Dear Wine Girl:
I hosted a holiday dinner party recently and one of my guests brought a very special bottle from his cellar: a 1986 Château Margaux, in fact, which he’d bought upon release way back when. I was so honored — and so flustered — by his generosity that when we decanted the bottle and I noticed some off aromas, I dismissed them, telling myself that the wine couldn’t be bad. Also I didn’t want my guest to be embarrassed. But more than halfway through our plates of Argentinian carbonada (all of us trying, but failing, to enjoy the Margaux with it) my neighbor finally confessed he thought the wine was “really tannic.” Truth is, it was corked and the meal was ruined. What should I have done?
Signed, Corky in the Wine Country

Dear Corky:
Lots of bad things can happen to a good bottle of wine. My sister in law once ordered a case of artisinal zinfandel shipped to her home in Phoenix, Arizona, which seemed very convenient until the UPS driver left the package on her front doorstep on a 110-degree afternoon. By the time she came home from work, that big zin had boiled up through the corks, seeped through the seals, and puddled all over the bottom of the box. She tried a sample, but it was truly “cooked”: tinny, a little burnt, and just not fresh.

I’ve also tasted wines that are oxidized, which means that too much oxygen has been absorbed into the wine, either because I let it age for longer than I should have, or because it was bottled improperly in its youth. In this case, again the wine will look pale and taste flat and overalcoholic. (That’s because tiny bits of oxygen will soften and eventually erase a wine’s fruit flavors, leaving you with tasteless booze).

But what does it mean when a bottle is corked, and what should you do if this horror befalls you? More

I’m a little late on the uptake, but I’ve discovered the most delicious California sparkler. It’s so good, so versatile, and so well-priced ($15.99 at Trader Joe’s), it’s toppled my previous house bubbly, Gloria Ferrer’s Brut, right off my top shelf in fridge.

Why? Because Schramsberg’s new brut sparkling wine, a nonvintage blend called Mirabelle, has the biggest, most vivid fruit flavors I have tasted over many a Christmas Past. For me, the fruit was unmistakeably tropical, so much so that I took a sip and blurted out: “Pineapple! Mango! Coconut … like a piña colada mated with a Champagne!”

Consistent with Schramsberg’s style, though, the Mirabelle also has some Frenchified affects, like a distinctly dry, ever so slightly tart finish — plus a great yeasty aroma and a tiny bit of cream mid-palate.

Schramsberg is one of California’s first sparkling wine producers; Tricky Dick made it famous when he brought it to Beijing as a gift to the Chinese, a move perhaps more revolutionary than Nixon’s going to China in the first place, since the strictly standard diplomatic ice breaker at the time was French Champagne. Since Chinese laborers hand-dug Schramsberg’s cellars in the nineteenth century — now there’s a enological full circle! — the winery has been aiming for a bubbly the power of a California wine, balanced with the finesse of a vintage French Champagne.

Fait accompli!