👩‍🍳 - Jump to recipe, but fair warning: you’ll miss all my brilliantly unnecessary (and deeply entertaining) ranting. If you didn’t know better, Verduno Pelaverga sounds like an Italian aristocrat. A rather obscure one, admittedly. Maybe a forgotten opera composer. Or some old Piedmontese bloke who wears a linen scarf all year and will happily spend twenty minutes explaining how truffles should be shaved over risotto. It really doesn’t sound like a wine. But it is. Verduno Pelaverga DOC comes from the village of Verduno in Piedmont, and the grape is Pelaverga Piccolo, a rare local variety. Even the name has that very Piedmontese ring to it. Elegant, slightly grand, and not terribly helpful if you’ve never seen it on a wine list before. Verduno, Piedmont, Italy And then there’s Barolo. The two are, in a way, relatives. They come from the same part of Piedmont and have a connection to the Nebbiolo family, but that’s about where the similarities start to get interesting. Because Barolo is the rich cousin. Barolo got the big reputation, the expensive real estate and the rather impressive wardrobe. He’s the one everyone knows. Pelaverga stayed in Verduno and carried on doing its own thing. Which is quite something when you consider where Verduno actually is. This is Barolo country, after all. Verduno is one of the 11 communes where Barolo can be made, so there has never been any shortage of temptation to plant Nebbiolo instead. But the old Pelaverga vines survived. Someone decided they were worth keeping, even when there were probably easier ways to make money from the land. I rather like that. And the wine itself is nothing like the big, brooding Piedmontese red you might be expecting. For starters, look at it. It’s pale. Really pale. Almost translucent. It has the sort of colour that makes you check the bottle twice to make sure you haven’t picked up something much lighter by mistake. It also looks rather refined. Almost delicate. Then you sniff it, and things get more interesting. White pepper is the signature, but there’s also wild strawberry, raspberry and violet. That peppery note comes from an aromatic compound called rotundone, the same compound responsible for the distinctive peppery aroma you find in some other wines (cool-climate Syrah, Grüner Veltliner, Mourvèdre and Vespolina). It’s fragrant and fresh, with that lovely little peppery kick. Nothing heavy or brooding. It’s much more playful than that. On the palate it stays pretty light, somewhere around light to medium-bodied, with silky tannins and bright acidity. There’s enough structure to remind you that this is still a Piedmontese red, but it doesn’t make a big performance of it. Barolo would probably arrive at dinner in a dinner jacket. Pelaverga would turn up in a linen shirt, a silk scarf, sit down, and start talking to everyone. And honestly, it’s a very easy wine to eat with. I like it slightly chilled, particularly with antipasti, charcuterie, pizza, poultry, tomatoey pasta and mushrooms. That peppery side also makes it surprisingly good with spicier food, as the wine has that little bit of swagger. So no, Pelaverga was never going to become another Barolo. And perhaps that’s for the best. They’re from the same corner of Piedmont, with an old family connection through Nebbiolo, but somewhere along the way one cousin got the fortune and the other got the personality. I know which one I’d invite to dinner. There is one catch: you have to find the stuff. Pelaverga is made in tiny quantities, so it isn’t exactly sitting on every wine-shop shelf. Comm. G.B. Burlotto Comm. G.B. Burlotto is one of the names to look for, and the winery has long been associated with keeping this old local grape alive when it could very easily have disappeared. Comm. G.B. Burlotto been making wine since the 19th century, but Pelaverga was never the star. It was often planted alongside Nebbiolo and rarely bottled on its own, so it slowly began to disappear. Then, in 1972, Gabriella Burlotto planted a dedicated parcel of Pelaverga in the Massara vineyard. That small decision helped save the grape. Today, winemaker Fabio Alessandria works with Pelaverga from sandy, chalky sites around Verduno, keeping the winemaking gentle and letting that lovely peppery fragrance do the talking. So perhaps Pelaverga found exactly the right family. It’s an old Piedmontese grape, slightly eccentric, easily overlooked — but quietly stubborn enough to survive. Serve it slightly chilled, around 12–14°C, with prosciutto, salami, anchovies, pizza or tomato-based pasta. Its bright acidity and peppery freshness make it particularly good for warm-weather drinking, a red for when your brain says rosé but your heart stubbornly says wine with tannins. Picked the bottle up at Metrovino in Calgary. A uniquely brilliant food pairing for Verduno Pelaverga is smoky grilled bonito or seared tuna sashimi. Because this rare Piedmontese red wine naturally contains high levels of the aromatic compound rotundone - giving it a distinct, punchy white-pepper and floral signature alongside bright red cherry fruit - its