Culinary Wine & Food Adventures

La Follette's Strange Fruits

2011-12-04T21:36:00.019-07:00

No winemaker is as widely known, and often misunderstood, as Greg La Follette

La Follette in Sangiacomo Vineyard

This profile and interview was originally composed for Sommelier Journal (Nov. 2011), where it appeared in abbreviated form as a winery profile.

We like our winemakers to be unique, but not odd. We like their wines to be intense and expressive of something, but not so different that we can't easily compare them to other wines within our points of reference. We even like to talk concepts like "natural" and terroir, as long as the ramifications of such are reasonably easy to sell -- at least for those of us in the restaurant or retail trade.

Greg La Follette has never been one to make things easy for us, despite the notoriety of being first real winemaker at Flowers, during this extreme Sonoma Coast estate’s formative stage in the late nineties. When La Follette ventured off on his own, founding Tandem Winery in 2001, it was almost as if he wanted us to forget the glory years at Flowers, and even earlier milestones, such as the years when he led Hartford Court into the Pinot Noir and Chardonnay Big Leagues.

For one, he’s been rarely seen: after starting Tandem, he turned into one of those flying winemakers, designing and consulting for more than a dozen wineries across the globe, at one point on five different continents (including at home in Sonoma, for it was La Follette that Jean-Charles Boisset first called upon to restore De Loach after taking it out of bankruptcy in 2003). Between raising kids (a total of six, between wife Mara La Follette and himself) and whispering to vines, there simply hasn’t been much time for public relations or even sales.

Second, when there were La Follette sightings, it was usually of a grizzled man in well worn overalls and an unfortunate haircut – not an image of the suave celebrity winemaker – while the twenty or so wines produced each year under the Tandem label became known more for their tendency to stick out in comparative tastings, challenging even the most adventurous palates with oft-times discomforting sensations of down-and-dirty earth, pungent meats, unidentifiable flowers, or strange fruits – love it or leave it – despite their structural integrity and sleek, coiled intensity.

Still, La Follette’s energy quickly grew Tandem to over 9,000 cases a year; and although the winemaker’s legend also expanded, especially among geekier elements of the cognoscente, the wines were not exactly flying out the cellar door. Enter Peter Kight, owner of Wine Creek LLC, which also handles Barossa Valley’s Torbreck Wines and Dry Creek Valley’s Quivira Vineyards. In 2008 Kight began chatting with La Follette about taking Tandem off his hands, in a deal that would also retain his consumnate skills as a winemaker, and his uncanny eye for edgy vineyard sourcing. In January 2009 Tandem officially became part of Wine Creek.

Kight’s company immediately brought steadier management, sound marketing and broader distribution to Tandem; particularly by halving SKUs to less than ten, and bringing the products into more realistic price points (from $40-$70 to $30-$40). After a year into it, Kight came to La Follette with an even better idea – scrap the Tandem label altogether; establish a new name, and re-focus it on what it really is: La Follette Wines, launched in summer of 2010.

Within the Wine Creek fold, La Follette himself enjoys more freedom than ever as a winegrower; his feet firmly set, so to speak, in the terroir: if anything, he has always been known for a single minded focus on vineyard expression, even at the expense of “varietal” or brand identification. To Kight’s credit, Wine Creek has rolled with it, and so far so good.

While fewer in number, the brand formerly known as Tandem still consists of single vineyard and Sonoma Coast bottlings from some of the finest, most prestigious vineyards on the North Coast:

DuNah – in the fog and windswept Sebastopol Hills, at the southernmost end of the Russian River Valley AVA

Sangiacomo’s Roberts Road – (not to be confused with the Sangiacomo family’s Carneros plantings), falling in the Sonoma Coast AVA on the eastern edge of Petaluma Gap, at the base of Sonoma Mountain

Van der Kamp – a 1,400 ft. elevation Sonoma Mountain planting (highest in the AVA) dating back to the early sixties

Lorenzo – an historic 36 year old Chardonnay vineyard on the floodplain south of Santa Rosa in the Russian River Valley AVA

Hawk’s Roost – another late ripening Russian River Valley site located on the Santa Rosa floodplain

Manchester Ridge – a newer site (planted 2002-2004) on a remote, dizzyingly high 2,800 ft. peak in Mendocino Ridge, and one that has only solidified La Follette’s reputation for edgy, iconoclastic winegrowing.

Lorenzo Vineyard

This past spring La Follette sat down and talked about his 27 years of winegrowing, now crystallized in his eponymous new brand:

RC: Although you’ve established a reputation for the unorthodox, I’ve heard you say that you attribute most of what you’ve learned to U.C. Davis.

GL: I originally thought of becoming a Catholic priest. Instead I ended up studying chemistry at U.C. San Francisco, earned my degree in plant biology and chemistry, and started doing research in the U.C. system. My specialty was infectious diseases, particularly AIDS, but it became difficult for me emotionally. Finally I said, life’s too short, and much to the chagrin of my parents I went back to school to study analytical chemistry at U.C. Davis, and got my degree in winegrowing. That was in 1987.

RC: What did they call that degree at that time?

GL: My diploma read, Food Science and Technology. I actually stayed an extra year at Davis, working on-staff as a chemist, while continuing to take as many viticultural courses as I could. In fact, three years earlier I had already started working at Simi Winery, where Zelma Long was winemaker, Paul Hobbes was assistant winemaker, and Diane Kenworthy was the viticulturist – all great people to learn from. While attending Davis and working at Simi, I was primarily looking into the role of pectins and their uses as a possible marker for ripeness. Then after taking my degree at Davis I started working at Chalone with Dick Graff, who actually gave me 67 barrels for my research. Then I recruited John Kongsgaard, who was at Newton, to help me out as well.

RC: Sounds like a lot places to be at one time.

GL: No kidding – I was going crazy, driving all over the place. But what I really wanted to look at was the effects of Burgundian winemaking techniques, which I was able to do in three different places. Right about that time, in 1991, I met André Tchelistcheff at Beaulieu, who became probably the single biggest influence in my winegrowing career.

RC: How so?

GL: André was huge – an amazing man, so focused on wine, holding so much knowledge in his hand, which he would sort of take out in little bits from his pocket, hold it forward in his hand for you to examine, or to pick up and put into your own pocket. He would never force anything down your throat – most of the time he was more interested in listening to what I had to say. André also taught me things like, “never let winemaking ruin your personal life,” and “pay attention to your children” – which I never forgot.

Van der Kamp on Sonoma Mountain

RC: Aside from Tchelistcheff, who were your other key influences?

GL: Ralph Kunkee, Roger Boulton and Ann Noble were my three thesis professors at U.C. Davis, and they were influential in the way that I thought. Not so much what they tried to teach me, but how to investigate, how to ask questions. They gave me tools, not answers – how to problem-solve.

It was an incredible stroke of luck that I was able to work for André Tchelistcheff because he gave me the opportunity to put that approach to problem-solving to work, all the while encouraging me to go off on other projects – like starting up Yarra Ridge in Australia, and Jarvis in Napa Valley. I took those jobs, but kept boomeranging back to Beaulieu for the privilege of working with André, and doing exhaustive research for him, like 24 Pinot Noir clonal trials. Finally, in 1994, a job offer came up with Kendall-Jackson – to start up a new brand called Hartford Court, and to help resuscitate La Crema, André thought that this was going to be the next big thing, the wave of the future, and he encouraged me to go. So I started with the K-J properties, where I ended up carving out my own position as an in-house consultant/problem-solver, viticulturist/winemaker.

RC: This was right before your move to Flowers?

GL: In 1996 I was out in the Sonoma Coast during the harvest, walking through the rows ahead of the picking crew and flagging vines, because there was some real variability in that field. I looked across the canyon and saw another picking crew really having a hard time, and so after I was done I got into my car and drove on over – we were on a different ridge, so the drive took 45 minutes – hopped out and introduced myself to Joan and Walt Flowers, who had just recently planted their first 18 acres, and just starting to build their winery.

Walt looked at me and said, “who are you?” I told him I was Greg La Follete, and Joan said, “oh, you’re Greg La Follette – I just read your column last night about designing a winery for minimal cost and maximum quality output.” Long story short, they were looking for help. Their vineyard, frankly, wasn’t planted properly – in fact, a lot of their acreage had already slipped down the slope – and winery construction was running about a million dollars over budget. And so 5 weeks and about 10 interviews later, I started work for Joan and Walt, sat down with their winery design team to make the necessary changes, and got it completed by the following vintage. We came in several hundred thousand dollars under budget, and still improved the quality output.

RC: What was the appeal of Flowers to take you from away from that plum position at Kendall-Jackson?

GL: There weren’t a lot of vineyards in the area at the time. Hirsch was established across the way, and the Bohans were the first to plant out there, although they had planted Merlot which ripened only about two out of every three years. There were no wineries other than Flowers. We were planting some very cutting-edge clones and rootstocks, and we did some really cool vineyard engineering to deal with the high elevation, heavy rainfall and steep slopes.

It was a great place to be a pioneer, and a great place to raise children. Nick Peay was my cellarer for about two years, Luke Porter Bass was my cellarmaster, and I hired Hugh Chappelle as a day-to-day winemaker and Ross Cobb as a harvest enologiest. I helped out Linda and Lester Schwartz, who were planting out Fort Ross Vineyard next door, and of course, Marcassin and people like Ehren Jordan were doing some big things in the region as well. I think Flowers was a nucleus for a lot of things that were starting to blossom on the coast at that time.

RC: How did your experience at Flowers change your outlook on winegrowing?

GL: It didn’t. I already had just about all my thoughts and ideas in place well before I got to Flowers. At Flowers, though, I was able to fully implement them.

RC: Such as?

GL: It was kind of like new viticulture: using every part of every day in vines’ processing of their surroundings to make the most effective wine possible. Employing repartitioning carbohydrate strategy, which involves timing of leafing, not just leafing. Pruning strategy, appropriate modifications of the Guyot-Côte methods employed in Burgundy. Bringing that information into the winery and doing wild primary and secondary fermentations. Doing a lot of gentle nudging rather than bashing of wines. Open top fermenters, hand punching, going to barrel early and dirty, moderate use of oak rather than big, whacking heaps of oak. Letting yeast interact with barrel polyphenols to unleash flavor.

RC: Could you elaborate on your last point about yeasts?

GL: Yeasts are actually capable of bio-transforming barrel phenols and softening them. Prior research, at U.C. Davis, and during my time with André, had indicated that going to barrel early was very important for that. But of course, the work starts in the vineyard. One of the first things I did at Flowers was take the 18 acres they had planted – which was all cordon spur pruned, resulting in wines with very hard tannins – and do the Texas Chainsaw Massacre thing. We lopped off all the cordoned arms, and implemented a double Guyot modified cane system. Almost immediately tannin ripeness and fruit balance improved dramatically. In other parts of the property we went from meter x meter to 5 by 8 foot spacing, increased yields from 1 to over 3 tons per acre, and we improved quality significantly – something borne out by higher scores.

RC: So you were able to improve quality by increasing yields? That doesn’t sound right, especially for Pinot Noir.

GL: There is an old adage that says “low yield makes better wine,” but this is horse-puppy. Balanced vines make better wines. Sometimes lower yields can make worse wine. The earliest vintages of Flower Pinot Noir, for instance, were tannic monsters – their fruit is long gone. The key is putting the breaks on shoot tip growth and initiating carbohydrate repartitioning – encouraging vines to go from a vegetative stage to a reproductive stage, preferably at lower Brix. This is where you get earlier formation of color and flavor aromas. You get that by doing things like opening up canopies and getting earlier light penetration, not dropping leaves too early or too late, getting moderate leaf size, not too large and not too small.

At lower yields vines aren’t always interested in ripening tannins, so they make you wait for it – often at a higher Brix than what you want. Of course, for Pinot Noir it depends entirely upon the clone and site. While many clones perform better at lower tonnage, there are clones grown on a fertile site that actually need to be picked at higher tonnage to come into better balance.

RC: When you talk about this – achieving ripeness at lower Brix – it also sounds like a good way to address the issue of high alcohol, which has recently become a big topic, or bone of contention, in the press.

GL: Whether a wine is below 14% alcohol or above 14% alcohol is really not my focus, but I will say this – I haven’t used a refractometer in over 30 years. I learned long ago, working with Zelma Long, the right way to taste grapes – how to excoriate the seeds in your mouth to ascertain ripeness, and why you always pick for flavor. In 2010 my lowest picking was probably about 20° Brix, and my highest maybe about 24°. Among our current releases, we have wines under 14% alcohol, and wines over 14% alcohol.

I realize that sommeliers really are the first line of defense – they’re tasting wines, and deciding which wines people will experience – and they can probably decide for themselves whether or not a wine is balanced, whether a wine is good for the food they’re serving, or whether a wine is better off served by the glass like a cocktail.

But for winemakers, our job is to make wines of balance and harmony. This argument about whether wines should be lower or higher than 14% alcohol reminds me of the argument between a married couples having troubles, especially those with children. You know who always suffers the most from those arguments? The children. You know what suffers the most from this argument about wines having too much alcohol? The terroir. We let terroir fall through the cracks when we go back and forth on alcohol, and it’s terroir that really matters – at least for the wines that matter most to me.

Pinot Meunier in Van der Kamp Vineyard

RC: But doesn’t the high alcohol question call into question the wisdom of how California wine is grown?

GL: No question, with good farming practices you don’t have to wait forever – for higher sugars or dessication – in order to find balance. Regardless of where you’re growing or what you’re growing, intra-cellular machinery has to start well before veraison – you can actually start getting carbohydrate competition to effect berry cell division and berry cell expansion just after flowering. Less berry cell division means fewer cells per berry, which means smaller berries and more concentration. Less berry cell expansion means small cells per berry, which means smaller berries and more surface to volume ration, resulting in more concentration in the absence of excess sugar. If you’re not getting that, it probably means you need to re-examine what you’re doing in the vineyard. It also means you may have planted the wrong grapes in the wrong site.

What I’m more interesting in learning is the language of wine, which is nothing more than the language of vine physiology and yeast cell biology, and the more you learn those particular speeches the better you can speak to those needs.

RC: At a conference in Santa Cruz, I once heard you talk about yeast cell biology in terms of wild fermentation and nutrient deprivation. How is that consistent with what you learned at U.C. Davis?

GL: One of the first things you learn at U.C. Davis is that Saccharomyces can produce aromatic molecules – for instance, one that produces the beautiful smell of rose petals. But the only way yeasts are able to do this is if they first exhaust their nitrogen sources. The first thing they eat is ammonia, and then they start on amino acids, preferentially. The first amino acid they eat is analine, and the last amino acid they eat is phenylanaline. And so yeasts chop off the phenyl group to get to the analine portion, and basically substitute the remaining benzene ring, or molecules, for 4-ethyl phenethanol – and voila, the smell of rose petals.

What you learn from this kind of winemaking is, “wow, you can push the dragon’s tail and get some really cool aromas and flavors.” This is why it’s not such a good idea to add a bunch of yeast nutrients or to inoculate prophylactically. Wild ferments can take forever, and often require prayer and occasional interventions. But the advantage is their stress responders. Think of yeast cells as being like athletes – you train them by making them run, not by feeding them bonbons. When the yeasts start to tire, molecular walls start to crumble, and they begin to build macro-molecules that give wines more structure, like steel girders. You also get more attractive mouthfeels, and complex aromas, like the smell of rose petals or roasted meats.

RC: But isn’t it true that at U.C. Davis winemakers are discouraged from employing wild fermentation?

GL: Davis doesn’t really teach you answers – they teach tools of investigation. They tell you about the good and the bad stuff, wild ferments vs. inoculated ferments, where you can go wrong and where you can go right. Make no mistake – wild fermentation is not practicing safe winemaking, but it can produce more interesting and unusual wine. Wines I call enigmatic, which speak to a sense of place, rather than simple varietal character.

RC: When you say “sense of place,” aren’t you talking more about following the French, and specifically Burgundian, traditions, as opposed to the science of U.C. Davis?

GL: I certainly investigated Burgundian techniques very thoroughly, but my idea was to find out how these things work, not necessarily to follow them. Once you find out how, you can improve upon it. One of the things you discover is that some Burgundian techniques work, but for reasons that are the opposite of what they say. A good example is the practices of sur lie and bâtonnage, the stirring of lees, and the idea that this reduces the amount of tannin in wine. It is true that these practices result in a better mouthfeel, but the opposite is true when it comes to tannins – you actually increase tannins by practicing sur lie.

In my own research I’ve found that the absorption of tannin into proteins happens very quickly following primary fermentation, but if you sweep away the lees you’re sweeping away a big pool of tannins. If you allow lees to remain in contact, there is a slow re-release of tannins back into the wine, along with macro-molecules that are also enriching the wine and bathing over those tannins. The result is a taking away of the aggressiveness of those tannins. So instead of feeling those tannins like a big punch, you’re masking those tannins by grabbing them, and putting more fatness and richness into the mid-palate, and extending that feel into the late palate.

RC: Does this also explain the more consistent longevity of Burgundian wines, compared to most New World wines?

GL: You got it. About a couple weeks after primary fermentation, yeasts always begin to prepare to go into a deep space. So what they do is jettison all their intra-cellular material, all the guts that they don’t need for anything but going into deep sleep survival mode outside the presence of sugar, and a lot of those compounds are great anti-oxidants. That’s why you stir, and you add oxygen, and even encourage brown juicing – because the lees are able to absorb these compounds, resulting in much more interesting, profound and longer lived wines.

Lorenzo Vineyard, Spring 2011

RC: It seems to me, when I taste one of your Chardonnays or Pinot Noirs, there is invariably some kind of odd fragrance or unusual perfume not found in Chardonnays and Pinots from other producers – even those who espouse natural fermentations and work with other cold climate sites in the North Coast. What’s up with that?

GL: It’s no accident because I’m never focused on just primary fruit – I’m always looking for complexity. I think, for instance, that if you can combine the smell of mushrooms, or forest floor, rose petals or roasted venison, by favoring a cold loving yeast during early stages of fermentation, and if you have that yeast as an indigenous part of a particular vineyard, then what you are doing is opening yourself up to form a closer partnership with the land. You are digging out all the possibilities of the land, and you’re letting a vineyard speak in a voice or language it wants to speak in. I’ve always felt that it’s my job, my mission, to bring that voice forward. I’m not going impose anything, I’m going to remain quiet and listen, and really try to form a partnership in the same way I might partner with someone I love and respect. To me, this is a wilder, more satisfying approach to wine.

RC: Even if those aromas and flavors come out “weird?”

GL: Especially. Complexities inherent in a vineyard’s yeast population can be like an exotic flower, a rose petal, or a forest floor. It can be feral, often sauvage et animale. If you can find that fine seam of tension that exists between the floral and the feral, and get it just right, I think you make a more transcendent wine – like the tension in the notes that build up in, say, Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony.

RC: Yet in the past, you’ve often used the term “Euro-centric” to describe your wines.

GL: When I used that term, I meant relying less on oak and ultra-ripeness to make a meaningful wine. Relying on higher acidity, but a balanced acidity, and less focus on fruit, more focus on complexity. There was a time when it seemed like the highest scoring Chardonnays and Pinot Noirs were bigger, higher in alcohol, oakier, and jammier or more opulent in fruit, but that never seemed to keep many of our wines from scoring very high, or even finishing on top.

RC: Was this also a way of saying that your wines are less “manipulated?”

GL: It’s mostly about practicing good vineyard husbandry, but I never felt that we were that good when it comes to handling in the winery. So we watch our wines very closely – giving them a little nudge here, a little nudge there. We ferment in shallow tubs so that we can do hand punch-downs, because that’s more intimate, and because that’s how you can feel the heat and aromas coming out of the musts. We sample lees in our mouth, to see if they’re nice and creamy, sweet or stinky. We monitor our wines barrel by barrel, handling each one like separate lot. It’s like little children – you have to be there early on to diaper them, then you watch them stumble and fall as they get older, and you’re still watching them closely when you’re handing them the keys as they walk out the door.

RC: Back up a little and tell me what makes your fermentors unusual?

GL: We use halved stainless steel milk tanks, which range from one ton to six tons. As they get bigger, they get longer and broader, insuring that the cap stays within the human strength-range of punchdown ability, including a 114 pound teenage boy. A very important consideration in my sons’ training as young men who have the wherewithal to work hard and know what it all means.

RC: Now for the million dollar question – is it pronounced “La-FAH-lette,” or “LAH-Fol-lette?”

GL: My name is “La-FAH-lette,” but the brand is “LAH-Fol-LETTE.” We figured it’s easier to identify with the French pronunciation.

RC: Final question – if you could shuck it all away tomorrow, what would you be doing?

GL: Growing grapes, of course, in my own vineyard. But I think I’d like to try it with a horse and plow. When you plow the dirt yourself, you see everything, and every clod mean even more. Then again, I always liked horsing around!

LA FOLLETTE WINES’ CURRENT RELEASES

2009 La Follette, Sangiacomo Vineyard, Sonoma Coast Chardonnay ($30) – Cold, foggy coastal air funneled in a direct line through the Petaluma Gap to this cobbled, rocky, old riverbed site has consistently made for the nutrient starved wild yeast ferments favored by La Follette; engendering, in Chardonnays, flavor/aromas with as much minerality and toasted almond as intense apple, pineapple and lemon varietal fruit definitions, while slapping a viscous layer over snappy, sinewy, high acid texturing. Make no mistake, the profile is Californian, but definitely with an Old World raunch.

2008 La Follette, Lorenzo Vineyard, Russian River Valley Chardonnay ($38) – While not the coldest site in the La Follette book (that would be Du Nah in the nearby Sebastopol Hills, and Manchester Ridge on Mendocino Ridge), the clay soil, older vines and microbiology of the vineyard conspire to yield one of the slowest evolving Chardonnays grown in California. After three years, ‘the 08 remains tight, compact, steel rimmed – more like a wine coming right out of the shoot – although the viscous lemon and honey roasted nut qualities oozing out of a citrus center are clearly indicating a fleshing out into those lavish, creamy sensations for which Lorenzo is always known.

2008 La Follette, Manchester Ridge Vineyard, Mendocino Ridge Chardonnay ($48) – La Follette is fond of calling this “the new paradigm” of California Chardonnay,” and he kids you not: there are outward sensations of minerality that remind you of Chablis, although nothing in Chablis comes close to the flowery perfume – an almost Riesling-like exoticism – typifying Manchester Ridge. In fact, there is no Chardonnay based white in the world that has this; necessitating a rearranging of one’s comfort zone when addressing this particular animal. Terroir plays its part, and so does the Chardonnay clone 809 -- a sexy new variant of the Musqué clones, sans the millerandage (shot, or uneven sized, berries) – which composes a third of this bottling. The other two-thirds is vinified from Old Wente, a classic shot-berry Chardonnay Musqué favored up and down the coast. Ergo, it is clearly the high elevation, frigid, late ripening nature of the site itself that fashions the edgy, lean, tart edged yet ultra-fine, silken threaded qualities of this wine, bursting with the honeysuckle flower and citrus/lime driven fruit, just hinting at old fashioned butterscotch beneath the stony veneer.

2009 La Follette, Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir ($30) – Pretty much a classic, voluptuous, sumptuously fruited North Coast style of pinot, but with earthy, forest floor, almost soy-like nuances that whisper into the ear like a salacious, husky voiced harlot. The chubby, young fruit mixes red and black berries with a touch of cola, its lacy sweetness barely hiding sharp, bony tannin.

2009 La Follette, Sangiacomo Vineyard, Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir ($40) – In the Sangiacomo Pinot Noir, the feral aspects of this vineyard’s microbiology infuses the varietal’s fragrant raspberry and exotic tea spices with nuanced rose petal and sensations of roasting meat. Smoke of oak piles on to the complexity, and the feel is sensual in its silkiness, young tannins poking through like sharp elbows, thickening the wild, earth toned fruit.

2009 La Follette, DuNah Vineyard, Russian River Valley Pinot Noir ($40) – Here, luscious strawberry preserve perfumes are underlined by pungent organic notes consistent with this site, suggesting rubber boots trudging through crumbling leaves and damp earth. On the palate, the earth toned flavors is dense, meaty, yet sweet with the vibrant red berry qualities.

