo Holdin’ the Reins

Sylvia Fonalka
Jan 1
9 min read

Some couples celebrate their wedding anniversary with candlelit dinners or carefully planned getaways. Ours lands on December 29, wedged between post-Christmas exhaustion and pre-New Year’s chaos, the no-man’s-land of the holiday calendar.

Most years, we forget it entirely until it taps us on the shoulder sometime around noon, usually while we’re still managing leftover negotiations and the mild lawlessness that follows Christmas.

This year, we decided to intervene.

If the calendar insisted on stranding our anniversary in holiday limbo, then we would meet it head-on-high noon, no cover, no retreat. Add a flicker of nostalgia (we’d missed the Calgary Stampede and were clearly craving pageantry of any kind), and a plan took shape. With our daughters as co-conspirators, we staged a surprise dinner inspired entirely by my husband’s favourite film. A full-blown, theatrical spaghetti-western anniversary: equal parts dinner, costume party, and cinematic homage.

You may have already spotted the reference. Our title tips its hat to

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

(1966), Sergio Leone’s masterpiece, immortalized by Ennio Morricone’s

whistle-and-goosebump score.

But instead of gunslingers and moral standoffs, our showdown featured smoked cheese, wild boar, and one dramatic grape, alongside a Barolo old enough to command respect.

Costumes Were Non-Negotiable - The dress-up followed swiftly and without restraint.

The Ugly

I leaned fully into my destiny as a slightly disreputable saloon owner - Madame Très Laide ("very ugly", for those whose French begins and ends with the wine list): a woman of questionable morals and excellent hospitality. The look came together in five minutes flat, with a heroic two-minute makeup job: feathered fascinator slightly askew, glitter applied with confidence rather than strategy, and that end-of-the-trail polish that suggests she keeps the saloon running, even if the piano’s out of tune and the rules are mostly optional. All tarnished glamour and frontier decay.

The girls styled themselves as opposing forces, turning our living room into a frontier town divided by temperament alone.

The Good

Calm, controlled, and quietly intimidating, she dressed in clean lines and muted tones, she wore a neatly draped pancho that barely shifted when she moved. She stood still, eyes narrowed, as if she were listening to the wind, or waiting for someone else to lose their nerve. Miss Good didn’t rush. She didn’t need to. Time was clearly on her side.

The Bad

The other went gleefully Bad. With flamboyant purple hair, lace layered with enthusiastic abandon, and a neckline plunging deep into "you’ve been warned" territory, she embraced chaos with visible delight. She squinted dramatically into the middle distance, daring fate, trouble, or at least someone to draw first. Lassie Bad wasn’t content to be part of the story, she intended to hijack it entirely.

It was less tasteful homage and more living-room spaghetti western. Judgment suspended, budget firmly limited. (Sommelier 101: never spend more on dollar-store props than on your red.)

My husband needed only a few items: a cowboy hat, a sheriff’s star, a plastic pistol rescued from an old toy box, and a long coat he once bought at Winners in a moment of optimism and never wore. Presented without explanation, he accepted them without comment, and stepped fully into character.

The transformation was immediate. Tar and truffle. Dried roses and old saddle leather. Firm tannins holding the line, dust and silence stretching across the finish.

Sheriff “Dusty Old-Leather” Ginestra, Keeper of the Last Law, had arrived.

Earlier that day, the Sheriff had already ridden into town once. Not with gold or glory, but with cake and orchids. The orchids claimed their place on the table. The cake waited patiently.

Later, sent back out on a quiet errand to collect truffle fries, he had no idea what was brewing at home. The girls and I dressed at record speed, queued up the Ennio Morricone soundtrack, and staged ourselves dramatically in the living room, fully committed to the bit.

So without further ado: cue the music, roll the credits, and let’s begin our edible Western!

The Gouda, the Boar, and the Ugni

- Starring-

Gouda -"The Good"

Dependable. Taciturn. Heroic.

Smoked Gouda strolls onto the scene exactly like Clint Eastwood as Blondie: calm, confident, faintly smug because it knows everyone loves it. The smoke arrived first, then the assurance. Somewhere in the distance, a very serious whistle began.

Blondie would be proud.

Aged Gouda - The Hero of the Plate - Made by Alberta Pike in Innisfail, Alberta

Boar - "The Bad"

Wild. Cheeky. Slightly unhinged.

