Often here, we’re forced by budget and calendar to take a very specific and more-or-less unobtainable drink and substitute in something a little more available. (The 1898 Graves becomes a 2014; the vodka’s on a plane but not actually dispensed from a wing-occupying tank). This time however, we’re going the other way.

No-name wine appears a couple of times in Against the Day. First, Root Tubsmith produces some:

There sure enough in full barrel-rolling conviviality was Root Tubsmith.

“Though you’d eloped with that redhead!” he greeted Kit.
“Got drafted into the navy,” Kit said. “I think. Nothing’s been rigorously what you’d call ‘real’ lately. Does seeing you in this condition mean that everything is normal again?”

“Of course,” handing him a bottle of no-name wine, “next question.”

Against the Day, p. 535.

Later, it’s Kit’s brother Reef on the nameless product:

After picking up a modest sum at the tables, Reef drifted around Nice for a while, sitting in cafés drinking no-name wine, or in hotel bars drinking pineapple Marquises with trois-six chasers. But he couldn’t see himself pursuing the life of the flâneur forever.

Against the Day, p. 849.

(Pineapple Marquises still to come here…)

Instead of opting for an unnamed wine (homemade would have been an option) or just leaving this off the list entirely, we’re turning no-name wine to No Name Wine.

In 2005, historic Barolo winery Borgogno submitted their vintage for certification by the DOCG board, only to have it rejected as not quite Barolo. Since then, they’ve every year released a parcel of their primo product under the humbler classification of DOC (without the G). Apparently this constitutes a “quiet protest against the bureaucracy that afflicts Italian winemakers.” Borgogno name their protest bottle No Name.

No Name has plenty of colour—a lovely garnet that doesn’t quite come across in these photos. The aroma is earthy and clay-like, with a bit of red berry and something floral twined through too. It displays a great supple balance of red fruit and earthy dusty spice. Very delicious and classy stuff.

Is No Name a minor act of anarchic resistance against Their oppressive hand sorting Italian wine into overdefined grid boxes? Or is it just an insiders’ squabble among that same Them? Uh, next question?