2008 La Follette, Van der Kamp Vineyard, Sonoma Mountain Pinot Noir ($40) – The La Follette penchant for tertiary extraction – in this case, leather, mushrooms, forest floor – kicks up a notch in the Van der Kamps; the ‘08, girded by the site’s typical, muscular mountain tannin, and a varietal profile that is less floral, more fruit focused, tinged with a sweet peppermint, leafy herb spice. The feel is dense, savory, fullsome; tannins coming across with clove-like, almost malty thickness.

2008 La Follette, Manchester Ridge Vineyard, Mendocino Ridge Pinot Noir ($50) – Early studies of Manchester Ridge done by La Follette for U.C. Davis revealed the presence of more polymerizable phenols in its fruit than in any site he’s ever examined; a phenomenon certainly borne out in the ’08: by far, the most animale of the La Follette cuvées – the essence of the sweet, slightly soured scent of the inside of a woman’s leather glove that Tchelistcheff often spoke of – combined with the oak to give charred meat sensations, suffused by ultra-rich, ringing, berry liqueur quality of the varietal. On the palate, the luxuriousness takes on sensual textures, like chocolate melting on strawberries, all but making you forget what a unique, or strange, fruit of a pinot this really is.

Rick DuNah in DuNah Vineyard

TAPAS wines defy convention...

2011-06-07T22:38:00.010-06:00

At the TAPAS Grand Tasting in the City by the Bay

What's the buzz...
Tell me what's a-happening?
- Rice & Webber

First, just the facts, ma’am:

Over 1,900 wine and food lovers attended the TAPAS (Tempranillo Advocates Producers & Amigos Society) Grand Wine Tasting in San Francisco’s Fort Mason this past Saturday, June 4; making this the third year in a row that attendance to this once modest affair has doubled.

Out of that 1,900+, some 75% of those attendees were clearly younger than 35, giving the organization’s wineries (about 80 of them), growers and card holding “amigos” (another 30+) a strong idea of where their pan is currently being buttered.

... and as we all know, when it comes to fashion, food and wine, very often the other consumer segments follow the younger crowd. It often takes the older folks a little longer to catch on to a good thing like this: the appreciation of wines and foods associated with grapes of Spanish and Portuguese traditions.

Second, your come-to-Jesus caveat: these wines do not lend themselves to the same ol’ qualitative assessments to which mommy and daddy, gramps and granny used to subscribe, and blindly follow. You cannot put a number like “95” or “85” on, say, the 2007 Abacela Umpqua Valley Estate Tempranillo – grown, as it were, by TAPAS founder Earl Jones in the rolling hills of Southern Oregon – as dark, buoyant, concentrated, fraise-like, fleshy or wild beasty a red wine as you may perceive it to be.

Abacela proprietors, Earl & Hilda Jones

Fact of the matter is, an Abacela Tempranillo knows no stinking numbers when you actually drink it the right way, with something like herb roasted leg of lamb. a whole pig, or grilled, pungent portobellos or eggplant. It’s when you experience such wines in culinary context that meaty flavors and complexities your senses have no way of detecting when tasting the wine on its own suddenly emerge and knock you upside the chin, and then you are visited by this epiphany: wines crafted from Spanish and Portuguese grapes cannot, should not, and absolutely will not be pinned down by concepts as odiferous as 100 point scores, as well meaning as people who dole them out may be.

Judging from the crowd at the TAPAS tasting in San Francisco, we think this “new” way (actually an old way, since wine historically evolved within culinary cultures) of appreciating wine may finally be sinking in: people there for an experience of good wines, not to make judgements, or to rush home afterwards and tear out those dreary magazines or dive into online reviews droning mindlessly on with “ratings” as if good drinking wines were appliances awaiting their Good Housekeeping seals of approval...

That is... hey, teacher, leave those TAPAS producers alone!

This off our chests, let’s talk about a few things that went down in San Francisco, particularly in terms of Lodi grown grapes, since this American Viticultural Area has recently emerged as the largest and most serious source of these Iberian grapes, whether vinified by local producers like Bokisch Vineyards or Alta Mesa Cellars, or produced and bottled outside the region by wineries like Fenestra Winery in Livermore Valley, Quinta Cruz Wines in Santa Cruz, or Odisea Wine Company in Murphys, Calaveras County.

Savoy's halibut pineapple seviche with Harney Lane Albarino

Perhaps it was meant to be: that Lodi’s Harney Lane Winery happened to positioned right next to the table manned by Oakland’s Savoy Events, where chef/owner Mica Talmor Gott was dishing out a halibut pineapple seviche, tinged with the fresh licorice flavor of tarragon, pungent cilantro, and mildly green-spiced notes of chopped poblano, on oven crisped, red spiced tortilla chips and topped with milky, bouncy queso blanco fresco.

The funnest foods, of course, are balanced by exhilarating sensations exactly like that, and the match with the 2010 Harney Lane Lodi Albariño – a steely dry white wine of lemony and mineral-toned dexterities offset by flowery fresh perfumes – not only made you want to grab more of these seviche chips and throw them in your mouth, it also made you wanna cry as if the intricacy of such simple, quiet yet effective sensations had suddenly eluded you all your pitiful life.

Another TAPAS Grand Tasting highlight was a cooking demo put on by chef/owner James Campbell Caruso of La Boca in Santa Fe, who put out a dish of calamari seared in Spanish olive oil and lemon juice, served with rice cooked with dabs of tinta calamar (black squid ink) and refreshing specks of chopped tomato. If there ever was an earthy seafood dish bursting with the smell and taste of the ocean, this was it; and it was these sensations that brought out an almost revelatory saline, and umami driven, side of the intrinsic minerality found in the grape of the varietal bottlings of both the lime and honeyed almond scented 2010 Bokisch Clements Hills-Lodi Albariño and the slightly fuller yet lemony crisp, honeysuckle and tropical fruit nuanced 2010 Abacela Umpqua Valley Albariño.

Countdown to ecstasy: Bokisch Albarino, Spanish olive oil & squid ink

Hammering the lesson home: these really are food wines, and as such, phenomenal in themselves, whether or not this is understood by members of the mainstream wine press who traditionally abhor wines, or winemaking, that even hint at culinary purposes.

But it was, after all, a very large and public tasting; and in that situation you walk a floor, jostle with a jovial crowd at the tables, and take your best shot at some kind of mnenomic discernment of the wine samples splashing in your glass. Luckily we have plenty of experience at that, and the fact that we actually write down notes. Some of the other high points of that day:

Alta Mesa/Silvaspoons' Ron Silva

2009 Alta Mesa, Alta Mesa-Lodi Verdelho – There were a number of outstanding Verdelhos shown; and out of all of them, this one grown by Ron Silva’s Silvaspoons Vineyard might have been the most palate slaking: its flowery perfumes – suggesting peach skin, lavender, lime and lemon verbena – levitated by citrusy acidity and a moderate, slinky body. That said, in a similar vein, the 2010 St. Amant Amador County Verdelho seemed just as sleek, suggesting sweet/tart pears as much as citrus. While even riper toned and fuller in feel, the 2009 Quinta Cruz Verdelho (also sourced from Silva’s Silvaspoons) had the lacy, leafy green, lemon verbena notes found in the Alta Mesa, along with the soft, nutty, mildly bitter taste suggesting Marcona Almonds.

2010 Jeremy, Lodi Albariño – Many say Albariño should be lighter and zestier than what has been produced for the most part on the West Coast; and unquestionably, the higher latitude length of days in Oregon’s Umpqua Valley and the Delta cooled terroirs of Lodi have a propensity to produce Albariños of somewhat lavish perfumes (although deliberate earlier and earlier picking have lightened recent vintages by Abacela and Bokisch quite significantly). But if for a more pristine, puristic, light and lively Albariño you pine, the Jeremy gives you that, with slivers of apricot and twists of lemon in lithe, limber sensations. Not too far off in a similar, light and unfettered vein, the 2010 Odisea Dream Clements Hills Albariño – grown by Markus Bokisch in his La Cerezas Vineyard – was tasting more starkly floral, with more of a green apple rather than lemony tartness.

2009 Odisea, Two Rows California Garnacha – Sourced from both Mendocino and Lodi’s Clements Hills AVA -- the latter, farmed by Gregg Lewis, the proprietor/grower of Dancing Fox -- this red wine stood out for its blast of bright, red, strawberryish fruit, luscious in the nose and meaty in the mouth, even when tightening in the middle with firming tannin and chewing tobacco-like juiciness. Granted, the accessibility of this wine is somewhat mainstream (wine geeks or critics can easily grasp its “opulent” fruitiness); but in the vein of a good TAPAS style wine, its moderately scaled bottle would also make it “awesome” with food (we’re thinking simple gazpacho or rustic pan con tomate – toasted bread rubbed with garlic, chopped tomatoes, olive oil and rock salt).

2009 Odisea, Unusual Suspects – A blend of 50% Lodi old-vine Carignane, with Grenache (from Mendocino) and Tempranillo (from Lodi’s Lewis Vineyard), this fruit forward red is teeming with bright cherry aromas and flavors, soft and lush in the entry, solidifying into a smoky meatiness towards the finish. Think of this as like a cross-dressing Pinot Noir – it wants to be all pretty and perfumed, but the larynx is deepening and the shoulders too wide for the top – and as such, you can probably do things like stuff a steak with oysters, or simply rub it with olive oil, grill with cracked pepper, and lay it all out with thick slices of beefsteak tomato dressed in ribbons of basil and a variation of yellow Spanish rice.

2007 Fenestra, Silvaspoons Vineyards Lodi Touriga - Made from roughly equal parts Touriga Nacional and Touriga Francesa — the former known for making robust, full tannin reds, and the latter for lighter, more perfumed and finesseful reds — this is a generously black fruited red, dense and muscular down to the core, yet plummy, almost sweet toned around the edges. While fluid in fleshiness, the feel is beefy, and the finish tinged by some coffee ground tannin. Definitely a carnivore’s red; yet different, more visceral, from that of, say, a Cabernet Sauvignon drinker’s red: you wanna to drench your meats with more olive oil or pungent Mediterranean herbs with a wine like this to bring out the slightly raisined, sun inflected notes, or utilize more aromatic aged cheeses made from sheep’s mile (Manchego or Pecorino) to coax out more earthen bass notes. However which way you do it, this is a wine sharpened by awareness of food, not a wine critic’s pen.

Harney Lane's Kyle Lerner with St. Amant's Stuart Spencer

2008 Harney Lane, Lodi Tempranillo – For all intents and purposes, the Tempranillo grape epitomizes the TAPAS culture, producing red wines of quality that might be hard to fathom by conventional standards, particularly if you have trouble weaning yourself off, say, grapes of French origin, which are generally easier to define in terms of “varietal” character. The Harney Lane is typical: it is full and it is savory; yet it is not big and feels soft in the middle. The nose suggests red fruit, but the mind isn’t identifying strawberry, cherry or raspberry in particular. The phenolics seem to give toothsome, faintly chewing tobacco-like sensations; but in the end, the taste is not unlike how winemaker Chad Joseph describes it: like a “chocolate brownie.” Finally, as mentioned earlier, this is a wine that changes on a dinner table: the textures becoming meaty, and the fruit qualities taking on feral, almost animal-like sensations that are absent in the initial perception, sans food.

Or can we just agree Harney Lane makes delicious Tempranillo? So does St. Amant, for that matter (the 2008 St. Amant The Road Less Travelled Amador County Tempranillo tasting particularly wild – like a snorting, black, musclebound bull – in San Francisco), as well as Bokisch Vineyards (a sensual 2008 Bokisch Liberty Oaks Vineyard Jahant-Lodi Tempranillo currently laced in black cherryish, somewhat strawberryish, or maybe blackberryish fruit tones... or is it nothing at all?).

Markus Bokisch workin' it at the TAPAS Grand Tasting

We could go on about other fine renderings shown by the TAPAS producers in the City by the Bay. Totally unprecedented wines like the startlingly dark, sinewy, teeth rattling 2008 Alta Mesa Cellars Alta Mesa-Lodi Tannat. Classically inspired wines like the sumptuously sweet, neverending 2007 Abacela Umpqua Valley Port (crafted from Touriga Nacional, Tinta Cão, Tinta Amarela, Bastardo and Tinta Roriz). Or wines coming seemingly from places unbenownst to the conventional world, like the St. Amant Amador County Tawny Port (an amazing yet strangely Madeira-like, blondie of a sweet fortified wine, regaling the senses with a head shaking storm of vanilla extract, raw honey, preserved lemon, crème caramel and orange peels punctured by cloves).

But let us just give thanks to these intrepid oenological pioneers, embrace their thought process, and celebrate their success!

Chains at San Francisco's Fort Mason

Syrahs in a season of discontent

2011-05-08T22:57:00.020-06:00

Another outstanding Hospice du Rhône – America's premier Rhône style wine festival, taking place each spring in Paso Robles, CA – has come and gone this past April 28-30, and thus another good reason to stop and assess the progress of the quintessential Rhône style red: those made from the syrah grape.

First things first: there were some startling beauties at this year’s HdR. The 2007 as well as the 2008 Jonata La Sangre de Jonata Santa Ynez Valley Syrah, for instance, seemed larger than life, swollen with perfumed, raspberry liqueur-like syrah concentration; the ’07 tinged by wild scrubby and toasty components, and the ’08 even more specific with roasting meats (what many call “bacon”), wild thyme intensities.

On a seemingly opposite end of the scale, the 2008 Baker Lane Sonoma Coast Estate Syrah was velvety smooth and finesseful – for all the world, pinot noirish in gentility (is this a compliment or insult?) – despite carrying 14.2% alcohol weight; flashing piercing violet perfumes and earthy undertones suggesting sprigs of rosemary and browning forest leaves. The 2009 Baker Lane Sonoma Coast Estate Syrah was even prettier – shrouded in lacy silk and flowery fragrances, yet crisply centered, with roasted meat/animal qualities that made you blink and think “Crozes-Hermitage."

A barrel sample of the Biodynamic® grown 2009 Qupe Sawyer Lindquist Vineyard Edna Valley Syrah echoed the ’09 Baker Lane’s silk and lissomeness, with achingly ardorous perfumes of violet, licorice and winter savory. The roasted, chocolaty, coffee-spiced 2008 Stolpman Originals Estate Santa Ynez Valley Syrah and framboise-like 2008 Stolpman Hilltop Estate Santa Ynez Valley Syrah echoed the Jonatas in enormity – sensuous flesh draped over musclebound bodies – and gravity defying sense of scale.

Epoch winemaker Jordan Fiorentini

Then there was an obscenely opulent 2008 Justin Paso Robles Savant (cassis-like syrah amplified by 22% cabernet sauvignon); a barrel sample of blustery, fisticuffing, French sausage-spiced 2009 Red Car Sonoma Coast Estate Syrah; a wild scrubbish, smoky, compellingly lavender/violet/cassis scented 2007 Halter Ranch Block 22 Paso Robles Syrah; an unrepentantly black, concentrated, pumped pectoraled 2008 Epoch Paderewski Vineyard Block B Paso Robles Syrah; and a powerfully pungent, beefy and black cherryish 2009 Jaffurs Larner Vineyard Santa Barbara Syrah. All these wines, among numerous others, underlining the point in defiance of oft-heard criticisms: American syrahs are heckagood, even great, by any standard of the grape, past or present.

For as serious a wine syrah can obviously produce – most wine cognoscenti would rank it with cabernet sauvignon, pinot noir, chardonnay and riesling among the five most important Vitis vinifera cultivated around the world – the grape has been much maligned during the past year or two by, well, that very same cognoscenti, for various reasons of discontent, depending upon the pundit:

• They say that syrah is grown in too many of the wrong places outside the Northern Rhône Valley; especially in parts of California and Australia where warm climates yield wines of overripe flavor, excessive alcohol, or both.

• They say American consumers, in particular, have not responded to the growing number of syrahs on the market either because they are “confused” by a plethora of styles or simply because they are disappointed by the overall quality (re the aforementioned reason).

• More seasoned market observers are saying that the dearth of syrah sales (entailing American, Australian as well as French produced wines) has more to do with the age-old issue of supply exceeding demand, exacerbated by the recent international economic woes and glut of wines, made from any and all grape varieties, in general.

One thing we do know: truly good, to great, syrah costs as much or more to grow and vinify as truly good to great cabernet sauvignon, pinot noir, chardonnay and riesling; and if anything, in recent years the majority of consumers haven’t exactly been in the mood to spring for $25 to $50-plus bottles of new or unproven brands or varietals. For $8 to, say, $18 bottles of new or unproven brands or varietals: yes, they’ve been more than willing to take the plunge. But as mind blowing as a $100 Jonata may be, we know this is a far less palatable proposition for the everyday Joe or Aunt Gladys than, say, a big, luscious, Lodi grown Brazin Zinfandel or !ZaZin – 14.5% alcohol and all, culled from 40 to 100 year old vines yet retailing for less than $20.

Hilary Clarke (left) of Harrison-Clarke Vineyard (grenache & syrahs to die for) at 2011 HdR

Insofar as the premise that consumers are confused by variations of syrah styles: that seems implausible, since syrah as a wine varies no more – and in fact, considerably less – than varietal wines of perennial popularity, like chardonnay, cabernet sauvignon, and zinfandel. Consumers aren’t that dumb.

Is the perceived indifference due to the facts that many syrahs are overripe, too high in alcohol, or just not very good? The problem with those assumptions: whether moderate or high in alcohol, sweetly fruited or moderately fruited, the quality of syrahs grown outside the Northern Rhône continues to rise rather than falter – as you would expect in a situation where producers continuously improve in skill and experience – and anyone who says otherwise probably has a hole in the head rather than a palate. In any case, refined, multi-faceted syrahs like the '08 Baker Lane make a mockery of the current preoccupation with alcohol: surely, one of the dumbest non-issues going down today.

As a matter of fact, the 2011 Hospice du Rhône was also a great opportunity to compare French grown syrahs with American ones, as there were over 90 producers or importers representing the Rhône (Northern and Southern) pouring alongside some 130 American producers. What true blue syrah lover doesn’t enjoy a good Cornas? No doubt, HdR traditionalists enjoyed the earthy, brothy, pungently gamey 2008 Clape Renaissance Cornas, whereas I was duly impressed by the less fecal-like, flinty, muscular, marvelously compact and black pepper inundated 2007 Alain Voge Les Vieilles Vignes Cornas.

Clos Selene's Selene & Guillaume Fabre

But honestly: could anyone with half a working nose and palate really step back and say that what we are tasting from France these days is still truly head and shoulders “better” or “preferable” to one of now many American grown syrahs of reasonable quality – like the precise and peppery spiced 2006 Alban Reva Alban Estate Edna Valley Syrah, the decidedly rambunctious, deep, ponderous 2009 McPrice Myers Les Galets Arroyo Grande Valley Syrah, or the dramatically high toned, framboise and licorice laced 2009 Clos Selene Hommage à nos Pairs Paso Robles Syrah? I’m sorry, but I don’t think so.

On the other hand, one interesting observation made by a Frenchman – Michel Gassier of Château de Nages in Costières de Nîmes (where blends of grenache, carignane, mourvèdre and syrah rule the roost) – in a HdR seminar sponsored by the trade council, Côtes du Rhônes Wines, was that young vignerons tend to “start off with a primal scream... you want to produce wines that are too ripe and too extracted, and you think too much of a good thing is a good thing.” Only when a winegrower matures does he begin to understand terroir – “accepting some truths that cannot be explained” – until he reaches a third stage, what Gassier calls “an age of reason... when you view things holistically and are more open to change, and finally begin to make wines from grapes grown in harmony and balance with the environment.”

That final phase, according to Gassier, often entails the embracing of organic or Biodynamic® practices, although this is less important than simply developing a thought process engendering wines of more “soul,” reflecting a “a partnership of terroir and winemaker.”

Gassier’s comments became all the more insightful during the HdR seminar following immediately after, called Find Your Mojo, showcasing the syrahs of two American brands of some prestige (especially among the 100 point score circuit), Santa Barbara’s Tensely Wines and Sonoma’s Bedrock Wine Co.: syrahs, as it were, that generally seemed over-extracted, obsessively black and heavy, tilted more towards ultra-ripe fruit and sweet spices derived from oak as opposed to subtleties of texture and varietal character. That is to say: not all the American wines at HdR were impressive in comparison to the French. To a large extent, there is still a lot of immature winemaking going on in the U.S.

Tardieu-Laurent's Bastien Tardieu

The following week in San Francisco, I had a conversation with Bastien Tardieu, the 27 year old son of Michel Tardieu of Tardieu-Laurent, one of the Rhône Valley’s more acclaimed négociants. Having completed his Master’s of Oenology and Viticulture in Montpellier not too long ago, you would think Tardieu to be yet another vintner going through his phase of “primal screaming,” but in fact, wines like the exceedingly elegant, violet and wild mint scented 2007 Tardieu-Laurent Cornas and the only slightly rustique, fleshy yet fragrant and multi-faceted 2008 Tardieu-Laurent Vieilles Vignes Gigondas (grenache with 15% syrah) give a decidedly opposite impression: winegrowing far more obsessed with interplay of man, grape and terroir, rather than extraction or the almighty 100 point score.

When asked how effective it might be to grow syrah in warmer climates, like the Barossa Valley (he has worked at Torbreck), California, and the Southern Rhône Valley, Tardieu opined: “yes, you can grow syrah in warmer climates, but it is still a question of balance. I prefer syrah grown in the Northern Rhône where the climate is cooler because there you get a wine that is finer, with more violet, more licorice, and more minerals like silex – the taste of two stones scratching together. In places like Châteauneuf du Pape and the Barossa Valley, we can get the jammy taste that is common to warm regions, but we completely miss all the aromatic complexity we get in the Northern Rhône – the characteristics that make syrah syrah.”

I found Tardieu’s thoughts to be all the more intriguing because in between HdR and our meeting in San Francisco, I also sat for a Cold Climate Syrah Seminar taking place at Spring Hill Ranch, located in the middle of the Sonoma Coast’s Petaluma Gap. There, along with 40 sommeliers gathered from around the country, we tasted 8 syrahs grown in cooler sections of California’s North Coast; where syrah grapes picked closer to 22° rather than 25° Brix is a norm (resulting in potential alcohols closer to 12% rather than 15%).

Eric Sussman, Ehren Jordan & Carroll Kemp pouring syrahs for sommeliers

One of the presenters during this cold climate summit was Carroll Kemp, winemaker/partner of Red Car, whose Sonoma Coast syrah had wowed me a few days earlier in Paso Robles. According to Kemp, “the style of syrah popularized in previous years is the antithesis of the styles of syrahs now coming from marginal sites along the Sonoma Coast.” Failla’s Ehren Jordan added the point that “many people have a distorted view of syrah, especially from Northern Rhône. I found out fairly quickly, after moving there to work earlier in my career, that ‘roasted slope’ does not mean 90° or 100° temperatures like it does it California. It means more like 80° at the most, and I’m still wearing sweaters in the middle of the summer. If you pick at 21.5° Brix in Cornas, it’s the ‘vintage of the decade!’”

As it were, the unanimous favorite among the sommeliers seemed to be Jordan’s 2009 Failla Sonoma Coast Estate Syrah – hugely, lusciously concentrated with wild blackberry and exotic tea spices and undertones of wild scrubby herbs, yet as lithe and compact as a Nadia Comaneci. Also in this limber, un-Sprockets style: the 2008 Wind Gap Sonoma Coast Syrah portrays the flowery side of the grape, with a cassis-like silkiness and suggestions of caramelized game and blueberry; and the 2008 Arnot-Roberts Clary Ranch Sonoma Coast Syrah is super spiced and perfumed, with mildly feral and sandalwood spice nuances.

Failla's Ehren Jordan

In this tasting in Sonoma, winemaker Stephen Singer reprised his finely balanced 2008 Baker Lane Sonoma Coast Estate Syrah, with its densely sweet concentration of violet, black/red berry fruit, and, earthy, brushy undertones, hinting at the sauvage typical of wines resulting from wild yeast ferments fostered in cool climate microbiology. There was also extravagantly spiced (cracked pepper, sandalwood, evergreen), if somewhat toasted oak lavished, 2007 Ramey Rodgers Creek Sonoma Coast Syrah; and Eric Sussman showed off his woodsy, tightly wound, savory 2007 Radio-Coteau Camp Cherry Sonoma Coast Syrah.

