In the ever-changing world of wine, there are few constants. But every once in a while, you stumble on a wine that makes you remember why everyone makes such a fuss out of the stuff in the first place. I have found such a wine, and it has made me re-obsessed with a grape that I had all but forgotten. First, the grape: Grenache, or Garnacha if you’re in Spain (we’ll get to that later).

It was another bleak-looking New Year’s Eve in Omaha, Nebraska. My visits home during winter breaks in college always started with so much promise, and ended with so many townies. I knew that I didn’t want to end up at a local bar that night. I also knew that I wasn’t going to drink frothy swill.

After years of trying to find the perfect balance of healthy, inexpensive meals that could be picked up while on-the-go, Anthony Leone finally got fed up with over-priced egg white sandwiches from the deli. So the entrepreneur took matters into his own hands and created Energy Kitchen.

South America has been one of the rising stars in the wine world for the last two decades. Unlike Australia, however, the prices of most South American wines have not risen significantly. Chilean Merlots began showing up in North American wine stores decades ago and they remain bargains, while ultra-expensive wines like Australia’s “Australis” are becoming more and more common.

Every year on the third Thursday of November it happens: the release of Beaujolais Nouveau. Much hoopla and fanfare is given to this event, especially here in New York City, where the wine receives its unofficial U.S. welcome party. What is all the fuss about, you ask? Good question. Even those in the wine industry don’t really understand exactly why everyone is so incredibly excited by this often mediocre (and occasionally downright terrible) juice. To be fair, Beaujolais wines tend to be good predictors of that year’s vintage, especially for wines from the Burgundy area. But that doesn’t exactly excuse the over-hyping of this middle-of-the-road product.

I love Thanksgiving! And hate it. The holiday itself is a wonderful excuse to gather ’round family and friends for a conveniently short amount of time. Just enough hours to get in, reminisce for a day, get a ridiculously sized meal into your gullet and leave before the fam starts to work your nerves.

My friend Chris looked up from his glass of Yellowtail Chardonnay (which I did not buy). He squinted at me, pointed and creaked out, “I think you wine people are totally full of BS.” To his surprise, I nodded and replied, “Yeah, your pretty right on...mostly.”

THE BIGGEST FOOD-RELATED uproar in New York this past summer had to be the daring invasion of Manhattan by Canadian donut chain Tim Hortons. NYC residents were taken aback by the almost overnight appearance of multiple maple-leafed breakfast stations throughout the city in July, ramping up fears that our northern borders are not entirely secure. As a tireless Hortons supporter, it warmed my cockles to see Tim flex his sugar n’ coffee muscle through the city that never sleeps. However, I was far more excited to learn a Checkers had quietly snuck its way into Brooklyn a month earlier.

Like Fashion Week for Foodies, the NYFWF features a slew of events from the Oct. 10 Bob Dylan Wine Pairing to appearances by every celeb chef—that term is used loosely—out there, including a cooking demonstration by Alicia Silverstone.There are also more established dining deities like Mario Batali, Bobby Flay, Alain Ducasse and Ming Tsai strutting their stuff all weekend.

When is a Montepulciano not a montepulciano? When it’s a montepulciano, and not from Montepulciano. Confused? So are most people when trying to buy Italian wine. The amount of grape varietals grown in the big, European boot is staggering—estimated at more than 2,000—and the regions are just as prolific.

I lived in the Upper West Side back in the early part of the last decade when it was a veritable culinary wasteland. Back then, I would have killed for a great restaurant in the neighborhood—and not just the same, old, uninspiring few. To get into Recipe, which opened last year on Amsterdam at West 82nd Street, I just about had to bump somebody off the place is such a hotspot.

There is no reason a place like The Doghouse Saloon should not be popular. It has games, cheap drinks, lots of space, a big screen to watch sports and a friendly staff. But, despite the giant “Wheel of Fortune”-like game, where you get to spin the wheel and get a free shot with each drink you buy during happy hour, the crowd on a recent Tuesday night was sparse. I guess it goes back to that old saying, “Location, location, location.”

Fonda, translated into English, means “inn,” but Roberto Santibañez’s Mexican restaurant in Park Slope has nothing inn-like about it. It does, however, sport a chic Brooklyn charm with exposed brick walls, small wooden tables and a candle-lit backyard fenced in with thick logs. As we took our seats one recent night, a young man from Mexico dashed over to us with menus and a smile, marking the beginning of a beautiful waiter-ship; throughout the evening, he was courteous, sharp, available and just plain nice.

You might hear King Phojanakong’s Umi Nom referred to as the Brooklyn outpost of Kuma Inn, the chef’s six-year-old Asian tapas place on the Lower East Side. Outpost is an apt descriptor. Umi Nom moved into an old Laundromat on a block of Classon Avenue in Clinton Hill that feels much farther from Kuma Inn’s Ludlow Street address than the 3.5 miles that separate the streets.

My first visit to Greenpoint’s Blackout Bar did not go well.The new bar, brought to us by the people behind clothing boutique Oak, was the site of an event that brought such a swarm of thirsty, hirsute homosexuals that the bartenders were slammed, unable to keep up even a little with the simple cocktail demands of their patrons, so much so that I ignored the well-curated selection of liquor behind the bar and ordered a boring old vodka and soda. I’m happy to report that subsequent visits led to much more positive results.

Tucked in the cellar of a former townhouse and marked by a garish neon sign, the subterranean space is decked out in the sort of old New York glamour—think marble floors, pressed-tin ceilings and lighting from vintage chandeliers—that immediately transports one from the hustle of Houston Street above. But as struck as I was by the luxe, romantic room, I was bound to discover what my friend Sarah, already nursing a hearty glass of Clos Vauriou ($9) at the century-old mahogany bar, had by now figured out: Bar Henry is all about the wine.

YOU KNOW WHAT New Yorkers love more than multi-billion dollar baseball dynasties, scoffing at out-of-towners and the smell of hot garbage in the summertime? Sliders. No, not the Jerry O’Connell sci-fi show from the mid-nineties, the miniature variety of hamburger commonly found at such grease institutions as White Castle and Krystal.

WALKING INTO LOS FELIZ in the Lower East Side feels like a combination of entering a classy restaurant and stepping into an old-school bar.The intricate tin ceiling shines dully in the low lamplight and the black-and-white tile floor has just enough scuffs to make it feel like an institution, rather then a fairly new taqueria.

SO FAR,THIS December has no balls. Snow balls, of course.Things have been chilly here and there, but this year Decembers been a lot more mild than wild.

STEPPING INSIDE The Manhattan Inn, you’ll be hard pressed not to say “Yowza.” Greenpoint’s newest lounge is quite the looker. The spot is warmly lit and constructed mostly out of recycled wood—throughout you’ll find creative touches that keep with the eco-friendly theme. School desks are re-imagined as bar tables. Old auditorium chairs are used for seating at the worn wooden tables in the bar’s back room. The lounge’s showpiece is a baby grand piano, which sits directly in the center of the dining room. And that baby’s not just for show—a pianist tinkles at the keys while you sip your cocktails. If you’re not impressed with the décor, you’re probably taking that jaded New Yorker thing a little too far.