light body and silky texture bridge the gap to rich, meaty fish without clashing or metallic bitterness. Thin slices of sushi-grade tuna, quickly seared until the outside is beautifully browned while the centre stays cool and completely raw. Pepper Sesame Crusted Tuna Sashimi Serves: 2–4 Prep: 10 minutes Cook: 1–2 minutes Ingredients 450 g (1 lb) sushi-grade Ahi or Bluefin tuna, cut into a thick rectangular block 1 tsp (5 ml) sesame oil ½ tsp fine sea salt ¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper 2 tbsp (15 g) white and/or black sesame seeds 1 tbsp (15 ml) avocado seed oil To serve Soy sauce, Ponzu or Yuzu Mayonaise / gochujang mayonnaise Wasabi Pickled ginger Thinly sliced spring onions Micro greens Method 1. Dry the tuna Pat the tuna very thoroughly dry with paper towels. This is important. A dry surface gives you a much better sear. 2. Season Rub the tuna lightly with sesame oil, if using, then season with salt and pepper. For a sesame crust, press the tuna firmly into the sesame seeds until all sides are coated. 3. Get the pan seriously hot Heat a cast-iron or heavy skillet over high heat until very hot. Add the oil and heat until shimmering and just beginning to smoke. 4. Sear the tuna Place the tuna in the pan and sear for 10–20 seconds per side. Use tongs to quickly sear the edges as well. You want a thin, cooked crust around the outside while the centre remains completely raw. 5. Slice Transfer the tuna to a board and let it sit for about 1 minute. Using a very sharp knife, slice it thinly across the grain. 6. Serve Arrange the slices on a plate and serve immediately with soy sauce, wasabi and pickled ginger, if you like. A little tip The secret is heat and speed. Get the pan smoking hot, make sure the tuna is completely dry, and don’t hang around once the fish hits the pan. Ten seconds can make a surprisingly big difference when you’re trying to keep that beautiful ruby-red centre. Happy sipping and savouring!

My first trip to Beaune wasn’t actually about wine. Which sounds a bit ridiculous when you consider where Beaune is. I wasn’t there hunting down Grand Crus or going from cellar to cellar. I certainly wasn’t trying to prove that I could tell a Pommard from a Puligny-Montrachet. I can’t. Not reliably, anyway. I’d gone for the art. There was one painting I really wanted to see. I’d known it for years, long before I knew much about Burgundy or its wines. It was Rogier van der Weyden’s The Last Judgment (Le Jugement Dernier), in the Hôtel-Dieu, or the Hospices de Beaune as most people know it. I actually knew the painting from university. It was part of my art-history degree. I wish I had a better story than that, but I don’t. It was on the syllabus. Yes, that art-history degree. The one that seemed like a slightly impractical choice at the time and then, somehow, kept popping up in my life. Interior view: The Last Judgement, polyptych c. 1443–1451 by Rogier van der Weyden, Hôtel-Dieu, Beaune, France I remember walking into the Salle des Pôvres and seeing the polyptych for the first time. The colours were incredible. Reds, blues, gold. They still looked so strong after all those centuries. There’s a reason for that, of course. The altarpiece had a major restoration between 1875 and 1878, and there have been other conservation treatments since. Still, standing there, that wasn’t really what I was thinking about. I was thinking about how clever the whole thing was. There are nine oak panels, and six are painted on both sides. The wings could be opened and closed depending on the occasion. On Sundays and feast days, they opened to show the full Last Judgment. It’s basically a medieval dramatic reveal. No Instagram. No TikTok. Just nine huge bits of oak and a very serious amount of preparation. The view with the wings folded of six panels with the donors kneeling in the far wings. The altarpiece was commissioned by Nicolas Rolin, Chancellor of Burgundy, for the Hôtel-Dieu, the hospital he founded for the poor. It was completed around 1445–1450. And this is the bit I find hardest to get my head around. This huge, spectacular painting wasn’t made for some grand palace. It was made for a hospital. People who were sick would have seen it. People who knew they were dying would have seen it. It was there to give them some comfort, but also, presumably, to make them think about what came next. Imagine being in a fifteenth-century hospital and having Rogier van der Weyden’s Last Judgment at the end of the room. I’d probably have found it slightly terrifying. At the centre is Christ, surrounded by saints and angels. Below him, the Archangel Michael weighs the souls of the dead. The blessed go one way, the damned another. There’s so much going on that you can keep looking and still miss things. And that brings me, rather unexpectedly, to wine. From Masterpiece to Wine Label A few years later, I was looking through wines from Beaujolais when I saw a bottle and stopped. I knew the picture on the label. It was the Archangel Michael. The same Michael I remembered from Beaune, with his scales, calmly