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“Drink the wines of a region with the foods of that region.” It’s advice I’d been given in the newbie days of my oenophilia, and it had stuck with me. But here, in a restaurant in Oslo, it wasn’t so useful. The reindeer – thankfully absent a glowing red nose – on my plate had only three local alcoholic companions: a mass-market beer and a pair of fiery aquavits. The beer might have been OK, but there was a twenty-page wine list in front of me. Surely I could do better.

In most cases, regional drinking works pretty well. In some wine regions you don’t even have a choice, as that’s all there is. But these days, the usual problem is actually an excess of choices, and so this handy rule of thumb helps wrestle the choices down to a manageable number.

But what about when the rule fails? Like in Norway, where there’s no regional wine. Or in California, where there most definitely is wine, but a given restaurant might have French, Asian, Mexican, and Italian elements all on the same menu. Or right here in Boston, where the best of our sea-sourced goodies don’t have a traditional crushed-grape partner, and many of the local wines are more aspirational than good.

For situations like these, it’s useful to have a set of “go-to” wines or wine styles; reliable, but more importantly versatile, partners to a whole range of ingredients and cuisines. Wines that won’t dominate the conversation, but won’t sit quietly in the corner, either…and won’t mind too much if some enthusiastic chef tosses a huitlacoche-encrusted (don’t ask) curve ball at your plate.

It might be better to start with wines to avoid. Cabernet sauvignon, for sure. Merlot. (And thus, Bordeaux, usually a blend of the two.) Most chardonnay. Most Burgundy, red or white. Syrah. Gewürztraminer. New Zealand sauvignon blanc. Pinot grigio. Even my much-beloved dry riesling. These wines, while often excellent in the right situations, fail the above tests for various reasons – too particular, too big, too delicate, too forceful – and will often be ill-tempered companions if you try to send them on a blind date with the wrong dish.

You might also notice that I’ve just eliminated about 90% of most restaurants’ wine lists. Sorry about that.

So what should you look for? Acidity. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, acid “cuts through” heavy, rich, and high-fat dishes, but is absolutely crucial for acidic foods. Also, a medium or light body, as broad-shouldered bruisers don’t treat delicate food very well. If you know your wine geography, you’ll know that this means cooler climates. But if you don’t – and who likes a wine and a cartography geek? – here are a few ideas. Not, I should mention, all from cool climates. Hey, if wines can be complex and inscrutable, so can wine writers…

Corbières, in Southern France, can sometimes be a little funky. But the Laboucarié “Domaine de Fontsainte” 2005 Corbières, is clean, refreshing, and – surprisingly – tart with red berries. You’ll want to guzzle it, and I won’t discourage you. On the other hand, the Chaussard “Nana, vins et cie” 2006 Coteaux du Loir, enchantingly labeled “You are so beautiful”, is a Loire Valley chameleon that will alternately perplex and delight you. Red fruit, tense and nervous, gets a little snap of Sichuan peppercorn…but that’s the wine by itself. Bring just about any food to it, and it changes. And then it changes again. It’s brilliant madness.

Want something with a bit more force? The Graziano 2004 Zinfandel from Mendocino in California, is a bit of a throwback to an almost-forgotten style of zin: fruity and zingy, with a definite lash of acidity. It’s for drinking now.

On the pale side, the Brokenwood 2005 Semillon from Australia’s Hunter Valley is not only a delicious, grass-and-fruit-skin glass of sunshine, but a good candidate for stumping your wine snob friends. Why? Because it’s only 10.5% alcohol and it’s from Australia, where many wines would be twice that if they could. Now that you’ve stumped the experts, move on to something that will impress them: Bellotti “Cascina degli Ulivi” 2006 Gavi from the Piedmont in northwestern Italy. Gavi’s usually pretty innocuous, but this is anything but. It’s full of spices – Penzeys could market this stuff – dusted on fresh, ripe pear, but for all the attention-grabbing as a solo act, it slides effortlessly into a dual role as a partner for food.

So given all this…what did I drink with that Norwegian reindeer? A red from the volcanic slopes of Mt. Etna, in Sicily. You know, the traditional partner to Scandinavian cuisine. And no, it wasn’t called Donner or Blitzen.

(First published in stuff@night, 2008.)