Crafty?

Friday night, dough rising on the warm spot on top of the fridge, onions slowly melting on top of the stove (is there a better smell in the world than onions speckled with herbes de Provence cooking in good olive oil?), you've guessed I'm making pissalidiere. Which I am. Naturally, you'd expect a report about a rose, perhaps even the headlining 2004 vs 2005 Domaine du Bagnol Cassis rose bout we've been anticipating since we espied the new vintage in town. But. No rose before its time, and the pissalidiere won't be emerging hot from the over for some time yet. I'm a firm believer that a glass of wine on the counter when you're cooking leads to better results, fostering a looser hand and a willingness to experiment. So an alternative was required. Fortunately, last week I encountered something totally irresistible -- an obscure varietal from Hungary, priced at $7.99. Now, there is some fine, fine wine coming out of Hungary; their sweet tokajis are justly praised. But weird cheap white? I've had some weird cheap white from Slovenia and Croatia, and been very pleased with the result (as must be the wine managers at Mario Batali's Otto, since from time to time I spot Marco Polo or Dancing Man Meritage on the restaurant's otherwise proudly and, frankly, overwhelming all-Italian wine list). And Turkey. And Lebanon. But never Hungary, so I bit. The grape is called -- I mean, come on -- Királyleányka, to get all the accents correct. Out of the fridge and into the glass, it's pale and light-looking, but under the nose, very taken aback, I thought I'd been served a pina colada. A quick look at the label shows a 2003 vintage. I'm learning an interesting lesson here, much as O Senhor is with cheap 2003 Bordeaux. A lot of heat on an undistinguished red can render it friendly; a lot of heat on an undistinguished white is perhaps less desirable. This is a wine that improved as the chill faded, but its acid still fell down the far sides of my mouth in an unpleasant way (how strange to drink a wine that doesn't fill the mouth, but sincerely feels relegated to the outer limits!). When the acid finally clears, there's a tarty finish, in the overly-made-up sense. I've had more unpleasant wines, 'struth this isn't as bad as all that, but I'm hard pressed to say when I've been more disappointed. The wine's name is Woodsman's Craftsman, it even has a flash website, and is clearly made for and pointed at what someone perceives as American taste. I don't read the research until after I taste, but in this case I wish I had. The marketing geniuses compare it to Chenin Blanc and Voignier -- a stretch, I think, as this is a clombering wooden clog of a wine to those dainty silk slippers, but I avoid both as much as possible. I wish to believe that there is, really, an interesting varietal buried in there somewhere, but I think I'm going to have to scratch this one of my list.