When I was in Los Angeles recently, I had the good fortune to stumble upon what should be my favorite new winebar (it was sort of directed stumbling, in truth; Minneapolis Star-Tribune food critic Rick Nelson's uncle is the chef, and he sent me toward it). In fact, the only thing keeping it from being my favorite place for a quick glass of vino is that it's about 2,400 miles from my apartment. But that aside, Lou is a nifty little place located in an unlikely corner of a strip shopping center on Vine just north of Melrose, adjacent to a laundromat and about seventy feet from a Thai massage joint. It's relatively unmarked—even though there's a sign saying Lou, I kept thinking I wasn't in the right place—but once you step inside you're in an appealingly low-lit nook full of appealingly low-key-yet-hip Angelenos, most of them holding glasses of wine and noshing on cheese, charcuterie and larger dishes (Chorizo with black lentils, garlic confit and fried egg, for instance) off the menu, under a chalk drawing on the wall of a pig holding a glass of wine.

Lou focuses on small-production, organic/biodynamic/post-organic (whatever post-organic means) wines, thirty of which are available by the glass at any given time, and is "unabashedly Eurocentric," as the website says. If you're into that sort of thing, you'll recognize or at least be intrigued by offerings like the 2006 Guy Breton Morgon for $14 a glass, 2007 Clos Roche Blanche Sauvignon Blanc for $8 a glass, or Huber & Bleger Crémant d'Alsace Rosé NV for $10 a glass...though it may well be that those choices have changed since I was there. Regardless, I still think they're providing plates of "pig candy," which is essentially candied artisanal bacon, for five bucks. Candied pork? Uh-huh. I'm in.

Not long ago I was eating dinner at a tiny winebar called Cantina Do Spade, in Venice, when a German woman at the table next to me made a request for parmesan on her risotto nero. "I can give it to you. But you will ruin your meal," the woman who was serving her said. Her tone suggested that ruining the chef's risotto would be a very unwise thing to do. (Risotto nero, of course, is black thanks to cuttlefish ink, and as any good Venetian will tell you—evidently quite directly—fish and cheese don't go together. At least when in Italy.)

I feel like a Venetian restaurant proprietor when it comes to Sauvignon Blanc and oak. Why would you want to ruin such a spritely grape by slathering it with a bunch of oak? But, oddly enough, again while I was in Venice, at the Ristorante Lineadombra (which I heartily recommend), the proprietor effectively insisted we drink a magnum—there were six of us, so it wasn't that extreme—of the 2003 Inama Vulcaia Fumé Sauvignon ($30). And I thought it was just terrific.

This is what fixed ideas are for, I suppose: to be zapped out of existence. Anyway, the Vulcaia Fumé still had the citrus notes characteristic of Sauvignon Blanc, but it also had a savory, leesy depth that was surprisingly appealing, and a silky textural richness that was very un-Sauvignon. Of course, it was also several years old, but even so I had to rethink my absolutes. The wine is fermented in 25% heavily toasted barriques, then given battonage every six weeks for about eight months. It ought to be appalling. Instead it's delightful. And it was very good with the large and, thanks to my rudimentary Italian, somewhat mysterious-of-species roasted fish we had with it.

Anyway, I got back to the states, and decided I ought to taste the 2007 Inama Vulcaia Sauvignon ($23) just for comparison. (Inama, by the way, is in Soave, close to Venice.) Fermented and aged in stainless steel, it's still a fairly rich style of Sauvignon, probably thanks to the malolactic fermentation it undergoes. But it's more familiar in its bright grapefruity citrus character and tart finish. And it's also mighty fine; a pleasure to drink. Unfortunately, neither of these wines are the easiest to find, but if you contact the importer, DallaTerra, they may be able to help.

Had the opportunity recently to check out a couple of new New York wine bars, Accademia di Vino and Casellula. Accademia qualifies as one of those places I'd like to have enjoyed more than I did, given that ‘Cesca chef Kevin Garcia is behind the food, and it sports a hefty, 500-bottle, all-Italian wine list. But, the night I was there at least, they'd run out of both my first choices (white and red) off the somewhat less impressive by-the-glass list, and the charcuterie sampler, while pleasant enough, was pretty skimpy for the price ($14 for three types, all served in very modest amounts). Hm. I'd be inclined to give the place a second chance, except that I'd rather just hedge my bets and go to Casellula.

Casellula, which opened a month or two ago, is the brainchild of Brian Keyser, formerly head cheese-guru (fromager to the Francophiles out there) at The Modern, along with co-proprietor Joe Farrell and chef Jenise Addison. The focus in this tiny but somehow spacious-feeling room on 52nd at 9th is cheese. And wine. And that's a fine focus for a wine bar, I'd say. The wine list leans towards esoterica-I had a surprisingly polished, robust Hugarian red, the Vylyan Mini-Evolution, which blends Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Zweigelt, Kekoporto, and Cabernet Franc to nice effect. (It also gives one the chance to ingest some Kekoporto, something that few of us get to do on a regular basis.) The cheeses were equally intriguing and perfectly ripe. If I'd had my brain with me, I would've written down the three I had, but apparently I was waylaid by brain-thieves on my way over or something. In any case, the cheese menu changes regularly. And what do you need my recollections for, anyway? The best thing to do is simply head there soon and order, as I did, with reckless cheese-frenzied abandon.