weighing souls. The wine was Domaine Jules Desjourneys Chénas Le Jugement Dernier. And there it was: two things I’d never really thought of putting together—medieval art and wine—on the same bottle. Where Wine Meets Art The story behind the label is pretty simple. Fabien Duperray founded Domaine Jules Desjourneys in 2007. He was a Burgundy négociant before starting the domaine, and he’s also a serious art collector. He has more than 1,000 original works, and some of that collection has ended up on his wine labels. The bottles themselves get a lot of attention too. The labels, paper, wax seals, corks—it’s all part of the look. Which I quite like. There’s no sense of the label being something slapped on at the end. The wines cover Beaujolais and the Mâconnais, with Gamay from some of the better-known Beaujolais Crus and Chardonnay from places such as Pouilly-Fuissé, Pouilly-Vinzelles and Saint-Véran. Duperray also works with a lot of old vines, some 70 years old, some more than 100. The vineyards are farmed organically and biodynamically, with plenty of hand work and horse ploughing. All of that is interesting, but for me it still comes back to the wine. Why Chénas? Why this painting? Chénas: The Smallest Beaujolais Cru Chénas sits between Juliénas and Moulin-à-Vent. It’s the smallest of the ten Crus du Beaujolais, and it has always seemed a little overlooked to me. The name comes from chêne, meaning oak. These hills were once covered in oak forests. There’s also a story that King Philippe V ordered the trees to be cleared in 1316 so vines could be planted. I do like a forest. But apparently Philippe had other ideas. Chénas is Gamay, and it can be surprisingly serious. There’s plenty of perfume—peony, rose, iris—but also darker fruit, spice and something earthy underneath it all. The texture can be beautifully silky, but there’s structure there too. A lot of that comes from the soils. The higher slopes have pink granite, which helps give the wines their perfume and lift. Lower down, the stonier sedimentary soils bring a little more weight. And Chénas can age. That’s probably the part that makes the pairing work for me. You don’t really take in The Last Judgment in one go. You look at it, think you’ve got the picture, then notice something else. A face. A hand. Some tiny detail you somehow missed five minutes earlier. The wine is a bit like that. Give it some time and it starts to change. Things come forward, then something else appears. You notice more once you stop trying to take it all in at once. Maybe that’s all the connection really is. The painting and the wine both make you slow down a little. And I like that. Especially considering I only noticed the bottle in the first place because I recognized an angel.

👩‍🍳-Jump to recipe, but fair warning: you’ll miss all my brilliantly unnecessary (and deeply entertaining) ranting. There are wines you taste, and then there are wines that take you somewhere. The first inhale of La Oveja Torrontés stopped me in my tracks. Its aromas were disarmingly comforting—like stepping into a home you’ve never been to but somehow remember. And once I discovered where it came from, that feeling made even more sense. La Oveja is made by Julia Zuccardi of Bodega Santa Julia in Mendoza, Argentina, a winery built around three generations of family devotion. The name itself says it all: La Oveja means “the sheep,” and the charming little sheep on the label was drawn by Julia’s children. Even the winery’s philosophy is summed up beautifully as “CUESTIÓN DE FAMILIA” - a family matter. And apparently, this family knows how to make a very good glass of wine. A Sip of Mendoza I’ve never been to Argentina. Which, frankly, feels like something I should probably rectify. But this wine managed to transport me thousands of kilometres without the inconvenience of airport security, lost luggage, or someone reclining their seat directly into my knees. One sip and I was in Mendoza. Well… emotionally in Mendoza. Then I looked at photographs of Bodega Santa Julia and things got worse. The light, the colours, the vineyards, the mountains, the sense of space—it all had that particular magic that makes you start mentally packing a suitcase for a trip you haven't even planned yet. There was something about those images that felt both completely foreign and strangely familiar. Like remembering a place you’ve never actually been. Suddenly, Mendoza wasn't just a dot on a map. It felt like a promise. A slower rhythm. Wide horizons. Sunlight. Vineyards. Mountains. And that wonderful Latin American sense that life is meant to be enjoyed generously and preferably around a table. This wine didn't simply make me imagine Argentina. It made me crave it. All photo credits: Santa Julia Winery Meet La Oveja Made from 100% Torrontés, La Oveja is an organic Argentine white with the kind of aromatic personality that announces itself before you've even taken a sip. Think white peach, pear, lychee, orange blossom and citrus zest—fragrant without being overwhelming, fresh without becoming austere. And this is where Torrontés gets