Wine writing thrives on insecurity. Take the scores. They’re like a bad Borscht Belt act. What’s the difference between an 89 and a 90? So, what’s your point? (Rim shot.)

What is the difference between an 89-point wine and a 90? Nothing, of course. It’s like distinguishing between tonight’s full moon and last night’s fingernail’s shaving difference. Is one really less luminous than the other? Nevertheless, the difference between 89 points and 90 points is real in the marketplace. Ninety points is an endorsement while 89 points feels like equivocation.

I mention this by way of pointing out – you should forgive the expression – that we wine writers are in the business of making you insecure. Are you worried that last night’s Sancerre might not have been the best version you could buy? Excellent. Are you nibbling your nails about whether your wine cellar is cool enough? Wonderful. This is grist for our mill and, believe me, we’ll grind away until you’re worn to a nub of wine worry.

Naturally, I’m the exception, right? Nah, I do it too. How could I be so unconscionable? Simple: You want it. This is one of the secrets of wine lovers everywhere: We’re masochists. (In good conscience, I must include myself among the afflicted.) Like audiophiles, who are always convinced that the newest – and most expensive – amplifier is surely better than the one they already own, wine lovers throb with delicious insecurity about their most recent acquisitions. Surely there’s a better one yet? There’s money in this, believe me.

In the meantime there’s the real world of wine. This is where most of us – and our wallets – live. Here, the demand is for wines that deliver the (taste) goods at palatable prices. Is that possible? It sure is. The following wines prove it.

HERE’S THE DEAL

TERRE DI PIETRA 2000, LUNELLI – This is one of the great “sleeper” reds on the shelves today. The Lunelli family is best known in Italy for the production of Ferrari sparkling wines, which rank among Italy’s finest. But co-owner Mauro Lunelli longed to produce still wines, which are released under the family’s own name. (They bought the Ferrari winery from founder Giulio Ferrari in 1952.)

Terre di Pietra (stony soils) is an extraordinary wine. A blend of roughly 20% cabernet sauvignon, 20% cabernet franc and 10% merlot, it’s the remaining half that’s the secret of its originality: The balance is equal parts lagrein and teroldego.

Lagrein is a red grape found only in Italy’s Alto Adige/Sud Tirol region, which borders Austria. Vineyard elevations are high; soils are laced with limestone. A good lagrein conveys that limestone foundation with a strong mineral scent and taste.

The teroldego is grown down the road, as it were, in low-elevation gravel soil in a small zone north of the city of Trento. It’s a red grape that trades on voluptuous texture, a rich-tasting fruitiness, and soft tannins.

The resulting blend is like one of those interfaith marriages that somehow work, despite the fact that everyone says it won’t. You get mineraliness in both scent and taste from the lagrein; backbone and spiciness from the two cabernets (as well as from some French oak); and dense, soft, luscious, perfumey fruit from the teroldego and merlot. Few wines can rightly be called “original” today. This is one. The price is a steal for the quality. $18.

MUSCADET “CLOS DES BRIORDS” VIEILLES VIGNES 2003, DOMAINE DE LA PEPIERE – Wines, like school children, get stuck with monikers that they never seem to live down. Once a kid gets called “Stinky” in grade school seemingly nothing short of winning a Nobel Prize can shake it off.

Muscadet has the same predicament. Several unflattering monikers seem to have stuck: “acidic,” “thin,” “fruitless.” Well, our hapless school chum Stinky got his name for a reason and so, too, is Muscadet responsible for its troubles. Too many bottlings are indeed acidic, thin, and fruitless. And you might as well toss in lifeless and just plain unpleasurable while you’re at it.

But none of that applies to this extraordinary Muscadet, I can assure you. The insider’s secret is that great Muscadet – and this is one – is more like Chablis than anything else. (Which explains why it’s ideal with oysters, among other seafood possibilities.)

Chablis is made from chardonnay, while Muscadet is 100% melon de Bourgogne. Both are typically oak-free; both are crisp (as opposed to acidic); both should be so minerally as to make you think you’re tasting liquid rocks; and not least, both reward upwards of a decade or more of aging, should you be so inclined.

But there is one difference: Muscadet is cheap. Even the finest Muscadets, with low yields from old vines, won’t top 15 bucks. Some even come in at less than $10, which is ridiculous. (Ask our pal Stinky, he’ll tell you why.)

The producer of this wine, Domaine de la Pepiere, issues several different bottlings. That designated Clos des Briords is the jewel. A 3.7-acre single vineyard (fabled Romanee-Conti in Burgundy is 4.46 acres), it’s planted with 75-year old vines whose deep roots plunge into granitic subsoil. What’s more, these vines are a field blend of old melon de Bourgogne strains, rather than just a few nursery-selected strains, which is more common in Muscadet today. It all adds up to greatness.

The 2003 vintage everywhere in the Loire Valley was unusually warm, too much so even. But the Muscadet zone, only a handful of miles from the Atlantic Ocean, is the coolest section of the Loire Valley. A little warmth, or even a lot, isn’t such a bad thing.

The winemaking at Domaine de la Pepiere is admirably austere: what the vintage offers, you get. In 2003 Clos des Briords delivers intense (for Muscadet) fruitiness, a noticeable ripeness, and a greater roundness than usual. In short, it drinks like a dream. And the price? Now, don’t laugh: It’s $12.

LIMERICK LANE “COLLINS VINEYARD” RUSSIAN RIVER VALLEY ZINFANDEL 2001 – With the exception of pinot noir lovers, who are the grand cru loonies of the wine world, zinfandel brings out the moon-howlers more than any other grape variety. If Nascar fans were wine nuts, zinfandel would be their house drink. It has that all-American muscularity that’s irresistible to those for whom wine is not just a drink but a statement.

That said, a good zin can be compelling. Limerick Lane consistently makes just such a zinfandel. The reason is location: the grapes are grown in cool Russian River Valley (which is now better known for its pinot noir).

Indeed, this is a pinot noir lover’s zinfandel, as it’s all about finesse, suppleness, berryish scent, and velvety texture. Also, you’re not going to find any intrusive oakiness or excess alcohol. It’s just not Limerick Lane’s (buttoned-down) style.

If you’ve ever wanted to understand just what the hoopla is about zinfandel, this is the wine that will persuade you of its real virtues. It’s refined enough to serve at a state dinner, yet no less a member of the burly zinfandel breed for that. The 2001 vintage was spectacularly good, and it shows in this bottling with intense fruit and perfect balance. $25.