by Jack
I love wine and as I came to appreciate it more and more the concept of “terroir” gained a firm role in defining what I love about it. A French term, terroir is the combination of grape varietal, soil and climate that together produce a unique and distinct wine. This is integral to the prominence of celebrated wine regions such as Bordeaux, Burgundy, Tuscany and Napa where each are heralded for wines of a recognizable character from varietals well suited to their specific conditions. The ripe velvety Cabernet Sauvignons of Napa, the crisp, steely Chardonnays of Chablis, have their own special characteristics not found in Cabs or Chards from other regions.

Which brings me to Garrigue, another French term. Garrigue refers to aromatic mix of resinous herbs and shrubs in the rocky hills of southern France. Lavender, thyme, cedar and salt air combine on the warm ocean breezes to create an unforgettable perfume. Many say these transfer into the wines of the region as well. I was reflecting on this during a recent beach vacation and thought I could identify a “Garrigue” for each of my favorite seaside venues along with a wine or two that share it.

Starting from the North is Cape Cod, the coolest region. With water temps in the 60s and air temperatures rarely hitting 90, the characteristics that most come to mind for me are freshness and minerality. For those who have never been, the Cape, especially the outer Cape, is a beautiful area of pine forests, kettle ponds and high dunes sweeping up from a pristine National Seashore. Bordered by the chilly Atlantic to the East and Cape Cod Bay to the West there seems always to be a cooling breeze carrying the scent of pine and brine. The ocean water is bracingly cold and a swim can be trying even on the hottest days. Often the beaches are sprinkled with stones of granite and basalt tumbled smooth in the surf.

This is what brings to mind the expression of minerality in a wine. Often described as a crushed stone or granite note it is, I think, a manifestation of the acidity, balanced to a superfine point with the sugars and tannins. Perhaps a tactile hardness that comes up just short of bitter. Wines with good minerality have a clean finish and pair very well with a good range of dishes. My go-to wines that deliver on this most consistently: from Sancerre a crisp and bright Sauvignon Blanc perfect with a plate of briny sweet Wellfleet oysters, best consumed in Wellfleet, a beautiful bayside town with 18th century charm. Or Garnacha from Priorat in northeastern Spain is dark, juicy and intense, great with a bleu cheese or leg of lamb roasted with rosemary and garlic.

Slow day at the Jersey Shore

From that northernmost point my next stop is the one most familiar to me. The Jersey Shore. I grew up there a mere 10 miles from the ocean and the beach and boardwalks were the playgrounds of my youth. Along my stretch of the shore, from Asbury Park to Manasquan small cities and towns huddle right up to the beach. You can catch NJ transit to NYC, and back in the 70s there were plenty of cheap hotel rooms and rental cottages. These were the most crowded beaches I have ever been to. It was as if someone painted a subway platform sandy yellow and everyone waiting at rush hour stripped to their shorts (the male New Yorkers of a certain age leaving on their dark colored socks) and laid down on a towel. Those arriving near midday were consigned to the back of the beach near the boardwalk. The path to and from the surf was a circuitous maze through a hodge podge of blankets, chairs and towels prescient of the as yet uninvented Pac Man. AM radio still ruled the airwaves and a muted cacophony of Yankees games and Mets games along with WABC Top 40 droned over the beat of the surf. On the boardwalk snack stands sold fries, steamers and slices. It was market and town square and park combined.

And always on that steamy salty breeze was the scent suntan oil, french fries and hint of tar from the pilings of the boardwalk and the piers. So my picks for the Jersey Shore are Chardonnay and Chianti. Chardonnay golden color fits perfectly in a tableau of sand and sun, its warm aromas of tropical fruit and spice blend recall a stroll down the boards teeming with food stands. You may even pick up a coconut nuance if it’s aged in American oak to pull in that pervasive wiff of suntan oil.

Chianti because New Jersey is essentially a colony of Italy. Only here will you find people of every possible ethnic derivation reacting to subpar copa or scali bread as a personal affront. So Chianti because its bright cherry fruit and vibrant acidity go beautifully with so many of the traditional Italian-American dishes and its often found tarry/smoky note evokes the smell of a boardwalk’s pilings on a hot summer day.

Continuing South the next venue is Hatteras Island in Outer Banks, North Carolina. A very special place I first visited about 10 years ago. It immediately reminded me of Long Beach Island of my early childhood. Both are barrier beaches stretching out into the open sea creating a placid bay or sound behind them, glorified sand bars really, whose geological definitions carry no suggestion of permanence. Both have been rustic, unassuming settings to commune with sea and surf. Hatteras Island still is.

It is sometimes shockingly narrow, 75% national seashore (undeveloped and protected), and charmingly unassuming. A little ice cream stand at the end of a lane of lovely beach houses, a family seafood restaurant with the freshest fare broiled or fried with butter or tartar sauce, a go-kart track that pre-dates fuel injection. The pace is slow here in no small part because there are so few accelerants. No nightclubs, arcades, ballparks or resorts it is a laboratory for a summer sloth.

It is also a front row seat for a sublime cathedral of soaring light and color. Sitting 14 miles into the sea from the mainland it is a rare spot for a land-lubber to experience the ambient radiance of unadulterated sun and sea. The weather scuds by in towering fronts and sunsets offer a cast of rose hues reflected on the sea in front and sound behind.The only wine that seems right to me for Hatteras is Rose. A dry Rose, preferably from Provence. The fresh flavors of melon and strawberry lifted by the crisp acidity complement the local produce and seafood wonderfully and you are sure to see whatever tint of pink you’re drinking matched in a spectacular sunset.

Lastly and southernmost is Hilton Head Island in South Carolina near its border with Georgia. Shady forests cover the island right up to the beach which is wide with a gentle slope. The water is warm and shallow and surf almost always gentle. A great beach for small children and novice swimmers. The variety of wildlife is very rich. Waterfowl and marshbirds share the shady canals with alligators and turtles, while offshore pods of dolphins cresting is a common sight. The beach houses are set smartly among the pines and live oaks dripping spanish moss to give a sense of seclusion and privacy. The weather is hot. Even in the shade of the trees by midday the heat becomes a physical presence. In that swelter the carpet of pine needles and leaves gone to ground give off a cedary spice nose that together with the white blossom scents from the Magnolias and flowering vines create Hilton Head’s unique Garrigue. It most reminds me of American Zinfandel with its dark berry fruit and woody spicy aromas. Zins are the go-to pairing for Barbecue which in South Carolina, as in the rest of the South, is a revered cuisine. I will also give a nod to the genteel country estate and choose Gewurztraminer for its floral nose, with distinct rose notes and its fine suitability to Low Country Cuisine, particularly shrimp and grits.

That’s as far as I’ve gotten with this notion of tri-ing (rather than pairing) of food, wine and place and I’m sure I haven’t done it justice. I hope to hear some corrections and elaborations from those as passionate about these places and wines as I am.