Ah, but is this the future of American syrah? Personally, I would withhold judgement; especially if you have yet to encounter some of the more fascinating growths of Southern Oregon; like the elegantly scaled, sweetly violet scented 2008 Cowhorn Reserve Applegate Valley Syrah (also Biodynamic® certified). Or better yet: the flowery, raspberry, flint, lavender and rosemary scented 2009 Quady North Steelhead Run Applegate Valley Syrah, draped in swaths of velvet; or the grandly full, judiciously savage and purple mountained 2008 RoxyAnn Rogue Valley Syrah.

The experience of grandly rendered syrahs is not nearly as rare as you may think, and exhilarating examples are being grown in new and different ways outside the Rhône Valley. As to which are the most legitimate: it’s become clearer by the day that saying Sonoma Coast or Southern Oregon grow syrahs of greater validity than Paso Robles or Santa Barbara is as foolish as saying the only great Northern Rhônes are those of Côte-Rôtie and Hermitage and not Cornas, Crozes-Hermitage or Saint-Joseph.

The sooner the better, when we can all learn to appreciate terroir related qualities; not ones differentiated by artifice or concepts as inane or useless as numerical scores.

Cowboy at Paso Robles fairgrounds

What does make California pinot noir special?

2011-03-29T07:15:00.006-06:00

Santa Cruz Mountains' pinot paradise

I was entertaining a little girl up in my room, lord
California wine and French perfume, lord
She started talking about the war, lord
I said, I don't want to talk about the war...
- Randy Newman (Lover's Prayer)

Why is it, recently, that every time I attend a wine symposium, a Fight Club breaks out?

Or so it seemed at both the Santa Cruz Mountains Winegrowers Association's Pinot Paradise Technical Session this past Sunday (March 27), and RN74's In Pursuit of Balance Pinot Noir panel and tasting the following Monday in San Francisco. The sad part is that both events involved pinot noir producers, who I've always though of as souls of sensitivity; or at least, knights of infinite resignation, given their difficult medium: a grape that tests vignerons mightily -- one vintage giving wines as sweet and pure as Sissy Spacek, and another vintage giving wines that make you recoil in the Carrie of it all. Does not trial and tribulation make one all the wiser?

Maybe not. The first gauntlet was thrown by Santa Cruz Mountain Vineyard winemaker/proprietor Jeff Emery, who professed to not quite understanding contemporary style pinot noirs picked at sugars beyond 23 Brix ° and finished with lower acids, riper fruit, and alcohol levels above 14%. A pinot soused soul crying in a Central Coast wilderness for restraint, finesse, and greater potential longevity. Problem being: the two wines Emery presented as evidence -- the 2001 Santa Cruz Mountain Pinot Noir and 2004 Santa Cruz Mountain Bella's Reserve Pinot Noir -- are not exactly epitomes of charm, however taut, tart, and moderately scaled (around 12.5% alcohol) they may be.

In fact, one could make an argument (judgements of quality being subjective) that the two fuller bodied, obviously riper picked pinots presented by Nathan Kandler of Thomas Fogarty Winery -- the 2008 Fogarty Windy Hill Pinot Noir and 2008 Thomas Fogarty Rapley Trail Pinot Noir -- shown at the Pinot Paradise session were more fragrant with the spice scented black and red berry perfumes as well as more finely delineated in the rich, textural qualities often associated with the grape, despite evident elements of oak (warm, smoky nuances).

To buy into Emery's premise, one would have to accept that a lean and stringy style of pinot is always more appealing than a fuller yet giving style. But what if you like the fuller, giving style -- is there something wrong with you? I think not. Variations of California pinot noir may be less terroir related and more dependent upon conscious decisions of growers and winemakers than, say, variations of French Burgundy, but in the end it still comes down to preference. Do you prefer Musigny or Chambertin, Santa Cruz or Fogarty? Ezra Pound or T.S. Eliot, Mozart or Beethoven, Rembrandt or Pollock, Stones or Beatles, Ferrari or monster trucks... the world is full of choices, and the idea is for you to make 'em, not an arbiter with an agenda.

Evening Land Vineyards' cerebral Sashi Moorman

Which is what I found so disconcerting about the In Pursuit of Balance symposium in San Francisco, however laudable its stated purpose, to "promote dialogue around the meaning and relevance of balance in California Pinot Noir." Generally speaking, echoing Emery in Santa Cruz Mountains, the panelists professed a preference for either pinot noirs picked earlier at lower sugars (when possible, of course, since Mother Nature is not always cooperative), lower pH, higher acidity and less of that "physiological ripeness" often spoke of by denizens of the presumably opposite style, or a preference for vineyards located in relatively cooler climes and less permissive soils which give them a higher percentage chance of producing their idea of a balanced pinot noir.

The problem is when these winemakers, and the sommeliers and critics rallying to their camp, begin to speak ill of wines that don't quite fit into their conception of "balance." When asked if it should be less a "question of balance and more a question of terroir" (okay, that was me doing the asking), one of the panelists, LIOCO winemaker/partner Matt Licklider, opined that "there are a lot of terrible wines being made in good terroirs."

Ah, but therein lies the problem: there are also lots of less desirable wines made in the so-called "balanced" style. After all, who's to say a leaner, tighter pinot noir with more accentuated acidity and less oak is more appealing than a rounder, softer, richly oaked pinot noir? Of the 24 producers showing their pinots in the tasting following the San Francisco seminar at RN74, I can't say that all of them floated my boat, even though I personally prefer the finesseful style. Not that I'm the arbiter of good taste, but a good number of them were just... boring.

Au Bon Climat's Jim Clendenen

Then again, a lot of them were as exciting as any I've ever experienced. Of the six panelist sitting on the In Pursuit of Balance stage, I think the most sensible comment was made by Evening Land Vineyards winemaker/grower, Sashi Moorman, who expressed the sentiment I often feel when I taste an exciting pinot noir. "There is so much preoccupation with alcohol and balance, pH and acidity, we tend to forget what makes the best wines special," said Moorman. "When I think of the great pinot noirs that have made me literally weak in the knees, I never say 'this wine is so well balanced'... it's usually the aromatic or unique qualities of pinot noirs that make the difference."

Here are the unique pinot noirs tasted over those two days that did bowl me over:

2008 Native9, Rancho Ontiveros Vineyard, Santa Maria Valley - Fantastic concentration of red berry perfumes with smoky spices; velvety, luscious, yet vibrant in as much acidity as any.

Failla and Ehren Jordan, Failla Wines

2009 Failla, Hirsch Vineyard, Sonoma Coast - Framboise-ish intensity in the nose, these red berry sensations strapped tightly over a medium weight body; silky, seamless, sensual to the touch.

2009 Failla, Keefer Ranch, Sonoma Coast - Distinctly softer yet also more curvaceous, velvety and sultry scented than Failla's Hirsch; smoky cardamon spiked citrus peel spices sexing up the nose.

2008 Au Bon Climat, Isabelle, California - Sweet toned pinot perfume penetrating the nostrils; long, silken, bright flavors against a faint backdrop of earth and oak.

2007 Clendenen Family, Le Bon Climat, Santa Maria Valley - Super fragrant, electrical pinot perfume, with a zesty edge prolonging the lush yet sharply defined flavors.

New sensations: Chanin pinot noirs

2008 Chanin, Le Bon Climat Vineyard, Santa Maria Valley - Baskets of strawberryish fruit tingling the nose, with just as much lift and zest on the palate.

2009 Domaine Eden, Santa Cruz Mountains - By Mount Eden Vineyards; luscious raspberry/strawberry fragrance with smoke and earthen spices; high toned, yet with a round, velvety grip on the palate.

2009 Sarah's Vineyard, Santa Cruz Mountains - Super strawberry nose with peppermint and sweet oak spices; lean entry, yet intense fruit pushes right through a steel girded frame in mouth-watering finish.

2007 Storrs, Christie Vineyard, Santa Cruz Mountains - Here's a full, sweetly ripened style (14.5%) that is also very fresh and pristine; the strawberry/raspberry fruit fragrant and plump with thickened, meaty texturing. If this is "wrong," I guess... I don't care.

Native9's James Ontiveros

As the pinot world turns

2011-03-07T21:08:00.011-07:00

Finer American pinot noirs than ever dominate the 11th Annual World of Pinot Noir in Shell Beach...

March 4-5, 2011 – There were significantly more, and finer, pinot noirs than ever from the West Coast shown at 2011’s World of Pinot Noir. If anyone tells you differently? Tell them to take a hike...

The world of pinot, in other words, is spinning faster and faster. Two immediate observations:

The idea of “typically over-oaked” American pinot world is now, officially, a a thing of the past. Tasting through the ’06s to ’09s shown at WOPN, qualities of fruit focus and natural acidity now predominate across the board, with toasty or smoky nuances pretty much pushed into backdrops. It was especially pleasing to find wineries hitherto associated with oaky styles now pretty much on the same bandwagon.

There’s been a lot of talk recently of the “high alcohol problem" of American pinot noirs (the sheening of American pinots?). Sure, recent warm or “ripe” vintages have given everyone cause for alarm, but the 2011 WOPN conclusively demonstrated that the concern is probably over-hyped. Even after tasting over 100 pinots on each day, I can count on one hand the number of times my palate felt raked by a wine striking me as hot, awkward, or pent-up with rampant alcohol or raisiny fruit. Conclusion: neither California nor Oregon pinot specialists are as deaf or dumb as some have been making them out to be. If anything, it’s amazing how finesseful their touch has become, considering the endlessly challenging circumstances making each vintage an adventure (be it rains or drying heat in Oregon, or fire or ice along the Californian coast).

Speaking of which: yes, there was a good slew of 14% to 15% alcohol pinots in the mix. So what? If you are a ROAR from Gary’s Vineyard or Belle Glos Las Alturas from Santa Lucia Highlands, a Chasseur or De Loach from Russian River Valley, a Melville from Sta. Rita Hills or even a Bergström from Willamette Valley, things are bound to get a little “big” when fruit is hitting on all cylinders. But that doesn’t keep producers like these from fashioning perfectly lush, round, tight and cohesive pinot noirs; wines that are as well balanced, or more finely balanced, as most pinot noirs falling in the sub-14% alcohol range. It ain’t the meat it’s the motion, my friends, when it comes to successful pinot.

Meaning: never, never choose your pinot by percentages you might read on a label. Pay more attention to the skill of the winemaker, or the reputation of that brand (providing that rep doesn’t come from shrill reviewers who use numbers and tend to describe wines as “opulent” or “hedonistic” – writers who can’t tell an alcoholic, and neither a good or bad, pinot noir from the side of a barn). Either way, if you buy by numbers you’re only depriving yourself of possible pleasures. Don’t even believe anything I tell you: tasting is always believing.

Finally, as always, when it comes to good pinot noir it’s more a matter of style and terroir – the latter variable, a pervasive sense of where a pinot comes perceived through the sensations themselves – when it comes to exploring this ever expanding world of pinot. For instance, I may prefer a seamlessly knit, silken, perfumed and earth toned Keefer Ranch pinot noir from Green Valley by the likes of a trusty vintner like Failla or Freeman, over a dark, chunky Pisoni grown pinot from Santa Lucia Highlands or a brawny and intense Sea Smoke from Santa Barbara. But I’d be dead wrong if I said a Keefer produces a more valid style of pinot noir than any grown by Pisoni or Sea Smoke. Pinots by such high quality producerss are never “better” than each other: they’re just different, especially in respect to terroir; and anyone who tells you otherwise… well, you know where to tell them to go.

Enough dickering – in order of my favorites:

2009 Landmark, Spring Hill (Sonoma Coast, California) – You always gotta rank the most “oh-wow” wine first, don’t you? This was oh-wow because it’s this winery’s first-ever single vineyard bottling from this particular vineyard (located in the heart of the windswept, decidedly cold climate Petaluma Gap) – so newness is a factor here, folks – and because more than any other pinot tasted at WOPN this past weekend, a strawberry-fields-forever varietal fruitiness seemed to burst through velvet textured layers, energized by a vibrant core of zingy acidity and finely flushed tannin. A sheer richness lends a full feel, while sensations remaining fresh, immaculate, primal, electric; while charging discreetly through an obscenely long finish.

Spring Hill, in the rolling hills of Sonoma's Petaluma Gap

2009 Failla, Keefer Ranch (Russian River Valley, California) – Sweetly intense harmony of Christmasy fragrances – steeping plums, wild cherries, smoke tinged brown spices – tacked on to a lithe, flowing, bright and energetic body of components, arranged in pinpoint fashion. Yes, I may be a bit of a wuss, going for this balletic style, but at least it’s not a wine that invites incessant harping about technique, alcohol or oak – everything adroitly, almost prenaturally, knit, and just… there.

2008 Failla, Occidental Ridge (Sonoma Coast, California) – When I tasted this Failla cuvée, I thought, “okay, this is just getting silly – why does simple deliciousness come so easily for this brand? Does it really matter? Intoxicating perfume – huge strawberry nose tinged with multiple baking pie spices – essaying forth on the palate in lively, luscious, finesseful flavors that never seem to end, despite a rock of solid tannin tightening the center.

2009 Failla, Pearlessence (Sonoma Coast, California) – From a vineyard in the Sebastopol Hills – the southernmost, and coolest, section of the Russian River Valley – Pearlessence enters softly, with a bouquet of red roses and strawberry alarm tingling the nose; and just as obligingly steps on the gas in the mid-palate, enveloping the senses with zesty, long, lovely, scrumptious red fruit flavors riding on fine boned tannin beneath a sheer, silken veneer.

2009 Freeman, Akiko’s Cuvée (Sonoma Coast, California) – This is co-proprietor Akiko Freeman’s yearly barrel selection of the spiciest, silkiest cuvées from among the winery’s best cold climate sites (largely in the hills west of Occidental on the western edge of the Russian River Valley AVA, with choice bites from Sebastopol Hills further south). A violet-red transparency signals a host of flowery, lacy perfumes suggesting black cherry and strawberry. Slender, lush, silken, spiced berry sensations come with an almost dancing sense of delicacy and ebullience. As that Leonard Cohen song goes, hallelujah...

2008 La Follette, Sangiacomo Vineyard (Sonoma Coast) – In vintages past, pinots from this vineyard – located at the base of Sonoma Mountain in the Petaluma Gap where fog collects and creates a refrigerator effect on a daily basis during peak ripening seasons – have consistently retained both an exotic, sweet spice (often suggesting tropical flowers and/or ginger) and wild, earthy sensations (winemaker/partner Greg la Follette has always described the latter as “feral”) most unusual, to say the least, in pinot noir grown anywhere (Old World, New World, maybe the next world...). In 2008 the exotica is there – the nostril penetrating, flowery perfume mingling with smoky spices – while the earth tones are not so much feral as faintly organic, more along the lines of composting loam and crushed brown leaves in autumn. Love it or leave it, folks. But if this floats your boat, you’ll like how the ultra-rich and earthy sensations also run rampant through the palate – lively, twisting, enervating for the weak, energizing for the terroirists – sliding beneath a blanket of silk from one side of the mouth to the other. As the Man once put it, are you experienced?

2008 Littorai, The Pivot Vineyard (Sonoma Coast, California) – The nose here is tight and youthfully concentrated – compellingly sweet preserves of black plum and strawberry – yet as soon as the wine hits the palate, the aromatically tight fruit profile becomes large and resplendent, forming a thick, proportionate wave of velvet flavors, tinged by smoky oak, rocking and rolling through the rye with all the grace and contradictory sensuality those phenomenally few pinots seem to achieve.

2008 Alma Rosa, La Encantada (Sta. Rita Hills, California) – Sometimes a pinot is so pretty, so honest and pristine, you just want to cry. Especially with the Richard Sanford’s La Encantada, which seems to address you without pretension or artifice – just hugely intense, bare naked, knockdown pinot noir fruit expression: baskets of cherries, strawberry preserves, dark cocoa and cinnamon spices, and a silky, sensuously textured sense of finesse and femininity. Although less might be more, what “little” there is here is a helluva more than in the vast majority of American pinots.

2008 Suacci Carciere (Russian River Valley, California) – From one of the coolest sites in Sebastopol Hills – on a fog choked slope in Blucher Valley with natural Frigidaire funneled directly up from the adjacent Petaluma Gap – this is a beautifully fragrant pinot noir, mixing raspberry, strawberry, smoky brown spices and scrubby earth nuances in the nose, followed up by luscious, fluid, juicy flavors couched in a zesty, sexy, curvaceous body. Think Sophia Loren in leather – inconceivable.

Siduri's Adam Lee

2008 Siduri, Keefer Ranch (Russian River Valley, California) – Through the years Adam and Dianna Lee’s minimalist, yet never shyly oaked, approach to pinot noir vinification has grown in consistency, and now reach high points with special vineyards like Keefer. The ’08 is a doozy: smoky, red berry and cherry cola fruit aromas underlined by tinges of evergreen; and on the palate, even more impressively, a super-dense, concentrated, almost syrupy thick richness of fruit, punctuated by the smoky oak (perfectly appropriate here!), brightening acidity, and a core of solid, rounded tannin.

2009 Freeman, Keefer Ranch (Russian River Valley, California) – Keefer also seems to rule in ’09 (Failla’s being drop-dead gorgeous), and in the hands of proprietor Ken Freeman and his winemakers (Ed Kurtzman and Eric Buffington), the aromatic notes are floral and pretty, dripping with sticky red berries, while the palate feel is compressed yet dense in concentrated red pinot fruitfulness; zapping the palate with intermittent swaths of sweet berries, in between the prickles of acidity and belt tightening tannin. Hang on, because this one seems to be in it for the long term.

2007 Hartford Family, Land’s Edge (Sonoma Coast, California) – Sourced primarily from the winery’s plantings around the hamlet of Annapolis at the north end of the extreme Sonoma Coast, where a climatic marginality is likely to yield fine boned pinots of pungent perfume and distinctly earth toned, woodsy/forest floor complexities. All these qualities hold sway in this bottling: plummy, black and red berry perfumes infused in the woodsy aromatics and enhanced by judiciously smoked oak. It’s on the palate, though, that the wine really starts to rattle and hum, and where the delineations become enlightening: the woodsy, perfumed fruit flavors seeming to expand and seep through every pore until the feel becomes full, fleshy, juicy, unbelievably rich, with nary a nick or bruise. Having tasted this vintage and bottling a couple of times before (finding it “very nice”), I was almost shocked by the evolution of these sensations – a vinous equivalent to a Nicollette Sheridan dropping-of-the-towel – which goes to show, as Chuck Berry once said, you never can tell.

2008 De Loach, OFS (Russian River Valley, California) – Almost quietly, De Loach has stepped up its pinot program to the point where it no longer takes a backseat to any in this vaunted region – thanks to the full court pressing of the Boisset family, and the notably dramatic growth of winemaker Brian Maloney. There’s transparency in both the ruby red color and the upbeat, high toned, multifaceted red fruit concentration in the nose of this wine – screaming a fragrant, effusive purity of pinotness – coming together in a viscous, dense and velvety palate feel, revved up by zesty acidity, with medium strength tannins forming a sturdy, if totally unobtrusive, core of strength.

2008 Bergström, Bergström Vineyard, Dundee Hills (Willamette Valley, Oregon) – Oregonian participation in WOPN is usually relegated to a chosen few, but those few were chosen well enough to provide shed some illuminating contrast and similarity in comparison to the far more numerous California entries. Whereas the better California pinots are still unabashedly fruit forward with lower volumes of flower related aromas, the finer Oregon pinots are more floral with quieter intensities of fruit related aromas. Generalizations, of course, but certainly true in respect to this particular bottling of Bergström: lacy, lilting, fragrant red berry perfumes tinged by earth tones that are more dirt and evergreen than decaying scrub or forest floor, and minus the drippy sweet fruit tones prevalent in, say, the better North Coast pinots. On a ponderous, medium-full palate, there are youthful indescretions: a steely acid bite and tight, strapping tannin all but concealing a show of leggy, bright, red berryish pinotness, and contributing to an overall feel of precision and promise. It is no wonder Oregon winemakers, to a person, are now strongly urging their followers to embrace the softer, more exuberant ‘09s, or else the comely, feminine ‘07s, rather than dive straight into the ‘08s, which will undoubtedly prove more satisfying in the long run (i.e. in four to eight or ten years).

Stoller winemaker, Melissa Burr

2007 Stoller, SV Estate, Dundee Hills (Willamette Valley, Oregon) – If there is any question that the ‘07s from Willamette Valley have been transitioning into sleek, sultry, intoxicating pinots – pinot noir for adults, amused more by thoughtful grace and depth rather than youthful, gum chewing sass – this cuvée seals the deal: intriguing fragrances of wild red berries, still in attractively sweet primal stages, mixed with breathy earth tones suggesting loam and fallen leaves; manifested in soft, tender, lush, slinky qualities on the palate, firmed by moderate, rounded tannin, extending the multifaceted pinot qualities long and gently through a luscious finish.

2008 Flying Goat, Dierberg Vineyard (Santa Maria Valley, California) – Hugely attractive nose of strawberry preserves, teasing the senses, and smartly framed by rich, smoky oak. On the palate, more pay dirt: generous, fleshy, juicy pinot flavors strapped upon a sleek, toned musculature. Immensely satisfying case of how the best of California’s concentrated, fruit forward styles of pinot can possess all the finesse in the world, even while tipping the scales in volume of fruitiness.

2008 Talley, Rincon Vineyard (Arroyo Grande Valley, California) – There’s a tendency towards a fat fruitiness in pinots from Arroyo Grande Valley, but there’s always been a tauter, wilder, almost sauvage quality to Talley’s growth, consistently negating that sun kissed ripeness. The nose in the ’08 in floral and perfumed – raspberry, wild blackberry, and touches of cherry cola – but underlined by scrubby earth, smoke and clove-like spices. On the palate, the scrub and wild, sweet toned berry qualities take on juicy qualities, thickened by meaty tannin and brightened by energetic acidity. As good a pinot as ever from this celebrated estate.

2008 Evening Land Vineyards, Seven Springs Vineyard La Source, Eola-Amity Hills (Willamette Valley, Oregon) – Whereas, at this writing, most of the finer ‘08s from Oregon are spiny and reticent, La Source seems have been fashioned in a less austere style, teeming with pretty, sweet red berry and cassis perfumes, with smoky spices and burnt leafy earthiness in the nose; entering the palate in soft, gentle, hushed yet sweetly concentrated tones. There is a firm sense of youthful, coiled tannin packed into the center of a svelte, satiny, Twiggyish body, and enough concentration of the earth toned fruit to make for a long, sweet finish. Very stylish, very terroiristic.

2008 Evening Land Vineyards, Occidental (Sonoma Coast, California) – The instincts of this house is to underplay pinot noir fruitiness – or at the very least, contain a typical Californian ripeness into lower keyed structures – and so it’s the tension between that self-discipline and the actual lusciousness and masculinity of the fruit profile in this wine that makes this bottling so interesting. The nose is of sweet, juicy red fruit, juxtaposed with strangely attractive, deepening earth notes suggestive of either new leather gloves or rubber boots, depending upon stores in your memory bank. Then on the palate, the Occidental really rises and shines: outwardly soft, fleshy and inviting in the entry, becoming dense and sturdy with tannin in the middle, finishing with enough muscle to give the earthen red fruit qualities a broad feel and almost swarthy complexion.

2008 Costa de Oro, Dijon Selection (Santa Maria Valley, California) – Year after year, it seems, winemaker/proprietor Gary Burk seems to craft ridiculously good, and underrated, pinot noirs from his Gold Coast estate, at the coolest, westernmost end of the Santa Maria Valley AVA. The color here is an almost blue violet-red, giving fair warning of the oodles of luscious, fresh ripened fruit aromas, redolent of sweet strawberry; flavors of the same seeming to come in wave after wave, revved up by scintillating natural acidity on an absolutely plush, velvet textured medium-full body.

2008 Chasseur, Umino (Russian River Valley, California) – Umino is another Sebastopol Hills pinot planting, located at the north end of Blucher Valley, the coolest section of this sub-region. Strawberries and cherries are wild in this pungent nose, underlain by notes of new leather and brown leafy undertones. Aggressively full, rich and concentrated qualities on the palate – not much femininity here – but the feel is fleshy, seamless, velvety, satisfying; notwithstanding firming tannin and toasty oak edges protruding through the middle and expanding the masculine profile. However you may feel about winemaker/proprietor’s Bill Hunter’s approach, an artful, impressive package.

