If my friends and family are reading this, they’ll think my mind has spun out of orbit. You see, I have long run with a pack who champions bubbly as an all-the-time pleasure. And I still do. My heartsick separation from Champagne has nothing to do with a dip in my eternal amour for the sensation of fresh biscuits and spiced honey percolating across my willing palate. It has strictly to do with economics. For the first time in my life, I’ve sat with pen and pad, hammered out expenses, and begun the unsavory process of strikethroughs. Among other biting cuts, my unjustly robust Champagne budget has taken a distasteful punch. Sigh.

So do I keep drinking my favorites and imbibe less often? Ha! No. Instead, I’ve had to find something I can love as much, for less. Which means I’ve taken a serious look at – and taste of – sparkling wines from other regions, made by other methods, and am relieved to have found a surprise solution in which this fickle bubbly snob can relish. In a word: prosecco. Or rather, prosecco!

I don’t mean to negate other sparkling wines. Spain’s Cava, made in the traditional method, can be quite satisfying and inexpensive, but for subjective reasons didn’t make the cut on my Great Champagne Replacement Hunt. Examples of domestic sparkling wine can be found towards each end of my “Top 20 Favorites,” but the price point of our countrymen’s fine craftsmanship doesn’t help the situation at hand. Prosecco is Italy’s answer to my woebegone cries. To be clear, Prosecco is not like Champagne. Nor does it strive to be like Champagne. And in this time of economic disaster, I’m not looking for a Champagne experience.

Prosecco, made from grapes of the same name (and a couple/few others on occasion), comes from northern Italy’s Veneto. Or it should, anyway. If you’re interested in a long-lasting love affair with prosecco, don’t buy offerings from countries that aren’t Italy. And if you can, stick to prosecco with the easy-to-spot DOC labeling around the top of the bottleneck. DOC is a designation given to wines that meet specific standards, like where the grapes are from (in this case Conegliano-Valdobbiadene, that is, the town of Conegliano, in the district of Valdobbiadene), how the wine is aged, and how much of the prosecco grape is in the bottle (must be at least 85%). Note that there are some fine Italian proseccos out there without DOC recognition.

Unlike the mousse of fabulous Champagne, a nice Prosecco has an effervescence I like to call frothy. In the best examples aromatics are subtle, but not simple. Citrus and melon fruits, and florals dominate, and the lasting mouth feel is clean and refreshing. The acidity will never be the racy version found in bubbly made in the traditional method. Prosecco is made in the Charmat method, which doesn’t require the lengthy bottle aging of the Champagne method. Prosecco is much softer, and shines when consumed young.

Prosecco caught my eye, and then my heart with its light, cheery attitude. It’s happy; it’s fizzy. It doesn’t shy away from my southern cooking. It’s a lively companion with brunch, lunch, and dinner. It’s the original fizz of the classic Bellini. It’s been around for ages, and never made a kitschy fuss for attention. I fell for prosecco because I can easily stay in the magic arena of under $20. In fact, since I live near a great wine shop, I can hover around $10. For all of that, my strikethrough budget rallies to a victory cry: Cin cin! See you on the other side, friends!

The gentlemen at Tavola Rosso have passed me the T-Day baton, perhaps not realizing I have inflexible thoughts about what to drink, and what to shun, on the Great Day of Turkey. Warning: it’s not going to make you Europhiles happy. Check back when it’s Bastille Day.

I’m uncompromising in my belief that on this great American holiday, we should drink American wine. I don’t care where you’re from, or how well your country makes vino. American wine consumption on Thanksgiving should be as ingrained in the tradition as pardoning the turkey. I have a dream that one day, if you aren’t drinking domestic wine, people will say “Look at you! So non-traditional.” And in light of the economy’s spot-on impersonation of that bridge in Minneapolis, my conviction has matured into a bit of tyranny. Not only should we drink American wine to honor our awesome country on a holiday that is embraceable by all people in this great land, we should drink American wine to put money into our American economy. And they said I was no rocket scientist.

You aren’t going to find advice about bottles over $25 in this year’s write-up. I can’t responsibly encourage you pick up a couple bottles of Neal Family Vineyard’s library selection of Howell Mountain Estate Cab 2002. (But if you can, do. Seriously.) I’m happy to insert a pointed quote from the cool-headed owner of Grape Nutz Inc, Riley “Mama” Gerber, who says “Now’s not the time to be spending extra money on wines. Thanksgiving is about fellowship and being together.”

So, shall we start with bubbly? Great news for those who love Champagne: the homeland produces great sparkling wine that is easy to afford, and you can be proud to pour for your friends whether they’re wine snobs or normal.

To wit, enjoying Gloria Ferrer Sonoma Brut ($15) is as easy as mashing yams. If you come across Ferrer’s Blanc de Noirs or the Blanc de Blancs, go for it. While the particular nuances will vary in each wine, the house style seems to produce spright little bubbles and a mid-palate creamy flourish across the board.

