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enough to get the job done. For these cuts of beef, you might consider going for the most popular wine in America: a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Not all cabs are created equal, some being so exquisite as to ruin you for all others, and some… well, they’re wine. “With a sirloin or something like a flat iron, it’s not that you don’t want to pair the best wines, but do you go all-out for those as well?” asks Joy. She suggests going for a cabernet within your budget. A middle-of-the-road such wine—medium bodied, medium price point—would be a bottle from Josh Cellars: a steady, consistently good and acces- sible wine. (It is a no-surprises tipple and has proven very popular in recent years.) If cabs aren’t your thing, try the Locations wines by Dave Phinney. Dave blends wines from across all of the major appellations, to produce wines that represent a country of origin. If you are looking for a mid-tier wine closer to home, Charles Smith Wines puts out a fantastic syrah that could stand on its own with just about any steak out there. One more thing: As the pandemic recedes and parties proliferate, there might be a temptation to go for the “hot” wine— something you are seeing everywhere. There’s nothing wrong with that per se, but don’t be afraid to try something different. Rather than bring a bottle to a party and have the host say, “Oh, I love that wine!” why not try showing up with something that elicits, “Oh, what’s that? Let’s try it!” Wine is ultimately a communal act—something to be appreciated as an art, and likewise to be shared. To inspire. To transcend. To drink wine is to drink the Earth itself. A bottle of wine is more than fermented grapes with a label applied thereto. It is a season’s growth—the sun and rain and wind—tranquility and catastrophe alike— grown on vines long planted in

soil sometimes centuries cultivated. Wine is human experience: the crushing of the grapes, the yeast added to the juice (and the history of the yeast), the fermentation in vats, the subsequent barrel-aging of some wines (and the barrels themselves, and their histories), and finally the bottling of the wines—years often elapsed from the first to last steps. And that’s just the beginning. There is a reason wines from Napa Valley and wine from Burgundy are so different: The earth and the effort. Wine writer Matt Kramer once did the math on just how long it takes to establish distinct wine growing areas able to produce fine, distinct wines: four years from planting a vineyard to harvesting grapes. Fifteen years until the vines mature. Up to 25 years before a fine wine reaches perhaps its fullest expression. A winemaker, in other words, might see, at best, the maturity of a mere 20 vintages. What he or she learns about the cultivated land’s distinct characteristics—what Kramer calls the “cartography of taste”—and the best processes to produce the most subtle and expressive wines, are then passed on. Mastery of this spiritual process is rare indeed, if it truly exists at all. So, yes. Grab that bottle you’ve never tried before. The wine within could only have grown one time in one place. Every year is different. Every place is different. And none will ever be repeated again. And though it is an art, it is one not to be taken too seriously. Wine without merriment is no wine at all. Every vintage is a tribute to the Earth and the human effort to find expression though it. Open that bottle, and if you can, have another. And at the end of the day, no matter which wine you choose, it’s not everything. Julie has one bit of ironclad advice for a day of steak and revelry: start the day with an Old-Fashioned, the famed cocktail made with a nice spicy bourbon, a three dashes of Angostura bitters, a cube of sugar and a splash of water. Serve on the rocks and garnish with an orange slice and a cherry. “If you turn on a grill,” she says, “you should

have an Old-Fashioned in your other hand!” With moods lifted and dinner plated, reach firmly for the corkscrew. The time for celebration has begun.

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