How can you possibly walk by this bottle?

It has a colorful, prideful looking, fat-ass rooster on the label, which claims to be a shade under fifty pounds. If you are someone who likes big, monstrous Chardonnay, you might surmise that this oversized rooster stood for something similarly substantial. And you’d be right.

Rex Goliath Chard exudes wide open, delicious aroms of rich, ripe, spicy fruit: pear, apple, vanilla, honey. In the mouth, you get lots of ripe, sweet, heavily oaked pear fruit upfront, as well as candied peach — like you would taste in a fruit salad. A heavy, almost cloying mouthfeel contributes to a creamy smooth texture. The midpalate shows honey and canned peaches in syrup. All the fruit upfront gives the impression of a quick exit from the palate, but in fact the finish has decent length, and tastes of candied pear, peaches, and wood.

Let’s call a spade a spade and explain what this wine is: an oak-soaked, sugary sweet Chardonnay. Personally, I go for this type of wine maybe once a month, but there a lot of people who love this style. If you are type who enjoys oaky Chardonnay, then at under ten bucks, this is a great value. If you are not, and the wine somehow presents itself in your glass, I highly recommend you try it with really spicy food — the sweet fruit and oak will temper nuclear-level buffalo wings, spicy Thai, General Tsao chicken, and similarly hot dishes. At the same time, the alcohol level is high enough to add gasoline to the fire, so it’s not a perfect match.

Otherwise, don’t try matching this with food; it is expressly a cocktail / fireside sipper.

a-8 t-8 b-7 fc-5 v-8 ~ 86 Points

The Rex Goliath Wines website

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After pouring really inexpensive Languedoc from out of Larry’s Sommeliers Series glass and down the drain, the geek that Larry is once again brought up the unforgettable night he enjoyed a bottle of Chateau Ducru Beaucaillou St. Julien Bordeaux — after turning back a corked bottle of Chateau Margaux. He said it was the best thing that ever happened to him, because the Ducru was “mind blowing, almost life-changing”.

Whatever.

Personally, I’d never had Ducru, so didn’t understand all the fuss. I figured that some time in my life I’d get the chance to taste the legendary nectar — hopefully on someone else’s dime. Then, remarkably, I found a dusty bottle of Ducru Beaucaillou in the discount bin of Shop Rite Liquors, for a few dollars more than the Yellow Tail Cabernet Sauvignon I’d already picked up. Looking at the two bottles next to each other in my basket, I knew exactly what had to be done: a taste-off !

To make it fair, I uncorked both bottles at precisely the same time, and let them sit for exactly two hours to breathe. When it was time to start pouring, I used identical machine-blown Riedel Vinum Extreme Bordeaux glasses (I know hand-blown is better, but feared inconsistency in the shape might skew the results; machines are much more reliable than humans).

Using a graduated cylinder, I measured equal amounts of each wine into their respective glasses, and began the process of swirling and sniffing.

As expected, the Yellow Tail Cab expressed youthful exuberance, showing vibrant aromas of raspberry jam, grape juice, and imitation vanilla. It exploded in the mouth with flavors of concord grape jelly, easing into a finish of succulent, lip-smacking Jolly Rancher Wild Berry Fruit candy.

The Ducru, on the other hand, was not nearly as impressive. No matter how much I swirled and sniffed, the nose remained closed and uninteresting. The palate was similar — some hints of blackcurrants, cassis, leather, tobacco, blackberry, spice, and earth — but otherwise flat and, well, obtuse. Certainly not something I’d serve with buffalo wings, pigs in blankets, or even mac and cheese (and EVERYTHING goes with mac and cheese!). In fact, I wouldn’t even offer this plonk to people who don’t know the difference between Pinot Grigio and Pinot Noir — I just wouldn’t be able to contain the guilt.

Additionally, the Ducru remained obnoxiously long in my mouth — it just wouldn’t go away. It kind of lingered … seemingly for hours. In the end I had to douse my tongue with Ass-Kickin’ Hot Sauce to kill the taste.

I compared my notes with those of my snobby wine friends, as well as some old editions of Wine Spectator and the Wine Advocate. I have to tell you, I didn’t get what they did from the Ducru. There’s the slight possibility I got a bad bottle, or, more likely, was suffering from palate fatigue after the circus-like experience of complexity of the Yellow Tail. Maybe I’ll give the Ducru another chance, on another day (though, I’ll try the Ducru FIRST next time).

Click here for more detailed notes on the Ducru vs. Yellow Tail smackdown tasting !

A friend of mine recommended this wine, and I hadn’t gotten around to trying it for almost a year. Finally, I was perusing the California section, saw it, remembered my friend’s recommending it, and picked it up.

Now let me make clear the fact that although I consider myself fairly knowledgeable when it comes to wines from Europe and the New World, I am hopelessly lost in the USA section of the wine shop. Crazy, I know, considering it’s the “local” wine to me, but that’s just how it is. As a result, I tread lightly when walking through the California aisle, and depend almost exclusively on recommendations.

When I picked up this bottle, a number of bright red alerts, and sirens, went off in my head. First of all, it is a Chardonnay from California, which makes me worry that it is going to be overly oaked, and possibly have a high-fructose corn syrup-like afertaste. Of course, the name — Toasted Head — further suggested that this might be an oaky wine. When I read the back label, which told the story of the name (something about the toasting of oak barrels), my fears seemed justified. Alert number three appeared when I took a closer look at the label, and discovered that Toasted Head was actually a brand owned by R.H. Phillips. What’s wrong with that? Well, R.H. Phillips is part of Vincor International, soon to be part of Constellation Brands. And what’s wrong with that? Nothing, really, except that these are publicly traded (read: HUGE) companies. And usually, companies of this size are concentrating on the bottom line, which means they are creating wines for the masses, which means there’s a chance you’re going to get a soda pop wine.

Now, that’s not ALWAYS the case. For example, Vincor also owns Kim Crawford, a winery in Australia, and those wines are still pretty damn good.

In any case, I decided to try the Toasted Head Chardonnay with salmon broiled with garlic, dill and butter. It took two sips to realize this was not a match made in heaven, and I quickly dumped the Chard in favor of Kim Crawford Pinot Noir 2004 (review on the way).

My worst suspicions were realized: Toasted Head Chardonnay is oaky, with oak, and more oak. It finishes with a fat, syrupy, butterscotch sweetness that makes it useless with most foods. However, all by itself, it is suitable as a “fireplace” wine, or a wine to drink during cocktail hour (i.e., without food). It may even be enjoyable with a big bucket of buttered popcorn, but I haven’t tried that yet.

Those of you who enjoy a big, oaky Chardonnay should pick up this wine; you will like it. If your palate is more similar to mine — meaning you prefer a little less oak — then pass it by and try something else. Different styles for different smiles, right? Thank goodness we all have unique tastes … otherwise all my favorite wines would always be sold out!

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