Two weeks ago I was at Restaurante Oliver in Granada’s Old Town in Spain because I’m living a charmed life. The menu was in Spanish but my high school classes were serving me well and I could recognize key words like “tortilla” and “frito bandito.” Then I stopped pretending and picked up the English menu but at least I tried. The red wine selection was a puzzle, though. It was just like getting a wine list at California restaurants with no familiar labels, but at least at home there are recognizable varieties and I can confidently point at a Cabernet Sauvignon as if I have a clue. But in…