2009 ROAR, Gary’s Vineyard (Santa Lucia Highlands, California) – Gary Franscioni co-owns this vineyard lying at the center of the hillsides falling within the Santa Lucia Highlands AVA with Gary Pisoni, and his bottlings under the ROAR label always offer a nice, finesseful contrast to those under the Pisoni label. The nose here is stunning – luscious, exuberant pinot fruit of strawberry jam mixed with wild cherries – and the bright, exciting,, high toned fruit qualities are packed into a tight, juicy, mouth-watering medium weight body, underscored by mouth-watering acidity and just moderate tannin.

2009 Lucia (Pisoni Family), Gary’s Vineyard (Santa Lucia Highlands, California) – Lucia is the Pisoni family’s sister label, producing pinots that are not quite so aggressively structured as pinots from the Pisoni estate, yet deep, dark, and saturated all the same. Violet red color and a smoky, spicy, generous mix of black and red wild berries in the nose; followed up by a lush, full, fleshy body containing a densely textured, toothsome sweet fruit profile in the middle, with enough balance and composure to remain unperturbed by bang-up smacks of fruit and oak tannins. Filling, yet delicious, stuff.

2009 Dragonette, Presidio (Santa Barbara County, California) – This vineyard falls west of the Sta. Rita Hills AVA’s delimitations, and is one of the foggiest, coldest sites in the county. The nose is deceptively subdued – sweet red berries dusted in crushed, brown forest leaves – but the earth saturated pinot fruit flavors are packed into a fleshy, medium weight body, outwardly round but tightly wound at the core, finishing long, with a lip smacking, savory sweetness. Unique; nicely done.

2009 Pfendler, Estate Grown (Sonoma Coast, California) – Nestled near Sangiacomo’s Roberts Road vineyard on the western flanks of Sonoma Mountain in the Petaluma Gap, Pfendler’s plantings have been producing moderately scaled pinots that should satisfy all the needs of the nagging “anti-alcohol” crowd we’ve been hearing more from lately, yet with the deep, saturated colors (in this wine, a blue/violet red) and expansive feel appealing to lovers of more generously endowed pinots. The nose here is bright and puristic – raining wild cherry and raspberry fruitiness – and after a lush, velvety entry, the fruit qualities loom large and seamlessly in the mouth, pushed upwards by the crisp acidity typifying more and more of the wines we are seeing from this promising, future AVA (for more details, visit the Petaluma Gap Winegrowers Alliance page).

2009 Belle Glos, Las Alturas (Santa Lucia Highlands, California) – If you’re into “gobs” of fruit and depraved, public displays of varietal flesh, this belle’s for you, you animal you. Hey, it’s also a nice wine – the pinot harlot with the heart of gold – particularly in respect to its bull’s eye display of spiced, strawberryish varietal focus enriched by sweet French oak, positively gushing through the nose and over a salacious palate. There’s enough acidity to snap the gorgeous fruit to attention, but the base intentions are still perceived through its outwardly soft, luscious, shamelessly fruit bombing profile.

2007 Sierra Madre Vineyard (Santa Maria Valley, California) – This long revered vineyard source is now found primarily under the estate’s own label, and it’s a red haired beauty: very sweet, concentrated red plum/strawberry perfume, star bright and fragrant in the nose; velvety, medium-full body with a good, taut, firming tannin center, filled to brimming with the intense, red berry pinot flavors.

Alma Rosa's Richard Sanford

This could go on and on, but I’m going to try to cut this short by listing other outstanding pinot noirs with more abbreviated descriptors. All of following, mind you, wines that I, for one, would be thrilled sip anytime, any day. From A to Z:

2008 Alma Rosa, Sta. Rita Hills (California) - Fine, friendly, luscious finesse.

2009 Bergström, Shea Vineyard (Willamette Valley, Oregon) - Plump, red berry pudding

2008 Cargassachi, Sta. Rita Hills (California) - Sea salt, red berries, sharp and silken rolls of fruit.

2008 Chamisal, Estate (Edna Valley, California) - Brilliant red cherry focus with real silk and snap.

2008 Chasseur, Blank (Russian River Valley, California) – Broad, meaty layers of lush strawberry.

2009 Copain, Wentzel (Anderson Valley, California) - Full, aggressive, peppermint and cherry intensity

2008 Costa de Oro, Reserve Oro Rojo (Santa Maria Valley) - Lavish, smoky, pepperminted strawberry density.

2008 De Loach, Green Valley (California) – Flowers, herbed tea, red berries and silk.

2009 Dragonette, Hilliard Bruce Vineyard (Sta. Rita Hills, California) – Fragrant cherry cola, bright and high toned.

2007 Etude, Heirloom (Carneros, California) – Pillowy, plush cherries, full and round.

2009 Evening Land Vineyards, Seven Springs Vineyard Summun (Eola-Amity Hills, Oregon) – Lush, silken, feminine transparency.

2008 Expression 38°, Gap’s Crown (Sonoma Coast, California) – Fleshy, leather lined red and black fruit.

2008 Expression 44°, Zena Crown Vineyard (Eola-Amity Hills, Oregon) – Bursting perfumed fruit and leather gloves.

Failla's Ehren Jordan in the extreme Sonoma Coast

2009 Failla, Hirsch Vineyard (Sonoma Coast, California) – Amazing grace, velvet, perfectly composed strawberry notes.

2008 Foley Estates, Rancho Santa Rosa (Sta. Rita Hills, California) – Fresh wild cherries, fleshy feel and zingy acidity.

2008 Freeman, Russian River Valley (California) – Sumptuous mix of black fruits, and strawberry, plump and full.

2008 Freestone, Sonoma Coast (California) – Brilliant cherry/strawberry varietal spice; zesty, medium-full body.

2008 Gary Farrell, Russian River Valley (California) – Classic smoky/toasty, lush and beefy Russian River style.

2009 Gypsy Canyon, Sta. Rita Hills (California) – Gentle, refined, soft and luscious red pinot fruitfulness.

2008 Hartford Family, Arrendell Vineyard (Russian River Valley, California) – Lusciously ripened, dried cherry/red plummy, fleshy indulgence.

2008 Hilliard Bruce, Sta. Rita Hills (California) – Affable, pure strawberryish varietal fruitiness.

David Hirsch

2007 Hirsch Vineyards, San Andreas (Sonoma Coast, California) – Beautiful red fruit, rose petal and woodsy fragrances, tight and complex.

2007 Hitching Post, Highliner (Santa Barbara, California) – From the famed Fiddlestix Vineyard; floral perfumes, meaty fruit and dense textures.

2008 Jalama, Heartbreak Joseph Blair (Santa Barbara, California) – Another ultra-cold climate planting west of Sta. Rita Hills; earthen, smoky, crushed autumn leafy red berry perfumes and sharply defined acidity.

2008 Kessler-Haak, Clone 2A (Sta. Rita Hills, California) – Dollops of strawberry jam and wild berries, brightened by zesty acidity.

2009 Kosta-Browne, Russian River Valley (California) – Full scaled, meaty, smoky, yet teeming with rich red berry fruits.

2008 Le Fenêtre, Sierra Madre Vineyard (Santa Maria Valley, California) – Red roses, cherries, strawberries and smoky peppermint spices with feminine allure.

2008 La Rochelle, Sleepy Hollow Vineyard-Block A (Santa Lucia Highlands, California) – Sweetly intense red berries and woodsy green perfumes, heady and sharp.

2008 Landmark, Kanzler (Sonoma Coast, California) – Flowery strawberry and baked cherry pie fruit and spices; full tannin and velvet upholstering.

2008 Landmark, Grand Detour (Sonoma Coast, California) – Raspberries and new leather with rich, round detailing.

2009 Larry Hyde & Sons, Carneros (California) – Black cherry jam and velvet lined, full bodied strength.

2009 MacPhail, Sonoma Coast (California) – Combines flesh, muscle, and sweet toned fruit penetrating a wall of sturdy tannin.

2009 Melville, Sta. Rita Hills (California) – Absolutely luscious, pure, strawberryish fruit with velvet texturing brightened by lively acidity.

2008 Orogeny, Green Valley of Russian River Valley (California) – Buckets of fresh red berries in zesty, buoyant, medium body.

2008 Rusack, Reserve (Sta. Rita Hills, California) – Plump, ripe strawberries in masculine, musclebound packaging.

2008 Seagrape, Hibbits Ranch (Santa Barbara, California) – Another exciting cold climate growth west of Sta. Rita Hills; super-spicy, vibrant, sweet fruit and loamy earth toned;; by Karen Steinwachs (also winemaker of Buttonwood Farm, and former Fiddlehead cellar rat).

2008 Sinor-La Vallee, Aubaine Vineyard (San Luis Obispo, California) – Pleasingly plump, fragrant, cherry cola, sweetly oaked style.

2007 Stephen Ross, Stone Corral Vineyard (Edna Valley, California) – Sprigs of mint, bright strawberries, solidly crisp and slender.

2007 The Ojai, Solomon Hills Vineyard (Santa Maria Valley, California) – Sweet red fruit perfumes with green leafy herb nuances; sumptuous fruit overriding solid tannin.

2008 Pey-Lucia, Frisquet (Santa Lucia Highlands, California) – Effusively perfumed red fruits wrapped in crisply creased silk.

2008 Pey-Marin, Trois Filles (Marin County, California) – Achingly rich, scented immersion in the gentle, flowing, feminine side of pinot.

2008 Sea Smoke, Southing (Sta. Rita Hills, California – Violet ruby, red berries and baking spices, fleshed out in medium-full, zesty sensations.

2009 Siduri, Sta. Lucia Highlands (California) – Decadently rich, round, fleshy blend of Gary’s and Rosella’s Vineyards, enriched by smoky oak.

2009 Thomas George Estates, Russian River Valley (California) – Showy, velvety, unbridled Russian River expression of pinot; red fruits steeped in smoky, minty spices.

2007 Tolosa, 1772 (Edna Valley, California) – Effusive, spiced cherry pie aromas and round breadth of ripened varietal qualities.

2008 Vergari, Sangiacomo Vineyard (Sonoma Coast, California) – Intensely spicy, earthy, smoky, silky fruit profile zapped by lively acidity typifying Petaluma Gap.

2008 Zotovich, Sta. Rita Hills (California) – Strawberry preserves on toast, with velvet textures punctuated by fruit sharpening acidity.

La Follette's Simone Sequeria (winemaker) & Nancy Bailey (GM)

Denver, I hardly knew ye (lowdown on Mile High restaurants)

2010-06-14T20:03:00.012-06:00

Here’s to all the poetry
And pickin’ down the line…

- Townes Van Zandt (To Live Is to Fly)

As I write this, after a three-year stay, I’m about to saddle up and check out of this Western town; where seldom were heard discouraging words, but rather, a chicken for every pot, and a space for every car. An American dream: that shining city on the hill, 5,280 ft. in the air. Hence, this final report: a farewell ode, in a manner of sorts, to Denver’s high altitude, low attitude restaurant scene…

It may not have looked like it on television during that ever-so-hopeful 2008 Democratic convention (except, of course, to those pitiful tea baggers, still out there gnashing their teeth under the mistaken impression that this is still “their” country), but Denver is still a “cow town.” There’s the National Western Stock Show, for instance, that takes place every January, and is still the country’s premier livestock event of the year – and a shot in the arm for the local food and beverage industry, often scratching out its winter business under a foot or two of snow, while the only big-time games in town are the not-so-steady Avalanche and the perennially frustrating Nuggets.

The upshot being, Denver is still where the beef (plus bison and lamb) is at: its metropolitan population of some 2.5 million (21st most in the country), surrounded by about 1.3 million head of cattle on some 13,100 independent ranches (64% of them still less than 50 head in size, many practicing sustainable methods). Besides crystal clear water (life tastes so good when it doesn’t all have to come from bottles) and crisp mountain air, we do have vibrant springs and the natural paint-by-number autumns, sandwiching sporadic spurts of 90+ degree summer days.

Consequently, food conscious Coloradans are gifted by plenty of locally grown vegetables, fruits and artisanal cheeses, overflowing the April-to October farmer’s markets, where you occasionally see some of the town’s savvier restaurant chefs (not a lot of ‘em, since, as in most towns, most are still addicted to Sysco suppliers) trolling about among the peons. One thing you can say about the Rocky Mountain citizenry, though: they’re a helluva lot fitter looking (everyone’s a marathoner, snowboarder, or alpine bike rider) than the joe-sixpackers and everyday soccer moms of Sarah Palin’s mythical America.

By the time the local oil industry began to, like, run out of gas in the late eighties, the Colorado economy had already begun to diversify into the commerce we see today: high-tech, software, financial, renewable energy, bioscience, aviation, aerospace, and more. Flush with cash during the past two decades, seemingly all of Denver’s twenty and early thirty-something’s (at least those not prolonging school, waiting on tables, parking cars or pumping gas) have been packing into the half-million dollar lofts in LoDo (Denver’s “Lower Downtown”); or, once reaching breeding age, steadily fanning out into the comfortable digs of the ever-expanding suburbs, north and south of the city, or west towards the actual Rockies.

Despite an extremely healthy recent-immigrant population (especially Latino or Hispanics, making up some 35% of metropolitan Denver and its five surrounding counties), the average per household income (about $52,000) has been well over the national average. Ergo: bustling restaurant, foodie and wine trades.

So where is Denver at? As someone who’s lived, and opened restaurants, in cities as far flung as Honolulu and New York, and more than a dozen more in between, I can say this with authority: the average Denver restaurant guest expects, and receives, a knowing level of sophistication out of their restaurants; yet is not so tyrannical as the tough cookies in the country’s other major, so-called “restaurant towns” (i.e. San Francisco, Chicago and New York) in respect to standards, illusionary or not. In other words, folks in Denver just enjoy their food and drink, and are open to almost anything in customarily enthusiastic, forgiving ways.

Which I think is cool, in a refreshing sort of way. You don’t have to be a great chef or restaurateur to be “great” in this town. They’ll love you if you’re just decent, providing you don’t chase them out the door with the attitudes that work only in the bigger cities. In Denver, customers give their restaurateurs latitude, as long as they don’t abuse it.

The star chef restaurants

There is, to begin with, a solid core of Denver’s own “celebrity” chef driven restaurants, beginning with those of Kevin Taylor: five in all, including a traditionally solemn, white tableclothed Restaurant Kevin Taylor, the studied interpretation of Italian cuisine at Prima Ristorante, and the casual-chic Palettes; the latter serving up an airy atmosphere and a New Mexican/L.A.-ish menu in a spacious, picture-window wrapped room attached to the city’s Libeskind designed Denver Art Museum. Is Taylor’s food fresh and contemporary? Si. Does it rock your world and make you want to write home to Aunt Gladys in New Jersey or Uncle Max in Chicago? M-m-maybe, maybe not… but to the average Denverite, Chef Kevin is proudly theirs, and that’s that.

In similar, almost painfully artful style, chef/entrepreneur Frank Bonanno has carved out his own culinary Gallia est omnis divisa in partēs trēs: starting with the haute American Mizuna (encompassing the entire home on the range, from Hudson Valley duck with dirty rice to miso-scallop potstickers and Maine lobster mac ‘n cheese); the somewhat/somehow-Italian Osteria Marco (house made mozzarella, meatball sliders, and lamb loaded down with goat cheese and tapenade); and most recently, a countertop-centered homage to Chinese (i.e. wontons and suckling pig buns) and Japanese (“lobster ramen” and “prosciutto soba”) cuisines called Bones. As with the brazen leadership of Taylor, if you feel like you’ve gone through this type of culinary peregrinations before (the age-old question: why buy interpretations of Asian, Italian or American foods when the real things are just around the corner, for a lot less?), then you’re just not from Denver. The locals love it, and more power to them!

Then there is chef/owner Jennifer Jasinski, who dishes out simpler yet eminently satisfying fare at Rioja (hard to argue with the clarity of her pecorino ravioli with fava beans, or her Colorado lamb burger with spicy aioli and arugula). Across the street from Rioja in Larimer Square (Downtown Denver’s restaurant row, where the strings of Christmas lights are never stored away), Jasinski’s brasserie-like Bistro Vendôme serves up the requisite oysters and poulet rôti aux herbes with faithful aplomb, but the service there can be appalling – the closest thing to Big City airs in Denver. Too bad.

Insofar as local celebrity chefdom, though, I have to give the most props to Troy Guard, who owns the recently opened TAG, sitting between Rioja and Osteria Marco under the bright lights of Larimer Square. Admittedly, I’m prejudiced – Guard’s first decade behind the stoves were spent alongside my former partner in Hawai`i, East-West doyen Roy Yamaguchi, followed by stints for Chef Y. in Hong Kong, Tokyo and New York – but Troy has come a long ways since then. At TAG, Guard now fuses Asian-Pacific, classical, Latino as well Colorado inspired techniques and ingredients; often all on one plate, to the point where it’s much less a “fusion” than an earnestly personal style. The crowd, predictably, is a yes-we-can convention of youthful, local beauty and bewildered looking business-account expenders. Service can be a little ragged (you wish the managers and servers spent more time with you than the sexy kids sitting two tables away), but that’s okay – after all, it’s always Christmas in Larimer Square.

Rioja (in Larimer Square)

French or Italian, if you must…

TAG is an It eatery, but personally, I make no bones about ultimately preferring the smaller, mammy-made looking restaurants smacking of a little more individuality – as imperfect as that might be in Mile High City – than well capitalized thematics. If you feel like French, for instance, I would step up and suggest the postage stamp sized Z Cuisine, owned by French born, seasonal/organic/regional-source obsessed chef Patrick Dupays. While Dupays’ dishes are hit-or-miss (often a little more heavy handed than what you want in a bistrot), at least Z feels authentique; right down to the bad art, dust in the corner, frightfully serendiptous (and occasionally soused) staff, the raggedy but chichi clientele (from Denver’s hip, but lower rent, Highlands neighborhood, just west if I-5 from LoDo), and wines as cheap in quality as they are in price (at least you get what you pay for).

Speaking of which: I don’t care what they say, but there’s always room in this world, or at least in every major city, for old fashioned “bad” French dining. So when I’m in the mood for stubby glasses of sour, off-beat vin ordinaire, and heaping, reasonably priced plates of charcuterie, confit and cheese, I confess a weakness for Le Central on Lincoln – loopy service, funky setting and all. But I ask: what’s not to like?

The same goes even moreso for Il Posto, in the neighborhood of Northeast Denver on E. 17th Ave., just two blocks off E. Colfax: a cozy, 50 seat, open kitchen dining room where the dishes by Milanese born chef/owner Andrea Frizzi remain pretty faithful to the Italian tradition of focusing on ingredients rather than technique. In these days of chefs who cannot help but impose an overweening “personality” over a culinary discipline, a restaurant that somehow keeps dishes down to no more than four or five ingredients (like Il Posto’s grilled buffalo flank with Sicilian sea salt, mizuna, shaved Piave and caramelized jus) is a triumph in itself. Frizzi’s stature, even in this medium-sized city, may never be as large as a Bonnano or Guard; but to devotees of authentic Italian cooking, his looms extremely large.

Best of the independents

But don’t get me wrong: small, independent restaurants in Denver are not necessarily quirky. In fact, I think you can eat off the floor of LoDo’s sleek, bright, professional, urban-chic Sushi Sasa, where chef/owner Wayne Conwell draws throngs of sophisticated aficionados of sushi: in Conwell’s hands, precision cut and pretty much perfectly balanced, focused without being rigid, creative without losing focus. Trust me on this: I’ve experienced great sushi from Honolulu to L.A., and from San Francisco to New York during my thirty-plus years in the restaurant business, and Conwell has the touch. If you get there when he is fooling around with ankimo (monkfish liver), by the way, jump on it – and thank me later.

Two other personal favorites among the smaller independents, both known for their equally individualist, reasonably priced, globally sourced wine lists: first, chef Teri Rippeto’s perennially seasonal and organic Potager on Ogden, in the midst of the old Victorian neighborhood of Capitol Hill; and second, Table 6, tucked in the homey hood of Capitol Hill on Corona, doing equally fresh, unadorned yet delicious cooking (plus, Table 6 manager Aaron Foreman has easily the most seasoned hand in his wine selection, among all of Denver’s aspiring sommeliers).

Then there is the almost soberingly pure distillations of flavor (in the best Northern California style, with Mediterranean rusticity) that you find at duo; this Highlands neighborhood restaurant driven primarily by the intelligence of chef/partner John Broening. Pretty much same team at duo has also recently opened Olivéa on 17th Ave. (Capitol Hill), where Broening indulges his passion for off-meats like pork belly and pig’s feet, or in sausages and boudin blancs; while his pastry chef/wife, Yasmin Lozada-Hissom, wows the faithful with goodies like pistachio semifreddo, or the occasional apple crostada with caramelized bacon ice cream.

Turningjapanese…

So let’s go back to talkin’ Japanese, which you actually find in reliable plentitude in Denver. First, I’m a big fan of the Japanese country-comfort cooking at Domo, located in a garden setting on Osage; incredulously, just off the ear splitting I-5 freeway. Domo’s stews and custards are indeed comforting; and the only thing about the restaurant that doesn’t remind me of my eight years growing up as a child in Tokyo is Domo’s invariably rude, uncaring service (I remember the Japanese as being unceasingly polite, even to gaijin). But if you just pretend you’re somewhere else, like Juarez or Rome, I think you’ll do okay.

But if for the comfort of the traditional Japanese sushi counter and square cups of saké, hot or cold, there’s either Sushi Den in the Southeast Denver burbs along Pearl St.; or the cozy, less hip (slightly fewer bottled blondes, tatoos and pierced body parts) but consistently fresh, efficient Sonada’s in LoDo, where everyone seems to know everyone’s name but mine

Where everybody knows your name

Yet, speaking of which: there is a bustling, exceptional oyster bar (nothing but the freshest bivalves)/seafood restaurant in LoDo where, I swear, the bartenders always remember my name, even after being away two or three years: Jax Fish House, an outpost of the original Jax in Boulder, where Top Chef dude Hosea Rosenberg has been doing his thing (the longtime chef at the LoDo Jax, Sheila Lucera, is plenty talented in her own right). Going back over the freeway into Highlands, there is a sister restaurant to Jax called Lola, specializing in coastal Mexican seviches and fresh fish tacos (not exactly Puerto Vallarta, but close enough), and where both the high and low brows gather on a deck to enjoy the biggest selection (I think, if about 150 qualifies) of tequila north of the border.

As long as you’re hanging around the hip confines of Highlands, you might also want to drop in on the unpretentious, low-key venue, on 32nd off Lowell; where, for lunch or dinner, you can satisfy occasional cravings of Kurobuta pork belly, shrimp ‘n grits, or a more innovative (and totally delicious) mussels with chorizo. If time is of the essence, but the mid-day appetite demands remittance, the place to go in Highlands is Masterpiece Delicatessen; making waves of late with its wild tuna and truffled egg salad sandwiches (your choice of chips!).

Brews and barbecue

But wait, there’s more… waiting for hungry, thirsty souls in Denver’s Highlands. Some say, for instance, that the pit roasted barbecued brisket, pulled pork, and bison baby backs at Big Hoss Bar-B-Q & Steakhouse is the best in Denver, and who am I to blow against the wind? Having lived in Memphis and Low Country Georgia, and also traveled through the Carolinas, I can say that Big Hoss stacks up.

Hungry for just a snack and, like me, harboring a secret passion for authentic, piping hot chicharrón? Then a stop at Burrito Giant for their incomparably fresh, perfectly seasoned pork rinds – not too soft or oily, yet a far cry from dry or chewy – is an absolute must. Finally, if you wish to study the natives: the most frenetic and hardcore of the Highlands crowd is to be found at Three Dogs Tavern – can’t guarantee the pub fare, or endorse the artwork (dogs, of course), but there’s a lot to be said for $2.25 domestic brews.

Denver, as you might imagine, is also a decent microbrew town. The Wynkoop Brewing Company, for one, has been going full steam in LoDo since 1988; their variety of small-batch beers full and fresh, their steaks and game meats suitably steaky and gamey, and their burgers properly big and messy. But lately, I’ve been even more enthralled by Oskar Blues Brewery's Oskar Blues Tasty Weasel Tap Room, a little less than thirty minutes drive from LoDo in the outlying town of Longmont (close to Boulder). The food at Oskar Blues doesn’t stray far beyond all-you-can-eat peanuts, and a menu of ribs, pork sands and sweet potato fries; but its main thing is life-changing craft brews, on tap or packed in low-carbon-footprint cans.

