Today’s debate topic: Why buy Aligoté from Santa Barbara County when it costs just about as much as Aligoté from Burgundy?

Most wine geeks are familiar with the great white Burgundy wines: Corton-Charlemagne, Meursault, Chablis, Puligny-Montrachet, Chassagne Montrachet, Chevalier Montrachet, and the big mama herself, plain ‘ol Montrachet. All are made from Chardonnay, and other than a little Pinot Blanc via Henri Gouges’ deviant vines, those are the white grape varieties you can legally grow there while still calling it “Burgundy.

But one shouldn’t forget about Aligoté in one’s haste to know everything there is to know about wine. It’s not as noble as Chardonnay, so it’s what the vignerons drink, the normal people. Except in the Aligoté Premier-Cru village of Bouzeron, Aligoté is an afterthought. It’s planted in the less-good soils at the tops of hills or the edges of the vineyard. The wines show a little thinner and shriller than Chardonnay, with more of a mineral impetus than a fruit profile, yet when treated with calmness and respect in the winery, Aligoté provides more than a little attraction for wine afficionados and foodies, particularly them’s that don’t want to drop a buck-fifty on a 1er Cru bottle of Corton Charlemagne from an average vintage. You’ll spend maybe $35 for a pretty good Aligoté from Burgundy, but maybe $50 for one from the bump on the road town of Bouzeron, but that’s because the best winery there is owned and farmed by Aubert de Villaine, a fascinating guy who also happens to own the Domaine de la Romanée-Conti about 30 miles away in Vosne-Romanée, where a bottle of his Montrachet will set you back about $11,000. Yeah, that’s some serious kale there, and you could buy about 25 cases of Aligoté for the price of one bottle of Montrachet. But by the same token, $11K gets you a nose job from a good cosmetic surgeon, one night at a Ritz-Carlton Presidential Suite, or an oil and filter change on your Bugatti, which wouldn’t be big enough to cart your 25 cases of Aligoté home with you, so you might as well put the pedal to the metal and change the $#@%&! oil).

So yes, Burgundian Aligoté gives you the sensory experience of taste the grape as God intended it to taste, and in the place it’s been grown since time immemorial (not that people were keeping track). But that’s chivalry and pedanticism at its worst (unless you like the taste of authenticity).

As cold as it may feel when you’re standing out there in the fog and wind, the hills east of Orcutt are actually warmer than Burgundy. Aligoté grown there gets riper; it’s fruitier, builds up more sugar in the fruit which turns into alcohol which morphs into a better, lusher, silkier mouthfeel and a longer finish. It’s still not Chardonnay, but you’ll never be thinking about Chardonnay while you’re drinking Pres’quile Aligoté as you might if you were sitting outside on the patio in the rain at a Parisian bistro drinking a savory Burgundian Aligoté. You also don’t have to wait for the California version to “come around” in the cellar and be drinking well. Yeah, it’ll mellow out a bit in the cellar, and this one will age 10 years no problem, but no harm (psychic or otherwise) will befall you if you impetuously pop a bottle tomorrow night. It’s serious wine, but it’s forgiving and tastes good. And if you’ve never tasted Aligoté before, this is a good opportunity to do so. Drink local!