interesting. It can smell almost flirtatiously floral and fruity, yet the palate isn't simply sweet or soft. There’s a lovely freshness and mineral character underneath all those beautiful aromas, giving the wine energy and keeping it wonderfully food-friendly. No oak is used, allowing the fruit and natural character of the grape to take centre stage. The minimalist approach to winemaking feels perfectly suited to the wine: nothing unnecessary, just a beautifully expressive glass of Torrontés. And then there’s the price. Always an important detail when you find a wine this charming. It's the sort of bottle you can open on a Tuesday night without waiting for a special occasion—and then suddenly your Tuesday night feels considerably more special. Just remember: drinking La Oveja is a little like inviting a fun-loving sheep to dinner. Delightful, aromatic, and just mischievous enough to keep things interesting. So, What Do You Eat With Torrontés? This was the part I was particularly excited about. Torrontés loves aromatic foods, herbs, spice, citrus and a touch of heat. Its floral character can handle bold flavours, while its freshness cuts beautifully through richer sauces. So I decided to take it somewhere warm and fragrant: Thai-inspired coconut-poached fish with ginger, chile, lime and tender greens. And this pairing? Well, the sheep approved. The creamy coconut milk brings richness, the ginger and chile add warmth, the lime provides brightness, and the fresh cilantro lifts everything at the end. The Torrontés does something rather clever here. Its aromatic fruit echoes the fragrant ingredients in the dish, while its freshness keeps the coconut sauce from feeling heavy. The result is a pairing that feels almost effortless. A little bit of Argentina. A little bit of Thailand. And somehow, they get along beautifully. Thai-Inspired Coconut-Poached Fish Serves 2 | PREP TIME 20 minutes | COOK TIME 20 minutes Course: Main, Pescatarian For our couple's dinner, I decided to elevate the experience by pairing this delightful wine with a sumptuous Thai fish entrée, beautifully infused with spice and ginger. The combination was nothing short of heavenly, perfectly complementing the vibrant essence of La Oveja. Thai-Inspired Coconut Poached Fish features a fragrant, slightly spicy aromatic broth and perfectly cooked fish served on a bed of tender greens and rice. Ingredients 400-450 grams / 1 lbs firm white fish, such as halibut or cod, cut into smaller cubes Salt to taste 2 tbsp flour 2 Tbsp. cooking oil (avocado, olive or coconut oil) 1 small white onion, or 2 shallots, thinly sliced 1 to 2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced 1 Tbsp. minced fresh ginger 1 Thai chile, thinly sliced (remove seeds for less heat) - optional 1 can (400 ml / 13 1/2-oz) coconut milk 1 cup seafood or chicken stock 1 tsp. fish sauce 1/2 lime, zest and juice, divided 2 handfuls fresh spinach 1/4 cup fresh or frozen peas Fresh cilantro leaves and stems, for garnish 1 to 2 scallions, thinly sliced, for garnish Jasmine rice for serving Instructions Season the fish fillets evenly with salt and coat them lightly with flour. Shake off any excess flour. In a skillet, heat oil over medium heat and sauté the fish fillets in batches until they are lightly caramelized. Set them aside. Using the same skillet, add onion and cook for about 5 minutes until it becomes softened. Then stir in garlic, ginger, and chili, cooking for an additional 2 minutes until fragrant. Next, add coconut milk, peas, seafood stock, fish sauce, and lime zest to the skillet. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer, then stir in the spinach until it wilts. Nestle the fish fillets into the coconut broth, ensuring they are mostly submerged, and reduce the heat to low. Cover the skillet and cook until the fish is just cooked through and opaque, approximately 4 to 6 minutes. After removing the lid, add a good squeeze of lime juice (start with about 1 tablespoon, taste, and adjust as needed). Garnish with cilantro and scallions, and serve the fish and coconut broth over jasmine rice. The Verdict: A Pairing Worth Travelling For There is something wonderfully democratic about a good food-and-wine pairing. You don't need a Michelin-starred kitchen. You don't need an elaborate dinner party. And you certainly don't need to know every technical detail about the wine. Sometimes you simply need a bottle that makes you stop, smell the glass, take a sip—and think, Oh, I like this. La Oveja did exactly that for me. Its fragrant Torrontés found a natural partner in the ginger, chile, lime and coconut of this Thai-inspired fish. The wine brought freshness to the richness of the coconut milk, while the food gave those beautiful floral and fruit aromas somewhere to play. And somewhere between Mendoza and Thailand, I found myself transported. No passport required. Although, after this bottle, Argentina has officially moved much higher on my travel list. And if Mendoza is anything like this wine, I have a feeling I'm going to like it very much. Happy sipping and savouring!