My favorite Oskar Blues brews from the can: the reliably good, stiff Dale’s Pale Ale; the outlandishly black, malty-silky-sweet Scottish style Old Chub ale (8% alc.); the butt-kicking double-IPA Gordon red ale (8.7% alc.); the titanic sized Ten FIDY Imperial ale (10.5%); and the dark, humongous, Munich style, rye laced Gubna Imperial IPA (10%). Then there are the half-dozen or so crafts always offered on tap; including a heaping, hopping Deviant IPA (8%), and a honking big Old Double Bagger Barleywine (13.2%). As you might surmise, it takes a few trips to try these generously sized offerings, lest you risk the sight of flashing blue lights in your rear view mirror on the way home. But bring your designated driver – it’s more than worth the trip, for both in- and out-of-towners alike.

The inevitable wine bar

Honestly, I’m the last person you should ask about wine bars precisely because I’ve been making my living buying, selling, writing about, speaking, and even making wine the past three decades. Wine bars bore me, mostly because I’d rather be out in the middle of a vineyard or enjoying my wine with good food (not the typical wine bar “snacks”). Plus, especially since I generally find American wine bars: 1) grossly overpriced (always ridiculous to down two glasses of wine and a miniscule appetizer, and be presented with a $30 bill – you get more in most restaurants!); and 2) dissatisfying in execution (I’ll never understand a “wine bar” carrying the same cheap stuff you see on every supermarket shelf, apart from the usual overpriced offerings).

But inevitably, someone calls for a confab in a wine bar; and if it must be in Denver, I’ll suggest the Caveau Wine Bar, Uptown on 17th Ave., which has been known to offer glasses of an interesting Montsant, a zesty Zinfandel, a soulful Rioja, or bright Dolcetto d’Alba (i.e. real drinking wines), usually falling within the $13-or-under parameters of their half-off 5-7 PM Happy Hours – which is why the place usually empties out later in the night. No matter, because there’s a perfectly gratifying Hamburger Mary’s (gays and breeders alike dig HB's "cala-mary" and dollar drafts) a short block away.

¿Por qué no?

Seeing that more than a third of Denver’s population is Hispanic or Latino, we happily eat that way, too. Going through the familiar litany of dishes: to me, God gave us offal, and burritos are properly made with all the offal in the world; and El Taco de Mexico in the Art District on Santa Fe delivers exactly that, especially when smothered in their fresh, vivid green chile sauce. For taqueria aficionados, Tacos y Salsas #3 on the “other side” of the freeway along Federal is worth the fight through traffic for. Tamales lovers (i.e. me) absolutely swoon over those of La Casita – the best $2 meal in the state – and for piping hot, pillowy, honeyed sopapillas, we turn to one of the three locations of Little Anita’s, where this treat comes gratis when you order any of heir New Mexico style specialites in mouth searing salsas. Then, for indubitably killer carnitas smothered in green or neon red chile, you have to drive to Efrain’s, thirty minutes north of LoDo in the quaint, little town of Lafayette.

But if you prefer your Mexican in the company of (forgive me) well-heeled, designer clad honkies, Denver has its share of such. Being of brown complexion, I’m not so comfortable in those settings; but I can enthusiastically recommend the cooking at Tambien in Cherry Creek: justifiably known for its papusas (variations of cheese and chile stuffed masa) and, perhaps more interesting, its series of “Tequila Dinners” – during which I once enjoyed a raviolis de huitlacoche (the latter ingredient – pungently earthy, truffley corn smut) that was so good, I wish I had an old, aromatic bottle of red Burgundy (a grand cru Corton or La Tache would have been nice) rather than the countrified Del Mezcal del Maguey that was making me see double. Finally, if your poison is indeed something like mezcal: for that gots-to-have-it Saturday or Sunday morning menudo, the short drive to Los Arcos, in Lone Tree just south of metro-Denver, is worth the trouble; especially if you fancy menudo like me – much more tripe (and less hominy), not too brothy, not too spicy, but touching all the senses with piquant, soul rescusitating sensations.

Cora Faye's Priscilla Smith

Fusion, schmusions…

Then there are fusions; which when done right, are possibly the funnest foods in the world. I’m originally from Hawai’i, and thank goodness for the Hawai`i originated L& L in the workingman’s hood of Aurora where I can sate my periodic craving for manapua (Chinese pork dumpling), kalua (smoky Hawaiian pulled pork) and laulau (steamed kalua and butterfish wrapped in taro and ti leaves). For more elaborate, yet casually inclined, experiences of East-West/Hawaiian style fish, noodles and sushi, there’s Kona Grill in the Cherry Creek Shopping Center. Across the way, on the posh streets of Cherry Creek, is Hapa, which specializes in fun, wacky sushi and decent poke (raw Hawaiian style tuna). If you still fancy the Latin/Asian fusions that were the rage at the turn of the present century, the tuna tataki, lobster potstickers and seviches at Zengo might still ring your bell. Finally, if some say South American cuisine is in itself a New World fusion, Café Brazil, west of the freeway at 44th and Lowell, is just off-beat and unique enough to be fun, casual, and zesty.

What’s the opposite of fusion? Schmusion? How about just plain American food, like Southern style soul food, for which I’ve developed a addiction after spending time doing jobs in Memphis and the coast of Georgia? Collard greens steeped with pork bones, combustible-hot fried chicken, White Lily® flour biscuits, fried pickles, stewed okra, heart-attack-salted country hams, peach cobbler, layered red velvet cake, smothered-this and smothered-that… oh, it’s baa-a-ad thing. So where in Denver can you go to fill that emptiness within? I prescribe the quaint living-room-like setting of Cora Faye’s Café in historic (if somewhat dilapidated) Park Hill, right on the tumultous Colorado Blvd. The menu at Cora Faye’s may be limited, and service as slow as blackstrap molasses, but the essentials are just about all there; including their own signature “red” waffles (not a breakfast food, but something to mop up chicken juices). Amen, bro.

Then there are Middle Eastern restaurants, which (like everywhere else in the country) tend to combine different strands (Lebanese, Syrian, Israeli, Turkish, etc.) of that part of the world; but to the apt exclusion of the rest of the globe. After a good friend of Lebanese descent brought me to Shish Kabob Grill on Grant at E. Colfax, looking right at the Colorado State Capitol, I made the attempt to try a few more of Denver’s Middle Eastern eateries. Truth is, I’m not a huge fan of humus, falafel, fava beans, etc., although I do enjoy a good tabouleh and homemade baklava, and I go absolutely bonkers for anything with saffroned rice. But what has repeatedly drawn me back to Shish Kabob Grill is its seriously sensuous, Syrian style braised lamb shanks; served with saffoned rice (of course), and with braising liquids that absolutely intoxicate the senses with spices: from what I can tell – cumin, cinnamon, tumeric, coriander, and maybe a little paprika or sumac (the latter, a bitter/sour/sweet “secret” spice that kicks down the doors of your palate like an umami elephant). My idea of heaven, to hell with the 72 virgins! In fact, when I finally find myself far from the heady life at 5280 ft. up, I’m sure what I’ll miss most is the braised lamb shanks at Shish Kabob Grill, along with the chicharrón at Burrito Giant. Sigh…

Asian

Like that of many towns, Denver’s Southeast Asian population supplies us with the grocery stores essential for our home cooking; and Denver’s pho restaurants, fortuitously, take the backseat to no other’s (including that of my former home in Orange County, CA, where the country’s largest single population of Vietnamese resides). Having tried most of what Denver has to offer (something of a feat, since there are at least 99 of them), I can say that the most consistently sustaining of them is Pho 79 (four locations covering the north, south, west, and far-west sides of town); although the combinations of jellified fish and gelatinous meats at Ha Noi Pho on Federal are probably untouchable.

In respect to Korean barbecue, Denver may not be L.A. or Honolulu, but connoisseurs of kalbi (marinated shortribs), godenguh gui (crispy broiled mackeral), bibimbap (rice, eggs and bulgogi, i.e. thin sliced beef) and bancan (a bewildering array of complimentary side dishes, including kimchi and spiced tofu) can find everything they need at Soe Jong Kwan (for civilians, called House of Korean BBQ) in Aurora for either lunch (incredible deals) or dinner.

It took me a while, but I finally got the hang of uncovering decent dim sum in Denver (not a lot of Chinese in Colorado). That said, the harrowing, pot-holed drive down W. Alameda in Southwest Denver (easily, the ugliest side of town) to the typically Chinese (i.e. cheesy) named Super Star Asian Cuisine may be less than eventful. But once you enter through the doors, Super Star is a dim sum lover’s paradise: all the squiggly, gooey, crunchy, hot, sour, spicy, sweet and mysterious variations of dumplings and odd animal parts we love, carted over to your table by all-business-like, yet surprisingly hospitable, servers (some of Denver’s hoity-toity restaurateurs might take lessons here). Better yet, for lunch, $9 to $12’s worth of Super Star’s dim sum adds up to more than what most of us can eat. Don’t tell all your friends, if you don’t want to spoil the secret.

Morning afters

Denverites, of course, are cow-towners at heart, and so the Big Breakfast is important to them. For bleary eyed techies, though, breakfast spots open at 3 PM or 3 AM are also absolute musts, and they always know where to gravitate: either the classic, sixties-ish Denver Diner on W. Colfax, or the venerable Pete's Kitchen (continuously packed since 1942). Both are open 24/7 and fit the bill, like beautiful launderettes, whether you are trashed or not; but if you want “gourmet,” or dark, organic, or fair-trade coffee, you better move on, son.

Whatever your social pretensions, the urban-cool Snooze, down the street from Coors Field in LoDo, does serve gourmet coffee, and turns breakfast into a little bit of culinary expereince. I’m a guy, so I don’t go gaga so much over their battery of fruit and cream filled pancakes (so I can’t tell you about them); but I almost always end up with Snooze’s Niman Ranch pulled pork benedict (extra hollandaise on the side), which is something to text home about. Barring that, I find the crabcake benedict at Toast, in the old town of Littleton off Santa Fe Dr., equally satisfying; and recently, a second location of Toast opened on Columbine in Cherry Creek, mercifully supplanting a Village Inn.

Then there are the occasional special needs: Dutch Baby pancakes are as good as they sound – fluffy as a cloud, filling as a cannonball – and for that (or a mile-high Spanish omelette), you need to repair down south to Original Pancake House, among the tech centers of Greenwood Village. More dubiously speaking: for either chile rellenos with eggs or huevos rancheros (Denver being such a goddamned Western town), the Mexi-grill style Sam’s No. 3, Downtown in the Theatre District, has been dishing them out by the gloopy ton since, like, the roaring twenties; and finally, if you’re a glutton for punishing crowds and interminable waits, Lucile’s Creole Café serves twisted renditions of Louisiana classics like eggs Sardou (where’s the artichoke bottom?), crawfish etoufée (I think), (strangely Lilliputian) beignets, and weak excuses for Creole coffee that the breakfast-starved folks in Denver seem to love nonetheless, and bless them all the same!

Cowboy coda

Let’s cut this off with this one, final word: steakhouse. If anything, ever since the gold diggers and railroad men ran off the native American population back in the mid-1800s, Denver has been the place for heap big red meat. When I was first escorted around the town just over ten years ago, one of my first duties was to visit The Buckhorn Exchange – Denver’s oldest continuous restaurant (since 1893) – where among the specialites, you can savor buffalo prime rib and Rocky Mountain oysters (i.e. bull’s testicles, mi amigo). If your taste is more mainstream, however, Elway’s (owned by the hometown hero) has been doing such a bang-up job in its first location in Cherry Creek, that they recently opened up a second store Downtown in the Ritz-Carlton where, I presume, there are plenty who can afford it. Otherwise, all the national brands (Fleming’s, Ruths’ Chris, Del Frisco’s, The Capital Grille, et al.) are here, and doing quite well, thank you. Yet, my personal favorite: Sullivan’s, as much for its handy-dandy LoDo location (a block from Coors Field) as its scaled-down steakhouse bar menu, its good old fashioned tuna tartare (my “perfect” bar food), and the “Prime Rib Sundays” (always a weakness).

Ay-dios, Colorado!

The New York Times on American syrah: truth or bull?

2010-06-07T07:22:00.009-06:00

When The New York Times comes out with a piece like the one asking, Is There Still Hope for Syrah?, and gauntlets are thrown around, naturally people will talk. So now, I'm going to speak my piece...

First of all, I don't buy the line about syrah-comes-in-so-many-styles-consumers-are-confused. Pure baloney. Cabernet sauvignons, chardonnays, pinot noirs, merlots, etc. come in just as many or more styles, and consumers don't seem to have a problem with that. Too-much-variety used to be the knock on zinfandel, and zinfandel is more popular than ever!

Second, it doesn't help to have stories printed like that piece in the Times that insinuate that there's something "wrong" with, say, California syrahs (let's not forget, Washington and Oregon makes fabulous syrahs, too). The statement by Comiskey, for instance, saying that syrahs at "higher ripeness" levels "lose their character" and become "generic" is an over-simplification. It's climate, soil, topography, etc. that makes for great syrahs, whether or not they are picked at higher levels of ripeness.

What surprises me is that Comiskey was just with our sommelier group in Santa Barbara this past April, tasting a number of killer syrahs from Santa Ynez Valley's Ballard Canyon area with totally intense varietal character and terroir definition, and plenty of balance and acidity to boot -- yet all of them picked at extreme levels of ripeness. So what were those syrahs: duck soup?

All those great Sine Qua Non syrahs everyone raves about? None of them have been "low" or even "moderate" in ripeness and alcohol. All of the consensus "finest" syrahs of the past ten years, made by the likes of Amavi and Long Shadows in Washington, Tyrus Evan and Quady North in Oregon, Jaffurs and Stolpman in Santa Barbara, Neyers and JC on California's North Coast? Virtually every one of these wines fall somewhere between 14% and 15% alcohol or higher.

As pointed out in that very same Times piece, "cool climate" more than anything leads to well defined, world class syrah. Cooler climates in California, however, still produce ultra-ripe syrahs, ending up a good 1% to 2% higher in alcohol than what you find in Northern Rhone grown syrahs. So what? If the wine is balanced, totally delicious, true to the grape and its origin, then it's a great syrah, period.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the work Comiskey is doing promoting Rhone style wines (he's writing a book). But misleading inferences, like California-syrah-is-too-ripe-or-full, quoted in widely read papers only serve to turn off potential syrah consumers (heck, many wine professionals) who don't know better, and believe everything they read.

Exactly why should I care? I would hate to see consumers changing their mind about buying a perfectly beautiful Neyers or Jaffurs syrah because their labels read 14.5% -- just because of something erroneous they read in the Times. The consumer loses, and so does the producer. I don't get it, and I just don't dig it.

California syrah, it's true, doesn't have a Sideways going for it like pinot noir. Pinot noir is also extremely food versatile, and soft and easy on the palate (btw, the average alcohol level of top rated ultra-premium pinot noir these days now tops 14% -- and they taste great!). These are all plusses for consumers. But you also have to remember: it took several decades for West Coast pinot noirs to establish themselves in the hearts, minds and palates of consumers. The big syrah push in West Coast vineyards didn't take place until the mid-1990s, and their increased presence in the market after 2001 has been hampered by two recessions, not to mention the sudden popularity of pinot noir.

Ergo, my take: all of us (producers, sommeliers, distributors, retailers, etc.) need to be patient with syrah. Nothing comes overnight; but judging from the outstanding quality of the wines we are seeing, it's all a matter of time.

Finally, it is always a huge mistake to underestimate the food versatility of syrah. Like both pinot noir and zinfandel, the best syrahs (even the biggest) are intensely perfumed and fruit-forward by the very nature of the grape. These make for wines that handle meats in intense sauces and spices -- peppercorns, chile peppers, mustards, barbecue sauces, dry rubs, herbs, Port reductions, you name it... -- with delicious ease. For a detailed treatment of syrah's food affinites, re my piece in Culinary Wine & Food Matching.

Syrah is far more food versatile than cabernet sauvignon and merlot; and in many instances (handling fattier meats in strong spices or sauces), it is more versatile than pinot noir.

Sommeliers and restaurateurs: if you're a true believer, you can do your part by highlighting a good syrah or two (or three) on your glass lists, and having your staff match them up with any one of the many dishes they go with.. To a large extent, pinot noir is already been-there-done-that. Here's a chance to blow your guests away with something sicker.

Then maybe, next year or hopefully soon after, we won't be sitting around saying things like, "is there hope for syrah?"

Throw the wine geeks out! (or, summer is for pink wines)

2010-05-30T19:00:00.000-06:00

Real Men Drink Rosé is the the title of the latest post on Kermit Lynch Wine Merchant's Inspiring Thirst blog. Yes, indeed they do; especially the dry, minerally charged rosés (the opposite of tutti-fruity) imported by this iconic Berkeley importer.

Even us ragtag, everyday-is-a-bad-hair day winos can think pink without our bumhood being challenged. Blue skies and beating suns this time each year always make me think of a long departed, newspaper cartoonist friend of mine named Harry Lyons, who could always be counted on for an encouraging word; and not just during the countless hours we shared at a certain dark bar we frequented some years ago in Hawai`i.

Harry penned a series of articles called The Vagabond Gourmet for the same restaurant industry publication (long defunct) I wrote for; and my all-time favorite was one he called "Wine Bums" – about the scourge of the “Gallic dandies” who once dominated the sommelier profession in the sixties and seventies:

Not very long ago, a guy whose only felony was craving red wines with his fish course was made to feel like a buffoon and pariah. Wine stewards would turn in their keys before they’d serve the dreaded, bastard rosé wine. And to bring you wine “on the rocks?” It is to laugh. In short, diners whose tastes in wines and service requirements differed from the dreary norm were considered on the same social level as the bleary, bearded hobo with feet wrapped in newspaper and cigar stub on a toothpick, cooking his beans in a can over a fire while swilling Muscatel from a jug in a pager bag… bums!

And yes, the late, great Harry Lyons that I knew in the eighties brazenly drank all his wine on the rocks (Burgundy, Chablis or Vin Rosé, he never discriminated), which even I wouldn’t dare in those days. Despite his calling himself a “wine bum,” we both knew that in reality he was more of a connoisseur than so-called connoisseurs. Like a true connoisseur, he consumed his wine with knowing relish, rather than with self-conscious superficiality.

I like to think we’ve evolved far beyond those dark, old days of “fine dining” and “continental cuisine,” when sommeliers (like me) wore velvet bows, cummerbunds, chains and ashtrays over their frilly tuxedo shirts, and when much of what was called service entailed “teaching” customers the proper ways to enjoy food or wine (or as Harry often put it, “the hoary old matches that originated in Europe”), but oft-times I wonder... especially in this day and age of 100 point scores, and the obsessive prattle of wine geeks and collectors, unknowingly (or so it seems to me) fueled by lifestyle magazines and journalists determined to pigeonhole wine into neat, little quality categorizations suitable for Consumer Reports. Shut up and drink your wine!

Where have all the wine bums gone?

Harry Lyons was ahead of his time, but he probably wouldn’t have given a hoot about all this anyway. He'd just order up another round for all, asking for another side of rocks for his jug wine rosé!

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE ROSÉS (AND PINK WINE FOODS)

Summery pink wines taste great by themselves, and are even better with food – from hobo style weenies on toothpicks, to endless Babette-like feasts among babbling foodies. The following are my favorites, which I suggest with one caveat: never, never buy a bottle that is over two years old. For pink wines, dry or sweet, it’s always the-fresher-the-better…

SoloRosa (California) – Now here’s an idea whose time has come: a North Coast brand specializing in exactly one wine – a bone dry rosé. And no, it’s not a “Rhône Ranger” or anything gimmicky like that, but rather a serious winery, sourcing sangiovese, merlot and occasionally some syrah from the Russian River and Napa Valleys that are grown for the express purpose of producing the finest, juiciest pink wine possible. The good news is that it’s been a winner – avoiding the rough, burnt out, annoyingly overripe taste of many North Coast rosés of the past. Instead, SoloRosa is consistently rich and refined, neither light-weight nor heavy, with creamy, barrel fermented textures underlying usually an intense mélange of raspberry, cranberry and strawberry fruitiness, with just enough citrus-like crispness to keep things honest.

One of the easiest things in the world for good dry pink is salmon – cast iron or charcoal grill charred, simply brushed with butter, or lavished in ponzu marinades or even sweetened soy glazes. But despite its dryness, SoloRosa’s fruit qualities are luscious enough to balance almost any chili spiced meat, red or white, as well tearfully hot dishes like Jamaican jerks, Cajun blackened or chili specked Thai shrimp, or pork coated in Szechuan spices. This is one wine that can be put to work; which, of course, is what SoloRosa has been about since its noble inception.

Bokisch, Lodi Rosada (California) - Produced from garnacha (a.k.a. grenache), which tends to express more of a strawberry fruitiness; and Bokisch's is as fresh as they come. In the best Southern French and Spanish tradition, this a completely dry style of rosé, exuding a bell ringing varietal fruitiness with cranberry/pomegranate-like zip, its body full yet fluid on the palate. Naturally Hispanophile grower/vintners Markus and Liz Bokisch would suggest Spanish style tapas, although the wine is great sitting on patio table by its lonesome. I've enjoyed the Bokisch with marinated shrimp and fresh chopped chile spiced guacamole in one of those restaurants where they mix the avocado in an oversized stone mortar at the table for you. Given my Hawaiian island inclinations, I also think this would be dynamite with simple fried little fish (like anchovy and sardines) and rice seasoned with everything from Japanese furikake (chopped seaweed and sesame seed seasonings) to pickled ginger, umé (sweet-sour plum), soy, and sesame seeds.

Rosé di Regaleali (Sicily) - The world owes Italian wine importer Leonardo LoCascio a debt of gratitude for discovering this perennial winner and bringing it to America. Made from indigenous Sicilian grapes, this is always a completely dry rosy colored wine, and its juicy, fleshy, mouth-watering flavors allow it to cross all kinds of food barriers. Red barbecued chicken is a no-brainer; so is meatloaf in an herby, mushroomy or tomato-laced gravy, or anything pink like salmon or half-rare tuna

Robert Sinskey, Carneros Vin Gris of Pinot Noir (Napa Valley, California - Although very little of this precious fluid is made each year, I was pleased to discover (during a meeting with Rob Sinskey last year) that this full fledged Biodynamic© winery is determined to keep this wine in its portfolio. Especially since this is this is as refined as a pink wine gets, yet always more exuberant than the occasional sightings of Marsannay rosés (also made from pinot noir) coming out of Burgundy each year. Speaking of which, whenever you find a recent vintage of French rosé from Marsannay, Chinon (made from cabernet franc) or Cassis (primarily from grenache), praise the lord and buy the bottle; and I would spend more time talking about such delicacies if their supply in the U.S. were more consistent. Typically, the Sinskey vin gris is very pale in color, bone dry, lithe, delicate, and bursting with fragrant, red fruit with rose hip tea-like suggestions: not something you have to think twice about with summer pastas in fresh herbed marinara or cold shrimp with sweet-spicy cocktail sauces; and although it's not exactly everyday (unless you live in Plan du Castellet like Mr. Lynch), some duck confit, cornichons and olive oil drizzled rockette would be nice.

Charles Melton, Barossa Valley Rosé of Virginia (Australia) - My first taste of this seriously bone dry and full structured pink wine was in one of L.A. star chef Joachim Splichal’s restaurants – matched with foie gras with rhubarb and strawberries! With fireworks, drums, and entire symphonies going off in my head, the wine’s luscious, cherry-bright fruitiness made this powerful dish even richer and more decadent. How many rosés can do that? Every year Charles Melton’s grenache based Rosé of Virginia is as rich and full as a pink wine gets. Therefore I suspect that it could do just as well with grilled fish with chutney, squab with figs, duck with plum sauce, or any other dish that combines meats and natural fruits.

The iconic Kermit Lynch (Berkeley, 2009)

Château de Trinquevedel, Tavel Rosé (Rhône Valley, France) - Imported by Kermit Lynch, this is the richest French rosé I know; firmly dry, yet effusively fruity, giving deep, full, lip smacking flavors just hinting at wet stones and green leafy herbs. Wines like this easily handle grilled chicken, roast turkey, squab, pigeon, and any game bird, especially with generous sides of squash and root vegetables.