Channeling Lee Van Cleef’s icy menace, the boar didn’t just bring flavour, it brought attitude. A villain you can’t help but root for. The casting felt especially right after a long-ago encounter in southern France, when a wild boar sprinted across the road and collided with our car. No injuries, just drama, and a lifelong respect for French wildlife with main-character energy.

Angel Eyes would absolutely approve.

Alberta Ground Wild Boar - The Rogue - form Urban Butcher, Calgary

Ugni -"The Ugly"

Messy. Loud. Unforgettable.

Ugni Blanc may not sound glamorous, but it’s the grape behind Cognac.

Folded into a mushroom sauce, Ugni-driven Cognac brought richness, heat, and unruly elegance.

Just like Tuco, it got the last word.

Pure Tuco energy.

Cognac Sauce - The Underdog - Château Montifaud VSOP Cognac from Highlander

Sheriff “Dusty Old-Leather” Ginestra

🍷

2008 Paolo Conterno Ginestra

Barolo DOCG, Italy

For balance, we needed gravitas. A wine that could stand its ground against smoke, fat, fungus, and theatrical excess without blinking.

I strutted into our cellar like the heroine of a dusty frontier town channeling Claudia Cardinale in Once Upon a Time in the West—nothing fancy, just that calm, deadly-serious confidence of a woman with the kind of presence that makes the soundtrack start playing on its own. I scanned the shelves like I was sizing up outlaws in a saloon and huntin’ down a fistful of dollars. That’s when I spotted it:

Paolo Conterno Barolo Ginestra 2008, leaning on the shelf like a mysterious stranger in a long coat, absolutely begging to be part of the story.

A 17-year-old bottle, thick with cellar dust, practically tipping its hat and saying:

“Ma’am, I reckon Ah’m more than reeaady.”

He stepped out of the saloon’s shadow in a dark-garnet coat catching the last stripe of sunset and you catch that unmistakable aura: mature, seasoned, and carved by the land itself. His presence carried the scent of worn leather, wild mountain herbs, and the deep earth of long-traveled trails, all wrapped around a steady, weathered heart.

He’s in his middle-aged glory: warm, full-bodied, and built with the quiet strength of someone who’s seen enough trouble to know exactly when to stand tall. There’s a spark of spice, a vein of iron, and a mineral-edged grit that says this wine comes from tougher soil than most. Every move is slow, deliberate, and lingering, like a legend that’s only improved with time. Sorry, I got carried away!

About the wine

Paolo Conterno has been making wine in Monforte d’Alba since 1886, drawing from the prized Ginestra cru. These clay-rich, high-elevation vineyards and traditional long aging in large oak give the wine its structure, depth, and staying power.

The 2008 Barolo Ginestra is classic Nebbiolo: elegant, powerful, and beautifully mature, with plenty of life ahead.

Peak window: 2016–2028 (Yahoo! we're good!)

Our Tasting Notes:

After this long on the trail, the wine’s changed a bit.

Tannins have mellowed from rough cowboys to well-mannered gentlemen holding the saloon door.
Aromas of dried roses, forest floor, leather, tobacco, and truffle lead the way - The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly in liquid form: elegance, grit, chaos, and a buried prize worth the trouble.
On the palate, mature red fruit meets earthy, savoury swagger, finishing long, warm, and assured.

A Barolo that knows exactly who it is, and doesn’t need to shout about it.

The Barolo had crossed oceans and years for this moment. It asked only one thing of us: dinner.

Wild Boar Burgers with Smoked Gouda & Cognac Mushrooms

Yields: 4 burgers | Prep time: 20 minutes | Cook time: 25–30 minutes

Frankly,I didn’t choose boar only because it conveniently rhymes with "bad", though that certainly helped, but because it genuinely makes an excellent burger. It’s rich, flavourful, and surprisingly easy to find here in Alberta if you know a good butcher. (Hello Rockies! The land of wildlife and unexpectedly fancy meat options.)

These homemade boar burgers pair that bold, slightly wild flavour with deeply savoury sautéed mushrooms. Because boar is usually leaner than standard grocery-store beef or pork, the cognac-laced mushrooms step in to add juiciness and depth, while smoked Gouda brings richness and helps everything stay tender.