Never forget the incredibly impressive First House of Sparkling Wine, Schramsberg. Everything in this lineup is jaw-dropping lovely (and some have the price tag to prove it). The non-vintage cuvée Mirabelle retails for about $20 all over the country, and is a first-rate example of our winemaking panache. It’s big in the mouth, and if you had a checklist of fabulous flavors in bubbly, here’s what you might say to yourself: “Apples, check. Lemon, check. Biscuit dough, check. Gentle, provocative spice, bingo!”

Is Anderson Valley’s Roederer a reliable source for delicious bubbly? Yes. But it’s French-owned. Ditto Domaine Carneros. I have massive affection for Le Reve from the latter, and the former’s Rosé, but on T-day, I’m solid. I’m talking all the way USA.

Those who drink white wine have a lot to be thankful for on November’s 4th Thursday. Not the least of which is gewurztraminer. This aromatic grape can complement all of the flavors on your table, from traditional fare, to a Mexican fiesta. The grape is naturally high in sugar, but doesn’t necessarily produce a sweet wine. It’s typically more off-dry. Flamboyant is another way to describe gewurz (guh-VERTS), and be prepared for a nose-filling blanket of lychee nut. Whew! Look for Claiborne & Churchill’s Dry Gewurztraminer 2007 ($18), or the ripe and racy Estate Grown version from Hook & Ladder Vineyards ($16).

If you’re about to buy a homegrown riesling (because riesling is another tres awesome choice on Thanksgiving) like Washington’s award-winning Milbrandt Vineyards Traditions 2006, a $12 floral, crisp, soft fleshy fruit, and mineral bargain that could teach justice a thing or two about balance, sniff around that aisle your standing in for a gewurztraminer. They’re usually fairly close together.

Another reason white wine drinkers can be thankful is that I’m not going to stroll off into a domestic chardonnay tirade, except to say this: boorrrring.

Now, I understand why you might hem and haw over staying on the domestic track when it comes to red wine. We’re limited to about a million extraordinary options from res publica. A few of the red varietals we’re doing really well here include: pinot noir, syrah, sangiovese, cabernet sauvignon, cabernet franc, zinfandel, petit sirah, grenache, mourvedre, a little nebbiolo, a smidge of barbera, and what the hell, merlot. Throw in the infinite amount of blends stemming from any number of these grapes, and surely you can find something palatable? Let’s do it for our country.

Francophiles, may I please introduce you to Unti Vineyards Petit Frère ($20). The 2006 has just been released and you’re looking at 86% grenache, 10% syrah, 4% mourvedre. Unti is a small winery making big wines in Dry Creek Valley. They’re biodynamic, almost totally unfiltered, and omigod you guys, everything they make will have you briefly tripping over your words. The Petit Frère is screaming at the top of its lungs to be on your T-day table in place of your favorite Gigondas or Chateaunuf-du-Pape. You’ll drink it and thoroughly enjoy the young, bright fruit, silky tannins, and lush, spicy mouthful. You’ll probably end up buying a few more just to have, and if you let one sit for a couple years, you will be handsomely rewarded. If this sounds great to you, call your favorite retailer now about getting your hands on Unti. I’m not exposing an underground secret here – and those who know are quick to gobble up every bottle made. Which, for the record, isn’t much.

Bearing in mind the across-the-board higher price for pinot noir over other varietals (growing pinot noir is a tumultuous love affair – occasional utopian fantasy, frequent heartbreak) locating a pinot noir in the $20 range that is unflinchingly enjoyable is a precarious task. That said I’ve always quite enjoyed Tolosa Pinot Noir from the Edna Valley AVA. It’s intensely aromatic with an enviable pinot funk that is best described as, well, the pinot funk. The red berry fruit is always beautiful without making the overall sip too fruity, and it fills the mouth with soft sand-like tannins that are simply gorgeous. Try Tolosa’s SLO pinot noir 2006 ($23ish).

Benton Lane is an Oregon winery that finds its way to my wine shelf year after year. Great black cherry balanced with earth. Ripe and smooth. The 2006 pinot noir is a good buy at about $25. Willamette Valley Vineyard’s Oregon Pinot Noir 2006 ($25) is a solid choice for those who prefer a brighter berry poppin’ fruit.

Washington is making some formidable cabernet franc. Syrah in any price range from Sonoma’s Russian River Valley is a great place to experiment. I could ramble on for pages. The gist is this: America is a phenomenal country, and we make some astonishing wine. If you can’t find a way to fill your stemware with domestic succulence, you might consider reverting back to the old faithful American tradition: Budweiser. A couple of cool aluminum cans should knock you off that snooty high horse, and the fruits of our own labor will finally appear to you in all their ambrosial glory.

Gobble gobble, turkeys.