Domaine Tempier, Bandol Rosé (Provence, France) - Also associated with Kermit Lynch, and produced by the Peyraud family, who has inspired legions of American gastronomes like Richard Olney and Alice Waters. Yet this is pink wine, not the stuff of royalty. What you will always find in Domaine Tempier’s rosé is something remarkably fresh, flowing, bone dry yet forwardly fruity – the essence of miniature sweet strawberries rolling across the tongue – finishing with a soft, stony smoothness. If you think ”Provence” when you pop a Tempier – ravioli and ragout, salt cod (or brandade) and anchovy, pesto and aioli, ratatouille and bouillabaisse, chicken with 40 cloves of garlic, etc. – you really can’t go wrong. In a pinch, Château de Pibarnon also makes an excellent Bandol Rosé – even dryer and firmer than the Domaine Tempier’s, but no less soulful.

Our Dinner with Thomas Jefferson (1823)

2010-05-24T12:12:00.075-06:00

Thomas Jefferson's botanic and culinary contributions to the American heritage, and his interest in wine and viticulture, are all well known. Often forgotten, however, is the significance of these devotions to his prescient political and socioeconomic convictions; thoroughly entwined with the same inspirations we read in the Declaration of Independence. Hence, this tale, told with post-millennial hindsight:

The letter arrived, twenty years earlier in 1823, as the winter frosts beneath the tulip maple and white pines surrounding our Georgia mountain homestead began to thaw. It read:

Dear fellow vignerons,
We share a mutual interest in the fruits of the vine…

The letter went on to explain its provenance:

Recently I have been enjoying bottles of your Mother Vineyard Muscadine, as generous gifts from Nicholas Ware, the distinguished Congressman from Georgia. I wish to learn more about how you produce a wine of grace and honesty. Indeed, the Mother Vineyard seems to shout, “I am a proud American.”

At the end it was signed:

I am with great esteem, your most obedt, humble servt,
Thomas Jefferson

… the very same Thomas Jefferson: third President of our United States, former Secretary of State, author of our Declaration of Independence, architect, archeologist, gastronome, Renaissance man, and we are proud to say, flattering fellow farmer and family friend.With the letter came an invitation to dinner and lodging, to which we immediately responded with enthusiasm, as we had long put off a visit to close family members residing in nearby North Carolina. In any case, a request from one of the greatest of our Founding Fathers made the journey an immediate necessity!

So we shall never forget that mid-day in July of 1823, when our horse and carriage passed over the bridge at the foot of Monticello, the “little mountain” serving as Mr. Jefferson’s five thousand acre plantation. We cannot promise that our recounting of conversations, two decades after the fact, is word-for-word, but please bear the circumstances in mind: since they remain the highlight of our lives, what came to pass has been permanently imprinted by both countless retellings, and the ever growing fondness of those memories.

At an hour arrange previously through correspondence, we were met at the bridge by a middle-aged gentleman of lean stature, kind eyes and a strong, narrowing chin: Captain Edmund Bacon, the longtime overseer of Monticello. Alighting from his chestnut sorrel, Captain Bacon bowed and introduced himself and his horse, Peacemaker, saying, “Welcome to Monticello, the very heart and mind of Mr. Thomas Jefferson!”

Engaging him in kind, we boldly inquired as to the meaning of his cryptic greeting. Captain Bacon’s reply, expressed with some bemusement: “You will find it to be no mystery, but on the contrary, something plain to see everywhere you shall go – that Monticello is not simply a mountain upon which my famous master as resided following long service to his country.

“Monticello is a living, breathing extension of Mr. Jefferson’s passions, hence his heart, and the science and rationality with which he has always undertaken to answer the endless questions springing from his mind – which I assure you, is keener than ever, despite his advanced age of eighty years, and his consuming taste for spirits of the vine, which he has told me is the purpose of your visit. So then, are you representatives of the wine trade?”

Not exactly, we explained, for we are ourselves plantation owners; coming from the foothills of Georgia’s Blue Ridge Mountains, not far from Fort Peachtree along Chattahoochee River, where businessmen grown fat on the revenue from railroads have recently taken to calling Atlanta. In our own home we endeavor to ply multiple industries; notably fruit and nut orchards, timbering, and a modest bit of horse husbandry.

“We actually make wine for pleasure," we told Captain Bacon, "although we are not opposed to sharing the wealth with neighbors and friends of influence... but insofar as the hard labors inherent in the stewardship of a mountain plantation, we are eager to see how much more, besides wine and grapes, we have in common with Monticello.”

“Oh, I believe you will find quite a bit!” Captain Bacon jovially replied. With that, he led us slowly up a winding road for approximately a country mile, steadily climbing about another 300 feet in elevation as we neared the top. Passing through patches of native woodland between industriously farmed wheat, oats, rye, rooted vegetables, and mixtures of row crops on the lower slopes, we were surprised to see corn in just a few small patches; and no tobacco, a commodity still synonymous with Virginian and Caroline plantation life.

Responding to our observation, our guide explained: “Quite some time ago Mr. Jefferson banished the leaf, which he calls a ‘slovenly business’ despite the profit possible in its addictive properties, after becoming disenchanted with the harmful effects the growing of it has on the land. The same for corn, which like tobacco, requires year-round attention to the detriment of other food crops Mr. Jefferson deems essential, as well as on the raising of livestock we consider of equal importance.

“Subsequently, Mr. Jefferson insists on year-round rotation of crops; an action that enriches the earth, bids defiance to droughts and insects, yields in abundance and of the best quality. Ultimately, this wholesome balance nourishes a populace of even stronger constitution. The farms that you see here, and eastward across the Rivanna River another four miles where the property ends, are divided into forty acre parcels, each managed by families or individuals belonging to our enslaved population.

“While slaves they may be, we purchase the crops and livestock that they raise on their own, and the rest they may sell to neighbors or in nearby markets, for fair prices contributing to personal income. In return, they are happy to follow Mr. Jefferson’s directives concerning the farming of Monticello.”

Searching our eyes to glean a hint of discomfort, after being apprised of this most unusual relationship between master and slave, Captain Bacon added: “I may as well give warning, before you meet the great man himself: no servants ever had a kinder master than Mr. Jefferson. Whether or not you may agree, he does not like slavery – I have heard him talk a great deal about this during all the time I have known him, which is well nigh twenty years. He believes the institution of slavery to be a bad system, and he has prophesied that it will soon bring our country into a ruinous divide.”

Before fully contemplating the gravity of Captain Bacon’s insight, we found ourselves distracted by our approach to the top of the mountain, catching our first sight of the majestic dome crowning the Monticello home, followed by the dramatic emergence of a spectacularly tall (at least 18 feet), glass doorway – as if signifying the transparency of the man and his property – between four white columns. To either side of the pathway leading to the door were two young little-leaf lindens, already stretching their lanky, darkly creased limbs to the sky, the sunlight sparkling on the green leaves, quivering in the quickening breeze.

But before passing between the lindens, Captain Bacon turned our carriage onto a graveled pathway veering to the right, through a tunnel of several dozen mulberry trees. “Mr. Jefferson calls this Mulberry Row for obvious reasons,” according to our guide, “but in order to prepare you further for your meeting with Mr. Jefferson, I wish to lead you past the house’s north pavilion which disguises a row of stables, a carriage and ice house beneath, and is connected to the schoolhouse you see at the end.

“This allée shall take us into Mr. Jefferson’s ‘Grove’ – his vision of how natural landscaping should appear. Apart from native woods, there are well over one hundred other species of trees, collected from the world over, planted on the plantation. The Grove consists primarily of Mr. Jefferson’s ‘pet’ trees, all native of America, and this is where he frequently goes to meditate, read or write.”

As our guide pointed out the wild crab, chinaberry, umbrella magnolia, aspen, red cedar ("this tree, to encourage the population of Mr. Jefferson’s favorite bird, the mockingbird,” according to Captain Bacon), and other species we can no longer recall, we could not help but be enthralled by such an arboretum, which most layman would mistake for completely wild except for the high trimming of branches and glades cleared of enough undergrowth to create an airy atmosphere, and occasional stumps left to enhance the impression of “living” rooms.

Turning back towards the house, the roundabout took us past a handsome stand of sugar maples (“unfortunately,” according to Captain Bacon, “our winters have proven too mild for their saps to rise”) before reaching the pavilion on the south side of the house, where the path entered another tunnel of mulberries where we beheld a row of stone and log structures, all serving to sustain the life and independence of this mountain community.

In contrast with the busy sounds of birdlife and smell of greenery and honeysuckle carried on winds whistling through the trees on the north side of Mulberry Row, the din and smells of the south side were dominated by the activities of enslaved as well as free laborers, emanating from over a dozen buildings; including a carpenter’s shop and sawpit, a joinery for the estate’s skilled masons, a blacksmith’s and nailery (“our one industry of outside commerce,” according to Captain Bacon), a storehouse, smokehouse and dairy, several log dwellings for both enslaved and free workers, and finally a larger stone house under a slanted roof identified as the weavers’ cottage.

Once past the cottage, Captain Bacon directed our attention to a level terrace of row crops, woven into its own marvelous cloth of multiple colors and textures, stretching a thousand feet along the mountaintop’s southern flank. The colorful runner was broken by numerous teepees of climbing peas and edible flowers, tall grey mounds of sharp leafed thistles we soon learned were called artichokes, and a red bricked pavilion capped with white Chinese railings, standing like a castle turret at the very center of the supporting rock wall: a breath taking sight against the vivid blues and greens of the landscape leading to Virginia’s Blue Ridge, skirting the horizon. “This,” our guide announced, “is Mr. Jefferson’s vegetable garden, although he often refers to it more descriptively as his kitchen garden, and sometimes even as his outdoor laboratory.

“But you may find the plantings just below the garden walls even more interesting,” said Captain Bacon, pointing to seventeen beautifully espaliered row of grape vines, sitting on seventeen terraces on the south facing slope. Before we could speak, Captain Bacon raised a hand to interrupt, saying, “I shall not utter a word on this matter – not so much because I know you are also seasoned grape growers, but because I know Mr. Jefferson would prefer that the subject of viticulture be addressed at his pleasure alone. This, after all, is why you are here!”

After graciously allowing us few minutes to stroll down to take a closer look at the garden – one row of staked bushes particularly caught our eyes, for they bore unidentifiable but plump, exotic looking red and yellow fruits – and then closer to the wall looking down upon Mr. Jefferson’s vineyard, Captain Bacon pulled out his timepiece, and tapping a finger to the glass, he said, “we have passed two o’clock, which means that in less than an hour you are to be called to dine with Mr. Jefferson.”

Led through the glass doors, we felt as dwarfed by this perfectly symmetrical, Roman inspired mansion as we already were by the beauty of the mountain itself. Immediately upon entering the high ceilinged front hall of Monticello – bedecked with artifacts of native Indian tribes of the west, maps of lands far (as Africa) and near (a historical map naming only eighteen states), skins of strange animals and enormous jaw bones of beasts that no longer walk the earth – we were approached by a perfectly attired Negro man of less than average height, but whose head of receding grey hair was held high by an almost impossibly erect posture: Mr. Burwell Colbert, Mr. Jefferson’s personal butler, and director of Monticello’s enslaved household staff.

Greeting us with a bow and modest smile, Mr. Colbert escorted us through a doorway to our left, where Martha Jefferson Randolph awaited us in her sitting room “office.” Mrs. Randolph, we had previously learned from Captain Bacon, was also the former First Lady during Mr. Jefferson’s two terms of presidency, since her own mother (Martha Jefferson) had passed away years before. At Monticello Mrs. Randolph retained the same position as head of the Jefferson household; while living at that time on the upper floors of Monticello (Mr. Jefferson’s chambers were alongside his study and library on the first floor) with the youngest of her eight children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren.

"Welcome," she said, seizing our attention with perceptive eyes, clearly enunciated words underscored by a strongly defined jaw. “I am afraid that you have arrived without a moment to spare, since my father is a notoriously punctual man who expects the same of all of us, no matter what the circumstance. Of course, I hold Captain Bacon responsible, but if you will follow me...” Leading us across the hall past one doorway and to the next, she turned, smiled and said, “it is our pleasure to offer you the Madison Room – this room named as such because July is one of those few, cruel months when former President and Mrs. James Madison are not occupying it themselves. I am sure they will not mind your borrowing it during the week’s end.”

We gasped as we peered into the gaily wallpapered room, brilliantly lit with natural light, even to the farthest edge of its double sized bed, ensconced within an alcove built into one of the room’s multiple walls. “To save you the trouble of counting the sides,” Mrs. Randolph said laughingly, “this is an octagonal shaped room – a design of my father’s that has successfully achieved his desired end… we say there are no dark corners in the Madison Room. While Mr. Colbert sees to your travel trunks, I beg you to freshen yourselves with the water and towels provided, and I shall return to collect you in five minutes time.”

A few minutes later, standing in the even more brilliantly sun-lit Parlor, looking westward through glass doors and over-sized windows at a rounded expanse of grass bordered by English style flowerbeds, the momentous occasion arrived when we finally met Monticello’s maker. Entering from his adjoining private chambers, and walking briskly across the room’s handsomely polished parquet floor – as timber growers, we could not help noting its flawlessly joined beech and cherry – Mr. Jefferson enthusiastically hailed us by name.

His handshake was strong without being oppressive, and his hazel-flecked grey eyes set with deepening lines, probing our own. His forehead, as formidably high in person as it is in portraiture, was paler above the brows, telling of considerable time spent under the sun protected by a brimmed hat; a circumference of permanently protruding grey hair extending just below the ears reinforcing that fact. We were also struck by not so much his famous height – towering over six feet and two inches – as by his perfectly proportioned, lean figure, and the regal angularity of his profile, belying the kindness in his voice.

We were flattered to hear him say, “I have been so looking forward to your visit, as it is a rare occasion when I am able to fully indulge in my interests in wine.” Turning his head, he said, “Ah, well done, Mr. Colbert, perfect timing as usual,” speaking to his butler standing with a silver tray bearing four cone shaped, finely etched glasses filled with a straw tinted wine, glimmering in the natural light reflecting off the room's high (20 feet, by our estimation), eggshell white walls. Handing a glass first to Mrs. Randolph and then to us, Mr. Jefferson smiled and proposed, “Let us toast to our shared devotion to the grape with this wine called Champagne.”

We had heard of this wine from France, but were surprised that these glasses were not brimming with bubbles, and so we asked about this. “What you are speaking of is mousseaux – the sparkling style of wine now being produced in Champagne,” said Mr. Jefferson. “This is Champagne nature,” pronouncing the second word as nah-tewr, “which I take to be the purest expression of the region. I am not so fond of the sparkling styles, despite their fashionable status outside of France, because for me the bubbles distract from the natural taste of Champagne grapes, and the limestone crusted vineyards in which they are grown. And besides, sparkling Champagne is never brought to a good table in France. It is the quieter, most subtle, long-lived non-mousseaux that is most esteemed by every real connoisseur.”

Our senses aroused by this marvelous, tongue prickling wine, we inquired about the reputation of the Jefferson presidency for Champagne diplomacy. “The opening of a Champagne bottle, sometimes with the flick of a saber, has always been my favorite way to cultivate friends and mark special occasions,” said the former president. “Oh, how many wigs were tilted when I first introduced this tart, truth bearing serum from France to the stuffy state dinners in Washington.

“But it has caught on well, I daresay; for since then my dear friends James Madison and James Monroe have faithfully stocked the President’s House on Pennsylvania Avenue with at least five hundred new bottles each year. You see, they have both been wise enough to retain me as their wine consultant,” he added, with mischief in his eyes. “In France, wine consultants are called sommeliers. At the age of eighty, which I reached this past April, I might very well be the oldest sommelier in recorded history.”

We marveled, not so much because of the privilege of being hosted by this towering yet self effacing figure of a man, but more by his seemingly boundless store of energy and enthusiasm, putting most of us less than half his age to shame. But Mr. Jefferson quickly changed the subject, raising his glass to say, “To new friends and old friends… to our distinguished visitors from Georgia, to Monsieur Dorsay, the producer of this exquisite Champagne, and to Monsieur Louis his trusted homme d’affaires.” We shall never forget that unusual toast, citing individuals we were never to meet, yet whose acquaintance were nonetheless met through the sharing of this penetrating wine. Was it the wine’s spirit putting forth these suggestions, or Mr. Jefferson’s eloquence? Indubitably, it was both.

“I have further good news,” the President announced. “Besides conversation pertaining to one of our shared interest, the cultivation of grape vines, we can look forward to a dinner prepared by Honoré Julien, the Presidential Chef de Cuisine during my eight years in residence on Pennsylvania Avenue. The Chef arrived only last week on a busman’s holiday, for I have asked him to share cooking recipes for some new varieties of vegetables with Mrs. Fossett, who has been in charge of our kitchen at Monticello since my retirement in 1809.

“Chef Julien has also spent quite a bit of time in our garden, experimenting with produce still unfamiliar to him, if you can imagine that. You know, we still grow over two hundred and fifty types of vegetables, and at least thirty classifications of fruit, at any given time here on the plantation. I admit that much of this is for academic reasons; but tonight, it will most definitely be gastronomic!”

While Mr. Colbert replenished our glasses, Mr. Jefferson proposed, “now, do you enjoy a hunt for treasures?” Responding with pleasure, we were led down a stairwell to view both parts of the Monticello Cellar – one for storing bottles of wine and beer, the other mostly for casks (and the fermenting) of beer and cider – where we were encouraged to explore and help make a selection for our dinner. Needless to say, with our expertise relegated to the produce of our own state, we were not prepared to choose without the guidance of the nation’s first wine connoisseur, and his advice was graciously provided.

“The number of treasures kept here,” he stated while guiding us through the cool, candlelit bottle cellar, “has whittled down considerably in recent years. I may no longer be quite as afflicted with a disease of acquisition, yet I still hold wine as a necessary of life.” He laughed at his next anecdote, recounting how John Adams – his old friend, sometime rival (and our country’s second president) – had occasionally implored him “to stop all wine shipments except for the Bordeaux, for mercy’s sake, or you shall be ruined!” Mr. Jefferson added, “I can no sooner cease inquisitions into new and adventurous wines that I can of seedlings of ornamental flowers, useful vegetables or more practical fruits.”

As we stood before a row of oddly shaped bottles lying to one side, Mr. Jefferson continued his narrative with a wave of his hand: “My fellow vignerons, I bring you to bottles of Catawba, from the Ohio Valley as well as the great state of New York; next to them, bottles of Scuppernong from North Carolina, which I believe is similar to your Georgia grown Mother Vineyard Muscadine that I have enjoyed so much. These may not be the finest wines in the world, but they are ours, borne of American soil. My palate is a democracy, for I admit to having little patience with those whose tastes are enslaved by a tyranny of sameness.

“I can usher you through time and the most distant space without leaving this room,” he explained. “Like here, in this corner, where I keep sweet wines made from Muscat grape, raisined under the sun; wines still being made today in the same fashion appreciated centuries before by the ancient philosophers. Imagine the legions of Roman foot soldiers, roaming the earth as conquerors, but finding themselves conquered and absorbed in turn by each new culture; and you can understand why it is easy to develop a taste for wines such as these in my cellar.

“I also confess that my tastes have recently evolved well beyond that of great crus of France, or famous growths of Germany, for reasons of economy; yet never before have I been more satisfied,” he said, while pointing to bottles of Vin de Perpignan, Bellet, and Muscat de Rivesaltes from Southern France, Albaflor from the island of Mallorca, a Muscat from the Grecian island of Samos, Pacaret from Spain, Carcavellos from Portugal, and Lachrima Christi, Tokai, and Eleatico from Italy.

Leading us to another corner, Mr. Jefferson wiped the dust from an even more primitively shaped bottle. “See this wine? It is called Nibiule, seldom seen outside its native Piemonte in Italy. This wine is as brisk as the Champagne in our glasses now, yet has an astringency recalling the famous red wines of Bordeaux. Yet when I open a bottle, I also think of the deep golden brown colors of the city of Turin, the muscular currents in the river Po, and even the nightingales that sang outside my window when first I sipped this wine. That is what a wine such as Nibiule will do to even the most unimaginative of men. These are my memories, of course. As for yourselves, you may very well find in it the silkiness and sting reminiscent of sweetly aged Madeira, which as fellow Southerners I am sure you well know.

“Speaking of which, my years spent in France explains the predominance of French wines in this cellar, for France is as much the cradle of great wine as it is of many of our ideals of government, notions of philosophy, and of course, fashion and cuisine. We learn much from France; although we still have much to learn from our own vast continent, which is why the first order of business when I entered the highest office was to commission the successful, historical expedition led by fellow Virginians Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. I am so proud of the knowledge they brought back. But please do not mention this to Monsieur Julien tonight – he might still be under the impression that we are trying to build a France here in America, when it is the opposite that is true.

“If anything has come from my long, unrequited affair with France, it is the conviction that wine is not something drunk for inebriation, nor to just wash down food. Wine is a food in itself. A la bonne cuisine, if you will, as wine sustains both mind and body; and even at its simplest, the soul as well. I have no scientific proof, but I am convinced that someday wine will be found to be the reason why people in France live longer lives than people in the rest of the world. It is because good wine is, or rather should be, very much a part of every healthy diet. As essential to our nourishment as the bread we bake, the cheese we monger, our game and fish, lettuce and peas, and the livestock and poultry we endeavor to raise to our satisfaction.

“But my point must be qualified: when I speak of wine, I speak of good wine. The mark of a civilized nation is production of quality, not mediocrity; and lest you think otherwise, price has nothing to do with quality. I believe quality to the measure of the grape and land that can be tasted in a wine, and how much of himself that a winemaker puts into it. As it is, life is too short to drink mediocre wine; and someday the efforts of America’s vignerons, such as yourselves, may inspire even the French. It may take another two hundred years, but the teacher may very well become the pupil!

“But until then… ah, now we are here. These are my few remaining bottles of 1784 Margau; next to it, 1779 and 1784 Hautbrion,” which he pronounced as oh-bree-on. “For Hautbrion there is a special, almost private place in my heart; and these are two of the finest vintages of the last century. Nature’s God smiled upon the Bordelaise in 1779 and 1784. Hautbrion is a Bordeaux château located in a township called Graves, taking its name from deep beds of gravelly soil in those vineyards – perfect for the black, thick skinned grapes cultivated there.

At that point, we heard a bell sounding faintly in the distance. “Let us cease our mental travels and repair with due haste back upstairs; for it is now three o’clock, and it wouldn’t do for the master of the house to be late to his own ceremony. But today we shall dine differently. In collaboration with my daughter Martha, and granddaughter Mary, Chef Julien has contrived a menu in which wines will be served with each course, à la française. Therefore, although our entire family at Monticello usually partakes of the main meal in the Dining Room, they shall be dining separately from our party today, which will include just you, Martha and myself.

“Your choice of wine for our final course is difficult, is it not? So may I prevail upon you by suggesting this bottle of 1787 Laffitte for our dinner?” We lifted the heavy, dusty, manfully shouldered bottle in his hands, bearing our host’s personal mark in whitewash, Th. J. Upon our agreement, Mr. Jefferson winked and said, "Your taste is better than you know."

Passing once more through the Parlor, with its multitude of portraits of great men (we recognized George Washington, Benjamin Franklin and Isaac Newton) hanging as high as eighteen feet up on the walls, we entered the lower ceilinged Dining Room where Mr. Colbert awaited us, standing against a strikingly deep yellow colored wall. Mrs. Randolph also greeted us with a smile, standing behind her chair at the table. Taking our seats following her signal, we remembered being told of Mr. Jefferson’s penchant for inventions; and so we started the dinner conversation by inquiring of his famous “wine dumbwaiters.”

“If you look very closely to each side of the fireplace,” he pointed with two open hands, “you might notice the doors to two boxes, although they are well concealed. I designed these elevating shelves to bring wine directly up from the Cellar, eliminating unnecessary interruption should we find the inevitable need for replenishment. Martha and Mr. Colbert are more familiar with the Monticello wine inventory than I am; and so as my guests, you will be provided access to a wines of your liking by simply communicating with either one of them.”