That said, the ground boar I got from my butcher was surprisingly well-marbled. In fact, there was enough leftover fat to fry potatoes the next day. And yet, somehow, the patties themselves stayed generous, tender, and beautifully juicy.

For the patties: "The Boar"

460 g / 1 lb ground boar
5 g / 1 tsp salt
3–4 g / 1 tsp garlic powder
3–4 g / 1 tsp onion powder
1–2 g / ½ tsp ground black pepper

Add everything to a medium mixing bowl and mix well
Shape the mixture into four patties, about 115 g / 4 oz each
Preheat your grill or pan to high heat. Once it’s properly blazing, grill the patties for about 3 minutes per side, don't forget to add the Gouda at the first turn!

For the cognac mushrooms: "The Ugni"

40 g / 3 tbsp unsalted butter
15 ml / 1 tbsp olive oil, to prevent the butter from burning
250 g / about 2 cups fresh mushrooms, sliced (cremini, button, shiitake, or a mix)
1 medium shallot, diced
3-4 cloves garlic, minced
60 ml / ¼ cup cognac (well, OK if you're not playin' this same game, brandy or whiskey will do)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
chopped fresh or dried herbs, such as parsley or tarragon (optional)

Sauté the mushrooms: Melt 2 tablespoons of butter (and the olive oil) in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the mushrooms in a single layer and cook for 5–6 minutes, without stirring at first, until browned and tender. Don’t crowd the pan: mushrooms need space to brown, not steam. Cook in batches if necessary.
Add shallot and garlic.Reduce the heat to medium. Add the diced shallot and minced garlic and cook for 1–2 minutes, until softened and fragrant. Add herbs, if using.
Deglaze with cognac: Remove the pan from the heat and carefully pour in the cognac. Return the pan to the burner and let it simmer for 1–2 minutes, scraping up the browned bits. Allow it to reduce slightly as the alcohol cooks off.
Optional flambé: For drama, ignite the cognac with a long match off the heat. Let the flames die down naturally before returning the pan to the stove.
Season and finish: Stir in the remaining tablespoon of butter until melted and glossy. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and add the fresh herbs just before serving.

Assemble Your Burger

4 generous slices of smoked Gouda: “The Gouda” (laid onto the patties at the turn, where it melts like it was always meant to)
4 hamburger buns
Fresh toppings & favourite condiments: lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, mustard, mayo, ketchup. Condiments lined up like the Magnificent Seven at the saloon bar.

Toast the buns & prep the condiments

Butter those buns like you’re greasing up a saddled horse at dawn, then toast them until they’re as golden as a frontier sunset. Mix up your condiment of choice: plain mayo, garlic mayo, or truffle mayo. We opted for gochujang mayo, which brings a little heat and the kind of confidence usually reserved for mysterious strangers with excellent taste.

Next, prep your fresh toppings. Slice lettuce, pickles, onions, tomatoes. Think of them as the fresh, crisp counterbalance that keeps your hero burger from riding into town alone.

Build the burger

Plant the bottom bun down like a sheriff staking his claim. Spread on your sauce, then lay down your greens. Lower your Gouda-smothered patty onto the bun, heap on the sautéed mushrooms. Top with any final fixings, then cap it all with the top bun like the hat of a gunslinger who knows he just won the duel.

Enjoy immediately, preferably with a double order of truffle-parmesan fries we sent my husband out to fetch nearby so we could get dressed and give the patties their final moment of glory. Squint. Swagger. Lean against the bar like you own the place and declare, "Yes, I made wild boar sliders with Cognac mushrooms. No, it wasn’t a big deal." Then disappear into the saloon haze.

So how did our Anniversary Dinner go?

The first whistle of Ennio Morricone hit the speakers, and my husband lit up like a man ambushed by a surprise western. From that moment on, resistance was futile.

Drama became a moral obligation.

Dinner itself was a proper frontier feast:

Gouda doing its dependable, heroic thing;

boar and Ugni burgers swaggering onto the plate like well-tailored outlaws; and a bottle of Barolo standing watch, solemn, noble, and deeply aware of its narrative importance.

It did its duty.

Dinner gave way to the couch.

Blankets appeared. Belts loosened.

All four of us collapsed like a ragtag posse after a long day on the trail and let an almost three-hour-long film carry us slowly into the sunset.

Cue credits.

Roll tumbleweed.

Anniversary: successfully defended.

Happy sipping and savouring!