“Is Monticello always so generous with its guests?” we asked, knowing that Mr. Jefferson's stream of visitors was famously unrelenting. “One thing I know about gentleman farmers from Georgia,” Mr. Jefferson laughingly said, “is that moderation is part of their nature. Forgive me for saying this, but no one shall ever be the league of my good friend, the Marquis de Lafayette. After his last visit, our stock of drinking red wines was so depleted, I needed to send out an emergency call to my agents for immediate replenishment!”

At that moment Mr. Colbert began serving the first course, appearing almost magically on shelves built into a revolving wall: a classic oxtail consommé à la française, in bowls of stark white French porcelain set upon intricately painted Chinese show plates. We were pleased to see the golden colored wine that the white gloved Mr. Colbert had prepared for service with the soup, properly chilled and decanted into cut crystal after being piped from the thirty gallon cask we had our own man deliver the week prior to our arrival to Monticello. Coming all the way from Georgia: our family’s specialty Muscadine wine, vinified from the indigenous American grape also known as Scuppernong. We had never tasted our own wine in such a grand manner, which seemed to elevate its quality.

We watched Mr. Jefferson first raise the wine to his nose, and then sip with practiced curiosity. “It is sweet and strong, like syrup from a tree entwined with honeysuckle, and very much alive,” he observed, “and also perfectly suited to Chef Honoré’s beef, onion and mirepoix laden soup, which he tends to cook down to a natural sweetness of its own. In Washington I always used to say that if anyone can take ten gallons of perfectly good, meaty stew and turn it into a tiny puddle of intense, clear broth, it is the President’s Chef. Not a model of economy, but I cannot complain about the excellence of his taste buds, and I believe he would also say the same thing about your wine.

“So what can you tell me of your wine’s lineage?” Mr. Jefferson inquired. Repeating the description of our plantation life shared earlier in the day with Captain Bacon, we added these salient facts: how our grandparents were among the families arriving from North Carolina to the foothills of Northeast Georgia, once the domain of native Cherokee tribes had begun to abate; and how they had brought along with them heirloom cuttings from the legendary “Mother Vine,” growing on Roanoke Island off the Carolina coast.

“The Mother Vine is now said to be at least two hundred years old,” we told Mr. Jefferson, “and its two feet wide trunk and canes, which climb through surrounding shrubs and the tops of cedars for nearly a half a square acre, are most certainly proof of that. Sir Walter Raleigh is said to have found this very same plant growing during his first expedition of Roanoke in 1584.”

With that, Mr. Jefferson took a second, more generous draught, and said, “Oh, this is a wild domestic wine to be for sure, but not without its own breeding – something I thought even before knowing its compelling history. But please, do tell, how do you keep your wine from exuding the rough, bitter, coarse taste that I have found in most other wines made from our native American grapes?”

“Our own instinct for flavors of moderation,” was our explanation; and at greater length than what we have recorded here, we spoke of how experience with making wine from these vines led us to practice severe winter pruning of canes, all the way down to the vine’s stump, and the cropping of clusters in the summer just after the berries turn from a hard green to a greenish-gold. “We learned long ago that when vines are allowed to grow unchecked hither and yon, the result is loose, excessive, uneven sized bunches of uneven quality; and Muscadine is one vine that loves to climb where it pleases, no matter what we may try to do with it. “

In our winemaking practices, we went on to explain, we also practice moderation. Whereas most wines made from Muscadine, or Scuppernong, are fermented with the grape’s infamously thick skin and large, bitter seeds, before adding our sugar warmed in water, we prefer to separate the juice from the solids once they have tread upon them. “Our customs do not reflect any genius,” we admitted, “but rather a history of more error than success, and commonsense of the sort that might do Benjamin Franklin proud.”

"Then to you, to your sensible decision to learn from rather than repeating an error, and to the generous Mother of Vines, I salute!” exclaimed Mr. Jefferson, tapping his glass to ours. Turning to his butler, he asked, “Mr. Colbert, please send Monsieur Honoré out to the dining room to meet our guests, if he isn’t overly inconvenienced, and prepare for him a glass of this beautifully untamed Muscadine wine. I shall also like to ask what he plans to do with those early ripening tomatas plucked from kitchen garden.”

“Tomatas?” we could not help but ask, not ashamed to admit our ignorance of such a fruit. “I am not surprised that you do not know of the tomato,” said Mr. Jefferson, “for it is an herbaceous, not entirely attractive plant first discovered in South America, but unaccountably grown strictly for ornamental purposes here in the states as well as in Europe, even though it has been over a century since its introduction to the Northern Hemisphere. When Captain Bacon brought you out to our garden earlier today, you had probably seen our tomato bushes, tied to stakes and putting forth silky skinned fruits of numerous shapes and colors.

“It was in Washington when I first began the slow process of convincing my own cook, Mrs. Fossett, that its fruit does not come from the poisoned tree, as so commonly believed; and in fact, the tomato is perfectly delicious – as miraculously sweet as your wine, but tasting more of a vegetable despite its resemblance to a monstrously large berry.

“I am proud to say that we have made much progress. Last summer we enjoyed a generous crop of a reddish, amusingly flat and irregular variety called the Spanish tomato, which we used to take liberties with a recipe for gaspacho, the traditional cold soup of Andalusia in Spain. Our version calls for finely minced tomato, which we flavor with lemon, garlic, chopped cucumber and chile pepper. It was so good, I would not be surprised if a hundred years from now no recipe for gaspacho will be without the tomato.

“We have distant cousin named Mary Randolph, now living in Washington, who while growing up was tutored by my father, Peter Jefferson. Mary, as it were, is also Martha’s sister-in-law, and she is writing a cookery book (The Virginia House-wife, 1824) as we speak, which we understand will contain numerous recipes for the tomato. Martha, would you care to tell our friends about one of the recipes Mary has shared with you – the one she is calling catsup?”

Mrs. Randolph’s response: “Of course, Mr. Jefferson… catsup is a purée of the tomato, to which we add vinegar, cane sugar and crushed allspice. The condiment has an Oriental accent, but is quite good spooned over grilled meats and, even better yet, the type of thinly sliced, crunchy potato frite Chef Julien often prepared for us at the President’s House.”

“The combining of an Asian sauce and French style potatoes,” Mr. Jefferson pondered. “Can you imagine something like this ever becoming a staple in the United States? We have seen stranger things…”

Then a fair, white haired but hale, rather melancholy looking man in a starched, spotless white smock, and reddish burn of sun on his cheeks, approached the table; and Mr. Jefferson heartily introduced us to “Honoré Julien, who long ago consented to leave the comforts of his home in France in order to cook for kings, Congressmen, generals, diplomats, several presidents past and present, and evidently, scoundrels from all walks of life.”

To which the Chef replied, while accepting his glass of Muscadine from Mr. Colbert and bowing, “Monsieur Président, Madame Randolph, madame et monsieur Géorgie, bon après-midi… the pleasure is mine.” Turning to Mr. Jefferson, “If you are curious about the tomatas, sir, they were used to quite good effect in the consommé you are enjoying as we speak. If you will now excuse me, there is a second course to finish.” And with an expressive arch of his greyish-white brow and another deeply respectful bow, he took his leave. “Thank you, my friend!” Mr. Jefferson called, as the Chef hurriedly departed.

“Such is the respect I retain from someone who has been feeding my curiosity in the arts culinaire for over twenty two years,” mused Mr. Jefferson, almost to himself. “Each morning during our years in Washington, the Presidential Butler – my dear, departed Etienne Lemaire, who was himself an accomplished chef – would take a cart with Chef Julien through the markets of Georgetown. I, myself, had accompanied them on a few occasions, observing how they poked and prodded their way in search of the freshest produce; including, sometimes, the underestimated tomato. Being Frenchmen, Etienne and Honoré would have it no other way; but Georgetown is not Paris, so I suspect it was not always a satisfactory expedition for them, and I often wondered if their diligent efforts were fully appreciated by our guests in the President’s House.

“Yet it is here in the Virginia countryside that I believe we are achieving the culinary ideal -- a gastronomic amour de soi, or abiding self-respect, to borrow from Rousseau’s phraseology – for here at Monticello, our sustenance is not characterized by farm-to-market, but rather by farm-to-table: a sufficiency of self that I fear is quickly becoming a casualty of our own making, in our quest for capitalized rather than productive society. Although without a doubt, most of my political colleagues today would argue that production of capital itself, rather than foodstuffs, is the key to a healthy economy. I have been accused, especially by our Federalist friends, of thinking backwards on this. They call me agrarian, a hopeless libertarian, even obstructionist. I do not fear the labels, but I fear the path our country has taken.

“These are the concerns I have taken here to Monticello in my retirement years. I worry for the true independence of Americans just as I worry for acceptance of the tomato and other unsung fruits, such as cranberry and whortleberry, as well as for vanishing timber like white pine, copper beech and hemlock – trees I fear are being taken for granted as they are cleared from the land, often for little reason apart from the fact that they are there for the taking. But I will say this: if anyone can show the world how to respect the lowly tomato, Monsieur Julian can!”

Warming to the occasion, we raised our own glasses to Mr. Jefferson, saying: “If anyone can show the world how to respect wine as a food – something that belongs on every table alongside the tomato – it is you, sir, and we propose a toast of our own. The ideas you illuminate on a daily basis are like once in a lifetime epiphanies for the rest of us. No deed seems to pass as insignificant for you; and by recognizing merit in what we do each day, you draw attention to a profundity the world would otherwise never know. So we say bravo to you, and here is to the greatness of the small deeds, the ugly tomato, the humblest of wines, and to the best of friends!”

We did not believe for one second that the Sage of Monticello needed a farming couple from the Georgia hills to clarify his mission in life. But the agreement of sentiments helped raise our table to a higher plane, and the rest of our meal progressed in this fashion: touching upon minutest matters of our shared interests – primarily farming, wines and viticulture – as if they were of no less importance than issues of government and diplomacy. And indeed, they were to us.

Although Mr. Jefferson is quite the connoisseur of all foods, he spoke of how many of his dinners at Monticello of late have consisted primarily of vegetables, and fewer and fewer meats, as he has made a conscientious effort to translate his horticultural obsessions into culinary practicalities. “Vegetables constitute my principal diet,” said Mr. Jefferson, “and I believe Honoré’s next two dishes may very well convince you to do the same.”

True to his prediction, we were enthralled by the subsequent course of startling simplicity: plump, round, short grains of rice cooked in chicken stock, butter, aromatic thyme and pungent, cone shaped mushrooms; over which Mr. Colbert poured a green colored olive oil, good enough to drink by itself. The accompanying wine: Blanquette de Limoux –- a softly dry, slightly sparkling (a quality Mr. Jefferson defined as pétillant), humus and sweet apple scented white wine, with such an affinity for this rice dish, we were briefly tempted to pour this over the dish as well.

“Our recent spate of rain and humid days has been good for wildflowers, and my trusty servants tell me that morel mushrooms are sprouting generously in Monticello’s native woods,” Mr. Jefferson volunteered, “but it is the rice in this dish – a variety known as aborio in Northern Italy, where I found it – that makes the more telling tale, for it may very well become a carriage for positive social change in our country.”

“In what way?” we asked. Sipping his Limoux, Mr. Jefferson continued his narrative: “I began to bring in varieties of short grained rice from Europe quite some time ago because they are better suited to growing in dry upland environments; and also because Europeans consider these types of rice to be of superior quality, while spurning what is produced in our own country. My other hope was that someday we might reduce our dependence on the long grain varieties of rice suitable to malaria-ridden swamplands, typifying the lowlands of the Carolinas. There, you find an industry that has only remained solvent through the unrelenting expansion of slave labor, and unconscionable treatment suffered by slaves to sustain this culture.” “Something,” we were almost ashamed to add, “that also plays a major economic role in the low country of Georgia.”

“Alas,” said Mr. Jefferson, “I have been unsuccessful in encouraging this industry, especially in light of the fact that importation of foreign cultivars is still banned by our government; and in fact, is punishable by death – one of the more despicable examples of misuse of government. Yes, I secretly carried the seeds of aborio in my pocket at great personal risk; yet here we sit, thoroughly enjoying this decidedly delicious rice!”

After clearing the shallow dishes that held this dangerous rice, Mr. Colbert immediately filled the empty spaces with our next dish: a bedding of an unusually long, bitter (like peppercorn and walnuts), frilly edged green lettuce, along with little halves of sweet and tart, bright yellow berries and two colors of nasturtium blossoms, all drenched in a very dark, wine-like vinegar sweetened by onions and chopped tarragon. The piquant clash of flavors both shocked and pleased us.

“My friends from Georgia,” said Mr. Jefferson with a degree of drama, “allow me to be the first to acquaint you with the raw taste of the tomato. This yellow variety was once erroneously called ‘love apple.’ Does it not excite the mind and the palate, especially when wrapped with the leaves of rockette on your plate? In Southern Italy, rockette is called rucola, although I have also heard it called rugula – the Italians have a way of never agreeing with themselves. Whatever you wish to call them, these wild lettuces, so plentiful, accommodating in any soil, and so nourishing, do just as well under the Virginian sun, as I am sure they would in any state of the union.”

Mr. Jefferson’s butler suddenly appeared in the room with a tall, graceful, brown colored bottle. “Here, here, Mr. Colbert, please bring along the petite sized glasses for our next wine, a German hock, made from a highly prized, fragrant grape I have heard tell called Weisser. This is from the vineyard of the castle Johannisberg along the Rhine, where I am told the Weisser vines are usually the first in the region to bud, just as the blinding snow is melting from its riverside slopes.”

As Mr. Colbert tumbled the gleaming, green-golden wine into our glasses, Mr. Jefferson continued, “Ah, thank you for personally bringing this bottle from the ice house, my dear man. Aristocratic hock such as this always needs a good chill. My friends, please let its sweet and sharp taste wash down the sweet, sharp and bitter flavors of your salad. Now do you see why I say wine is a food?"

At this point, we began to wonder if we should be brazen enough to ask for pen, fountain and paper so that each new, fascinating taste and idea could be recorded. We did not do so, of course, but instead chatted in leisurely fashion deep into the night (the following day, Mrs. Randolph, as it were, was kind enough to furnish us with the names of the dishes and wines, written out by her daughter). There were, in fact, several interims of complete silence, as was Mr. Jefferson’s wont, while we savored our courses; which only reinforced our memories, allowing us time to give pause for thought. At that point we had sat at the table for over an hour, and it would be another two before we left it; for surely, the length of time helped our minds avoid the deleterious effects of the numerous bottles. Good wine and company is indeed civilizing.

The hock was followed by the first of three wines from the Burgundy region of France, which Mr. Jefferson was apt to refer to as Bourgogne, pronouncing it as boar-goyn. First, a clear, pale golden colored, cool and dry tasting Meursault; served just before the arrival of dumplings made with fresh spinach and cheese, resting upon a shallow pool of clear hen broth. “In Meursault only white wines are made,” Mr. Jefferson related, “as there is too much stone in the soil for proper growing of red wine grapes. On such slight circumstances depends the condition of man.” And for a good minute or more we observed a silence, absorbing the wine’s subtle taste of stones and citrus, accompanied only by echoing taps of our spoons along the flat bottom of the bowls.

At this stage of our dinner we seized the opportunity to ask of Mr. Jefferson’s own ventures into grape growing. “The heart has a mind of its own,” he began. “I believe that sooner or later every serious lover of wine seeks to plant his own grapes, and even make his own wine. My first venture as a vigneron began with a selection of Vitis vinifera, the European family of grapes, planted in Paris at my home on the Champs-Élysées during my service as Minister to France, some thirty-five years ago. Paris was unsuitably cold, of course, for the full ripening of wine grapes, and the results were anemic. No matter – I was not so easily discouraged in those days.

“In 1807 I brought here to Monticello rooted cuttings of no less than twenty-four different varieties of European grapes, planting exactly two hundred and eighty-seven vines in a fashion faithful to vineyard practices observed in France. They all expired, and have since been replaced with native American vines, including your Vitis scuppernong, which our trusted foremen, Gardener John and Great George, have permanently trained on espalier style fences. Happily, the American vines are thriving, over the graves of the French, but our cellar fermentations are now relegated to excellent beers and apple ciders. I am afraid to say, at this point in my life, that the task of finding the scientific solution to the root rot making American soils so inhospitable to vines of European descent shall be left to a future generation.”

With a distant look in his eyes betraying disappointment in his viticultural defeats, he continued to reflect: “I have no doubt that in the United States we can, and will, grow European style wines in our soils, and it will happen much sooner than even our friends in France might predict. What is there to stop us? We have everything the French have – the porous terroir, the seasonal climates, and perhaps much more. We could make as great a variety of wines as are made in Europe; not exactly the same kinds, but doubtless as good.

“In the meantime, Mr. Colbert, let us pick up our spirits by beginning our next wine, still another Bourgogne, but this time a red. In ready compliance, the butler poured a pale, brickish wine that tasted sprightly on the tongue, and seemed so magnificently perfumed that Mr. Jefferson blurted out, “Oh, my petite jolie brune… my prettiest ‘little black haired girl.’ Please enjoy this very famous red hailing from the vineyard of Vougeot.

"At this point,” declared Mr. Jefferson, stopping to breathe the wine in through his lips, “we need not bend down to our knees. But it is well known that Napoleon Bonaparte, the General who would be Emperor, ordered his troops to salute the ancient walls surrounding the vineyard of Vougeot each time they passed by. I hold it that Vougeot, as well as Beaune and Chambertin, are the three red wines of finest quality from the region of Burgundy. Because of the delicacy of these wines, I have always gone through great pains and expense to see that they are transported only in the best season, as they do not withstand great heat or great cold during their voyage across the sea.

“The Vougeot’s mere presence at our table is miracle enough – the bidding for the hands of these beautés in the annual charitable auction in Beaune has grown quite fierce – and so let us see what dish Chef Julien has planned to honor it with. I have asked him to surprise us.”We were indeed surprised, as the Chef himself re-entered the Dining Room carrying a large, ornate, covered crock, setting it upon a sturdy, portable table attached to casters, and wheeled closer to the table by Mr. Colbert. The butler then raised the lid to unveil a steaming stew of veal morsels. No one spoke, but rather savored the anticipated taste from the emanating smells and gently ringing notes of the butler’s silver ladle against the white bone china bowls. Oh, the culinary drama.

All along, standing beside Mr. Colbert, Chef Julien sustained his air of near nonchalance, hands held casually behind his back, while explaining in his melodious, French accented voice: “Madames et monsieurs, I present to you this dish that combines the Parisian tradition of veal braised for hours with the most tender assemblage of fines herbs, carrots, early peas, parsnips, turnips, rutabagas, and slivers of celeriac and beets at our disposal in the famous ‘hanging’ gardens of Monticello, thanks be to God, the rich soil, nourishing sun and rain He has provided here in Virginia. Even in France we are not always so blessed.

“In this pot-a-feu you will find that it is the use of tendron – the cartilaginous, ribbed portion of the veal – that turns this broth to lightest silk yet feel of flesh in the texture, necessary to match the light and delicate yet meaty nature of Vougeot rouge. I call this ‘French-American Cuisine,’ or shall we just say ‘Virginia Cuisine?’ Whatever is decided, it would be in long overdue hommage to the bounty of the New World. To you, Monsieur Jefferson, my apologies once again for turning you away from the persuasion of the pure vegetable diet. But I am sure you will be pleased all the same. Bon appétit!”

With that, we sat shocked still once again, to witness Mr. Jefferson rise from his chair, quietly clap, smile, and bow; and in response, seeing Chef Julien bow even more deeply in turn. Will the world ever know the devoted respect shared between a great President and Chef? Will future generations know that it was in the botanical laboratory called Monticello where one of the first, truly definitive, sophisticated American cuisines was born? Needless to say, this is why we have finally determined to tell our story, as best we can remember. Although the “best,” we soon learned, was still to come.

As Mr. Colbert poured the next wine – our third Bourgogne, a red wine labeled Beaune, which we found similar to the Vougeot, but sturdier and fuller to the taste – we were surprised to see put before us a dish of sturgeon, swimming in a butter sauce thickened with wild mushrooms, veal glace, bits of wood smoked bacon and rosemary needles, because even we were not accustomed to the service of fish following a meat course.

“This is what I love about the French,” Mr. Jefferson reasoned. “Honoré does not fear serving a fish with a manly red such as this Beaune because he has placed this white fleshed fish in the context of ingredients, such as mushrooms, pungent herbs and glace, which are more appropriate for red wine than for white.” We found that if ever a match was meant to be, it was this robustly prepared sturgeon and Beaune.

The next course was a sort of long, curling, ribbon shaped macaroni in a lavish, creamy, thyme scented brown sauce, coating long slivers of rabbit meat. “Mrs. Fossett,” the President spoke in reference to the ranking officer in Monticello’s kitchen, “has indulged my appetite for this Italian staple by making good use of a machine of my own invention, that flattens the macaroni into sheets of more consistent width. Otherwise the serving of macaroni in Monticello might be as rare as Christmas.

“Now Mr. Colbert returns, and he shall pour one of my favorite red wines from Italy, called Artiminiano, which comes from one of the regions of Tuscany, known as Chianti. The name of the grape used to make this wine translates as ‘blood of Jove.’ I believe that my favorite red wine from Italy, called Montepulciano, epitomizes the great strength and asperity – like the heat of the Italian sun rushing to the head – inferred by the grape’s name.

“In Chianti, my merchant tells me, they are starting to blend other grapes to lighten, or shall we say ‘domesticate,’ the ‘blood of Jove.’ He also tells me that more and more of the wines sold as Chianti are not even grown within the time honored boundaries constituting Chianti. Such is the sad state of affairs when wines become popular; and greed supplants artistry and, worse, honesty. All we can hope for is that wines like this – not so muscular as Bordeaux, not delicate like Burgundy, but very much… Chianti – survives the more pernicious instincts of men in commerce.”

After further discussions pertaining to the difficulty of separating tyranny from humanitarianism in the history of the arts, particularly in respect to the historic power of the Medici family, Mr. Colbert entered the Dining Room with a round, high sided dish with a protruding crust: clearly an English style pot pie, only with more of a French style pastry crust, flaky, light and buttery. We found it plump with the meat of pigeon and pig’s ear, discreet chunks of potato, miniature cubes of carrots, and pillowy soft green and white lima beans.

“Ah, I see that Honoré has ‘improved’ upon the traditional meat pie,” Mr. Jefferson observed – “a far cry from what we were raised on in Edgehill, where my oldest grandson, Thomas Jefferson Randolph, now lives. While Mr. Colbert serves us our pie, let me do the honor of presenting our next wine: a humble red called Cahors, also known as the ‘black wine’ of South-West France.

“I cannot describe Cahors as a refined wine, but it is as savory as meat pie – or cassoulet, as people in Cahors would have it – with a sort of rib sticking strength. Its other virtue is that it is cheap, which I mean in a very positive way. The most satisfying wines are those that deliver flavor with thrift. This is why I have always fought for reduction of taxes on wine imports, for the sake of making the civilizing aspects of wine more accessible to the general populace. No nation is drunken, I say, where wine is cheap; and none sober where the dearness of the wine substitutes ardent spirits as the common beverage.”

Somehow the discussion of wrongs steered towards another topic of mutual interest: the preservation of trees unwittingly driven towards demise. “When I was President I wished I was a despot that I might save many of these beautiful, noble trees native of our land. The unnecessary felling of just one, perhaps the growth of centuries, seemed to me a crime little short of murder.” Discussing the great variety of species we observed upon entering the Monticello estate, he reflected, “I am too old to plant for my own gratification, but I shall do so now for posterity.

“Speaking of which, now let us now turn to a wine that may indeed be one remembered for posterity: the 1787 Laffitte that we have carried up from the cellar together, and which I see Mr. Colbert has carefully transferred from bottle to decanter while we have been gnawing away at the politics of trees.” Observing the solemnity of the moment, we watched the white gloved butler pour from the decanter into our glasses.

How shall we describe this Bordeaux? There is a popular English poet, John Keats, who tragically died before his twenty-seventh year not long before (in 1821). Whether or not he died satisfied with his lot, perhaps he, too, had once experienced the dizzying power of Laffitte, for he wrote

O, for a draught of vintage! That hath been
Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

The poet also sang of a purple-stained mouth, and if at that point during our dinner in Monticello our lips and chins were indeed impolitely smeared, we are sure God granted forgiveness. “Mr. Jefferson,” we asked, “would it be possible that a wine of such sturdy perfection could be even better a hundred years from now?”

Without hesitation he turned to us and said, “What is the point? It is good tonight, and we may not awaken tomorrow. I fully intend to consume my few remaining bottles of 1787 well before I meet the Creator. Otherwise, should a bottle or two somehow escape a journey up from the Monticello cellar, some fool one hundred and fifty years from now will pay a thousand times more than this wine is worth on the scale of human pleasure, just because it says ‘Laffitte’ or because it bears my initials,” he said as he pointed to Th. J. on the bottle.

“Oh, I can imagine how it might happen, say at the end of the next century. There would be a roomful of people, so-called connoisseurs of wine, waiting to taste a drop each of this 1787. A smug but officious butler will transport the bottle in its cradle into the room, trip and fall, and what little left in the bottle will go seeping through the shards. And it will serve them all right, for even a grand vin for the ages is never meant to be coddled or ‘collected.’

“The only wine ever worth such worship was already consumed at the banquet in Cana, if such a banquet ever took place. I might be roused from my grave, knowing wine of any sort is obscenely dealt and traded for reasons other than why we are here tonight, joined by common affection for the pleasures of wine, food, conversation and friendship.”

Moments later, the Dining Room door swung open once again as Chef Julien entered followed by a tiny, black skinned, grey haired woman holding a small china bowl. Behind her walked still another Negro woman; this one slightly taller, with loose, tightly tied, grey speckled hair, walking with her hands clasped, her black, almost gypsy eyes turned to the floor. Bringing up the rear, Mr. Colbert solemnly carried an oversized platter bearing a roasted leg of lamb, placing it beside the china bowl laid on the movable side table.

“Hear, hear,” clapped Mr. Jefferson, waving towards the tinier woman, “it pleases me to introduce Mrs. Edith Hern Fossett, who along with her assistant standing beside her, Miss Fanny, was ably trained by Chef Julien and Etienne Lemaire during our years at the President’s House. If you will, Monsieur Honoré, would you please tell our friends from Georgia what you, Martha and Mary have planned for our main course?”

“Mr. President, it is my pleasure to say that Edith and Mademoiselle Fanny have butchered this beautiful gigot, or little leg of spring lamb, of perfect size following the many courses in tonight’s dinner. After marinating the leg with one of the master’s bottles of hock – first, making sure to taste it, of course, to ascertain its soundness – as well as bay laurel, juniper, peppercorns and mirepoix, the gigot was roasted à la française, preserving a rosy pink color at the center.

“Mrs. Fossett also carries the most unusual side dish; unusual, she tells me, at least for Monticello. As you know, I have been spending more time in the garden than in the kitchen. Thus, I became determined to make use of three varieties of legumes, known as lentils, that Mrs. Fossett and Miss Fanny tell me have been less appreciated than other legumes favored by the family here at Monticello – the haricots verts, scarlet runners, and the little white kidney beans that Mrs. Fossett prepares in her delicious brown sauce oignon. Yet for me, the tiny, flat lentil beans are just as noble, and I picked three in sufficient quantity from the garden: red lentils, which I believe are commonly eaten in Persia, yellow lentils from the British colony of India, and then my sentimental choice, the green puy from République française. Since I could not decide upon which color I liked best, I combined all three and cooked them with salt pork, a rendering of stock from the lamb bones, pearl sized white onions, parsley and lemon scented thyme.“But please,” said the Chef as he finished placing the pink colored meat sliced from the bone by Mr. Colbert onto our plates, “do not let us keep you. Bon appetit!"

After conversing a few minutes after the main course plates were cleared, Mr. Colbert entered the room with short, narrow glasses and a bottle of a wine long favored by both the President and by our family in Georgia: Malmsey from the island of Madeira, the essence of caramel, cream, sun dried fruits and honey.

Once the sweet-salty taste of the Malmsey was allowed to scrub our palates, Mr. Colbert returned with another set of glasses, and poured a light golden colored wine called Fillotte – a sweet wine from the Bordeaux region of Barsac, tasting of honeyed cream, candied lemon and dried apricots. Moments later, the butler brought little white plates from the revolving serving door, placing one before each us. Once before us, we could see what was on top of each plate: a cold, plainly white, gelatin dessert Mr. Jefferson introduced as blancmange, upon which Mr. Colbert spooned purple tinged white clouds of a raspberry cream.

“The simplest of desserts this may be,” explained Mr. Jefferson, “but Fillotte needs little to complete it. Blancmange is a Bavarian delicacy made from sugar, cream, and finely ground almond. At the height of summer we enjoy it with fresh peaches, but this raspberry cream is just as fine. Oh, but here comes Mr. Colbert again with still another sweet condiment: a gooseneck of sauce sabayon – simply, beaten egg yolks, sugar and white wine – to enjoy with our creamy blancmange and Barsac.”

As the light from the long, tapered candles flickered, and the sky visible through the double glassed windows turned from brown-gold to deep blue, we could tell that Mr. Jefferson had finally grown tired, as were we. The difference being that he was more than twice our age! Rising to his feet, with Mrs. Randolph beside him, he began to take his leave, saying: "We have enjoyed much fine cookery and wines, both of which have long been indispensable to my health. Now my body informs me that it has been sufficiently fortified.

"Martha and I invite you to join us for breakfast at precisely ten minutes after eight; and afterwards, I must attend to renovations being done in the Dome Room. During the interim, my granddaughter Anne will show you our flower beds along the West Lawn, now approaching full bloom of summer. Following that, I hope you will enjoy an exploration of our fruit orchards – which include thirty-eight sub-varieties of peach! – accompanied by the good Captain Bacon, and also Great George, if he is not predisposed.

“But before retiring to the Madison Room, we implore you to revisit with Mr. Colbert in our most honorable suite," said Mr. Jefferson, pointing to the Tea Room in the alcove adjoining the Dining Room. "He shall be decanting one of the last bottles of my favorite sweet red wine, called Calcavallo – a rare unbrandied Port – and serving it with a blue-veined cheese from France, a fig paste made from trees growing at the foot of our garden wall, and lavender honey purchased from one of our more enterprising farmers here in Monticello.

“Ah, there goes the eight o’clock chime on the grandfather’s clock, and I also hear a newly arrived book on architectural design calling me to my bedside.” Clasping his hands, we thanked our host, suddenly stooped from the length of the day’s nonstop activities

“May I leave you two with one last thought?” he asked. “Determine never to be idle, for it is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing. As for me, what I must now do is go quietly into the night. Adieu!”

REFERENCES

Dining at Monticello, Edited by Damon Lee Fowler; Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc., 2005

The Gardens of Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, Peter J. Hatch; Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc., 1992

The Virginia House-wife (Facsimile Edition), Mary Randolph; University of South Carolina Press, 1984

Thomas Jefferson Foundation, Inc.; www.monticello.org

Thomas Jefferson on Wine, John Hailman; University Press of Mississippi/Jackson, 2006

Syrah, Syrah, Syrahs at Hospice du Rhône (and in Santa Barbara)

2010-05-12T19:06:00.016-06:00

When we talk about “Rhône” grapes, we usually mean more than syrah; but also grenache, mourvèdre, viognier, roussanne, marsanne, and some sixteen other varieties, as well as blends of such, associated with the vast expanse of Southern France, from the Riviera to the Bay of Biscay (in this sense, these aren’t nearly so much Rhône Valley grapes as they are Southern French grapes).

Santa Barbara's Los Alamos Valley at sunset

But at the 2010 Hospice du Rhône (HdR) in Paso Robles this past April 30/May 1 (the 18th annual, if you’re counting), it did seem to be all about syrah for this simple reason: damned, these wines are good. Staggeringly, lawdy mama good. But how good? Which is to say, how good have California grown syrahs become, because those are the wines that dominate the yearly Hospice du Rhône (I wish there was more French, American Northwest and Australian representation at the HdR each year, but that’s the way it is).

It just so happened that one of the seminars featured at the 2010 HdR was about The Next Generation of Côte-Rôtie producers, and was centered around the wines produced by Domaine Michel & Stéphane Ogier. Now, you have to remember that when you talk about the “latest” things happening in nearly any wine region these days, it usually is a story about vignerons taking things backwards: returning to more natural, minimalist, less manipulative grape growing and vinification practices; recalling, perhaps, the work done two to six generations ago – with, of course, the benefit of hindsight, or the latest technical knowledge, at the disposal of the present day generation.

We may dig Côte-Rôties that are less redolent of new oak (in fact, aged strictly in oversized, old, neutral flavored wood rather than new Bordeaux or Burgundy barrels), with their flavors extracted by, say, gentle foot treading in small open vats rather than through continuous pumping over in big, temperature controlled stainless steel tanks; yet we certainly don’t want to see the oxidized, vinegary or Brettanomyces infected (i.e. dead-animal smelly) styles of wine that has plagued French wines of generations past.

That said, Ogier’s Côte-Rôties certainly were eye opening. The 2007 Domaine Ogier Lancement Côte-Rôtie, culled from family’s Côte Blonde plantings, had a beautifully sweet perfume of raspberry, orange peel, and smoky incense – the spices coming totally from the grape, not barrels – and were velvety rich, zippy, effortlessly poised, and tightly woven with rock solid tannin without being heavy, rough or fat. Ogier allowed that judicious pre-fermentation cold soaking in years like ’07 helps heighten the syrah expression; yet the Lancement remains finesseful, rather feminine – i.e. true to the terroir of the famed “blonde” slope.

Coming from their miniscule plot (.32 hectares) in the darker, clay/schistous terrain of Côte Brune (the “brunette”), the 2007 Domaine Ogier La Belle Hélène Côte-Rôtie posed the deeper, darker, earthier side of the syrah grape – damson plum and blackberry with a little less spiced perfume,, but little bit more of that scrubby, meaty sauvage – with a stony fullness, while still landing with every bit as much grace and finesse as the Lancement on the palate. It was interesting to note that Stéphane Ogier related spending time in Burgundy, and being influenced by the pains Burgundians take to retain transparency of grape and terroir in their wines, because you could certainly taste it here in the Hélène.

The significance? For three days just prior to HdR, I spent quality time with 38 sommeliers from around the country, touring through Santa Barbara as part of Sommelier Journal magazine’s annual Terroir Experience. We tasted tons of pinot noir and chardonnay, of course, but also some incredible syrah, grenache, and other Rhône style blends, red and white, now coming from this region. Naturally, the question came up during our tastings and discussions: since Santa Barbara grown syrahs are so good, do they now compare with the syrah based reds of the Northern Rhône Valley?

The answer to that question depends upon what you mean by “compare.” If you mean “better” in terms of grace, finesse, or transparency of grape and terroir, I have to say that nothing beats a Côte-Rôtie by Ogier, or a Cornas by Thierry Allemand, an Hermitage by M. Chapoutier, a Saint-Joseph by Philippe Faury, a Crozes-Hermitage by Alain Graillot, or any of those classic wines made by those French bastards lucky enough to be sitting on golden real estate.

If you talk about sheer variety of styles of syrah based reds – big wines, small wines, oaky wines, unoaked wines, earthy wines, pure fruit bomb wines, cheap wines, ridiculously expensive wines, etc. – then I have to say the Americans now give the French a run for their money in all areas except, perhaps, stratospheric price points. For Pete’s sake, if you’re looking for high quality wine from a .32 hectare parcel, you have to expect to shell out $200. Whereas, even the best American syrah producers haven’t quite attained that matrix of quality/quantity/demand/stupid-98+point-scores yet. But don’t hold your breath, because those cult wine collectors never really go away (they’re always on the look-out for ways of ruining things for us actual wine drinkers).

But when you talk about syrahs of “monumental” size, “hedonistic” fruit, or “opulent” intensity – to borrow the verbiage common to some of our more oft-quoted critics (who always sound like they’re talking about Big Mac or Cinnabon attacks rather than wine) – then I have to say that American grown syrahs now reign triumphant. Yeah, yeah, now it’s me who is sounding like this is some kind of contest; yet I have to say: from what I’ve been tasting lately, up and down the coast from Yakima and Walla Walla to Southern Oregon’s Rogue and Umpqua Valleys straight on down through Sonoma Coast and Santa Barbara’s Los Alamos and Ballard Canyon, American grown syrahs take a backseat to none in terms of the wham-bam-who’s-your-daddy personality of the grape.

Let’s put this in further perspective: Takero Kobayashi. TK was the little guy who showed up for Nathan’s annual July 4 hot dog eating contest at around 130 pounds, putting away 50 to 60 of those wieners to win it six times in a row. Obviously, it was never the size but the artistry, the finesse, that did it for Takero san. Same for Côte-Rôtie: obviously, the French never have to pick it at 15% potential alcohol for their wines to achieve opulent, even hedonistic proportions. 13% always seem to do just fine, whereas West Coast syrahs need to be closer to 15% to reach those heights. That’s why it doesn’t make sense to even compare French vs. American grown syrahs.

Yet American syrahs can indeed be monumental. It has reached the point where it is possible to talk about American and French grown syrahs in the same way that we do other classic grapes: the fact that the best California chardonnays are now made in California, whereas the best Burgundian style chardonnays are now in Burgundy, France… and the same thing for cabernet sauvignon, pinot noir, and now syrah… it’s all good, depending upon the place. Comprenez-vous?

Enough of that – what did I like best during my most recent travels? These are my favorites in order of personal preference, as I sit today (05/12/2010), which will probably change a little by next week, indubitably more next month, and most certainly a lot by next year (another reason why I don’t do scores: they imply a permanence that simply doesn’t exist in the real world of wine appreciation). Re:

2007 Paul Lato, Cinematique Syrah; Larner Vineyard, Santa Ynez Valley – Lately Paul Lato (the bastard!) has been ruining my life by forcing me to rethink the parameters of what this grape can do in the New World. Last year I was inspired by the Rogue Valley syrahs crafted by Ken Wright under his Tyrus Evan label because of the thickly hewn yet svelte, lingonberry and scrubby spice perfumes of his wines, epitomizing the grape as much as the consistent quality of the modest slew of similarly endowed syrahs that have recently emerged from Southern Oregon. But Mr. Lato’s syrahs seem to take things one step further. You want spice? You get that in spades and multiplicity (anise/fennel/cracked pepper/roasting coffee) in the ’07 Cinematique. Looking for varietal intensity? The luscious plum, violet and fraise liqueur-like perfumes are also here – something you can smell practically with your eyelids when you get close to the glass. Seeking transparency (nirvana for terroir lovers)? What do you call the rock-like structure, the velvet texture punctuated by racy acidity, and tight underpinnings of seamlessly rolled tannin – qualities common to this and other wines coming specifically from the Larner Vineyard in Santa Barbara’s Ballard Canyon? If this is not part and parcel of the moderate climate and confluence of sandy, gravelly, limestone rich soils of these hillside plantings, I don’t know from Adam. Whatever the case, Mr. Lato’s syrahs ain’t no hollaback girls – they’re just the shit.

2007 Samsara, Syrah; Melville Vineyard, Sta. Rita Hills – By Chad Melville of Santa Barbara’s Melville label wines: an even livelier, zestier style of syrah, yet absolutely brimming with sweetly perfumed, floral/violet, black and blueberry fruit with undertones of smoked sausage meats and ground pepper (why do good syrahs always come across like whole meals?). On the palate, the feel is suitably thick with tannin and popping, saturating, smoky-spicy fruit, cased in round, fleshy viscosity. This wine gives credence to the thinking just beginning to be spoken out loud these days: that the slightly warmer (middle and eastern), shallow, porous hillsides of Sta. Rita Hills are probably more suitable to syrah rather than to the pinot noir and chardonnay that currently dominating those slopes. What’s the sense, when you think about it, of always having to de-alcoholize pinot noir when picking them at peak ripeness in an AVA like Sta. Rita Hills? While 12%-13% alcohol reds are the norm in the Northern Rhône Valley, syrah is a beefy enough grape to taste perfectly well proportioned at 14%-15% alcohol, which is typical of the U.S. and South Australia. The only drawback, of course, is the considerably weaker market demand for syrah relative to pinot noir – right now, no one’s going to pull out pinot noir in order to plant syrah. Someone definitely needs to make a movie (Vertical rather than Sideways, with sleazy girls – or biker/chick-or-mama/winemakers – rather than guys, who you always expect to be sleazy anyway).

2008 Jaffurs, Syrah; Larner Vineyard, Santa Ynez Valley – A meaty, viscous experience, four squared and hard-packed muscularity at the shoulders, yet bulging in the middle with plummy, mulberry-juicy, wild strawberry and violet laced fruit. According to Mr. Jaffurs – who works with enough fruit throughout Santa Barbara County to know the differences – the sand-over-limestone soil of vineyards like this, along Ballard Canyon Rd. in the center of Santa Ynez Valley, yields syrahs of Rhône-like spice and perfume “with seemingly little effort.” With, of course, more of a “New World” sense of power. Taking a page from new/old generation Rhône producers, Jaffurs utilizes partial foot stomping (in this wine, 43%) of whole clusters and an unfined/unfiltered regime to ramp up the intensity without sacrificing elegance (i.e. roundness and proportion).

2007 Jaffurs, Syrah; Verna’s Vineyard, Santa Barbara – Farmed by the Melville family in Los Alamos – an unofficially recognized sub-region of Santa Barbara sandwiched between Santa Maria Valley to the north and Santa Ynez Valley to the south, characterized by a moderate climate (slightly cooler than Ballard Canyon, but a tad warmer than Sta. Rita Hills and Santa Maria Valley) and well drained hills of dusty sand and rocky loam. The ’07 Verna’s is a black velvet, purplish monster of a syrah – a little bigger (15.8% alc.) than most of what you find from nearby Ballard Canyon -- brimming with powerful, sweetly aromatic flavors more suggestive of scrubby herbs (reminiscent of Southern French garrigue), pungent tapenade, caramelized meats and crushed peppercorns than of the plain fruitiness found in most syrahs.

The Buffalo Hill at Rockpile Vineyard

2006 JC, Buffalo Hill Syrah; Rockpile Vineyard, Rockpile – Gloriously perfumed, dramatically unfolding wine from Sonoma County’s Rockpile AVA, a region located north and west of Dry Creek Valley, and defined by 800-2100 ft. elevations (this vineyard located at the highest points). Vivid purplish red pigmentation and nose of violets, cracked pepper, dark roast coffee and blackberry liqueur; feeling thick and full, yet compact with muscled, fine grained tannins and acidity giving well defined edges. The peppery spiced fruit is augmented by sweet oak, extending long and energetically on the palate; the high toned qualities exhilarating the senses.

2007 Jaffurs, Syrah; Larner Vineyard, Santa Ynez Valley – More muscled masses of red and violet perfumes – spraying peppery spice hither and yon – piled upon a concentrated, black fruit base, with mouthwatering, juicy flavors charging through the thick, supple tannin built into the wine’s bedrocked structure.

2007 Stolpman, Angeli Syrah; Santa Ynez Valley - Super-sweet in spice, not fruitiness, with the violet scented qualities tinged by resiny kitchen herbs, lavender, roasted game meats and whole bushes of prickly wild berries, lashed across a burly, strapping, Samsonite frame; the tannins substantial, yet round and toothsome in a rare meaty sort of way.

2007 Jonata, La Sangre de Jonata Syrah, Santa Ynez Valley – Aromatic suggestion of sprigs of rosemary with garrigue-like scrubbiness as well as cracked pepper spices; those qualities packed into this wine’s thick, dense, palate gripping, violet/flowery fruit concentration, yet finishing with a sleek, meticulously polished veneer.

2007 McPrice Meyers, Syrah; Larner Vineyard, Santa Ynez Valley (3% co-fermented viognier) – Staggeringly deep, dark, violet and smoky spice inundated syrah concentration; yet amazingly compact, balanced, even lithe on the palate, despite a tangible feel of enormousness.

2008 Stolpman Originals Syrah; Santa Ynez Valley – Borrowing an analogy from Bob Lindquist (in an attempt to explain the unexplainable), this wine makes you think of Shaquille O’Neal rumbling through one of his patented spins: burly yet balletic, going wild with unexpected fruit sensations. Whatever – here the syrah qualities are chiseled yet luscious, delectably deep, evolving on the palate with every sip.

Bien Nacido Vineyards

2008 Paul Lato, Il Padrino Syrah; Bien Nacido Vineyards, Santa Maria Valley – Riper, flowery, cassis-like fruit sweetened further by pungent, smoky oak, mingling with peppery, ginger root spices and just a smidgen of black olive-like herbiness; immense feel on the palate, but mostly from the sheer concentration of smoky, spicy, earthy fruit rather than from alcohol or tannin; the wine rounding out towards the finish with a silky flourish.

2007 Jaffurs, Syrah; Thompson Vineyard, Santa Barbara – Another Los Alamos sourced wine, shooting out peppery spice from a moderately full, compacted core, portraying as much stony minerality as sweet, preserve-like berryishness; dense and muscular on the palate, the flavors sweetly spiced and scrubby.

2007 Rusack, Syrah; Santa Ynez Valley – A saturated, generously compelling, velvet lined black box of a syrah emanating boysenberry, bitter chocolate and smoky French roast coffee spices, seeping through a thick core of tannin.

2007 Harrison Clarke, Cuvée Charlotte Syrah, Santa Ynez Valley – This hillside Ballard Canyon growth is rooted in limestone rich shards of chalk and porous sand; no doubt, lending the pure, ringing, flowery syrah qualities in the nose; on the palate, the wine turns thick and wild, with a black chocolate consistency, and flavors of concentrated dark berries, sweet anise and rolling, tumbling stones.

2007 JC, Haley’s Reserve Syrah; Rockpile Vineyard, Rockpile – Even thicker, denser than JC’s Buffalo Hill cuvée, with a little less baby fat in the middle. Otherwise, similar profile: floral, black liqueur-like nose, with smoky, peppery highlights and a touch of roasting meat; thickly textured, deeply extracted fruit qualities beefed up by muscular tannin and zesty edges, underlain by perceptively solid oak flavors.

2008 Justin, Focus; Paso Robles (4% Grenache): Black-purplish, riper, sweeter toned style than that of Santa Barbara, yet not without muscle under the outward layers of fat; nose of jammy fruit, steeped with anise and Chinese five-spice; big, thick, seriously rich yet balanced, buoyant on the palate, exuding explosive, heaping sensations of the spicy, jammy sensations signaled in the nose.

Beckmen Vineyards' Steve Beckmen with Stolpman's Sashi Moorman

2007 Beckmen, Block Six Syrah; Purisima Mountain, Santa Ynez Valley – The style here is full yet round, pliant, although there are generous scoops of concentrated, chocolaty, almost dried berry/raisinette qualities in the nose and flavor; the tannins sturdy yet well rounded.

2008 Davis Family, Syrah; Russian River Valley – We are also beginning to see that in other fairly cool climate zones where pinot noir predominates (i.e. Santa Maria Valley, Sta. Rita Hills and Sonoma Coast), perfectly rich, solid, well ripened syrahs can also be grown. Here, the nose is sweet, raspberry/framboise-like, with the violet varietal notes; the flavors are a little fat, or chubby, in the mouth, yet bright and vivid, hoisted by sturdy tannin and moderated oak. The main thing is the syrah definition, which this wine screams, despite the loosely woven structuring.

2007 Epoch Estate, Authenticity; Paso Robles (88% syrah; 12% mourvèdre) – One of the newer, promising Paso Robles based Rhône specialists; vivid black/purplish color, and nose of ripe cherry/strawberry with sweet, liqueur-like concentration; fat fruit qualities gushing over a full alcohol/tannin structure, making up in exuberance and satin texturing for what it might lack in subtlety.

Hanging with the devil at the 2010 World of Pinot Noir

2010-03-18T18:20:00.049-06:00

Six years ago I posted a piece in Robin Garr’s wineloverspage.com entitled American Pinot Noirs at a Crossroads. I know I was thinking of Robert Johnson at the time – you know, the “King of the Delta Blues,” whose hellacious, rusted can bottom pipes on Cross Roads Blues can still grab you by the throat like a black hand reaching out from Hades (that same Johnson who reportedly sold his soul to the devil in order to become the world’s greatest blues musician).

Grower Dave Umino, in his vineyard in
Russian River Valley's Sebastopol Hills

What does this have to do with pinot noir and the price of cheese in China? Even back in 2004 I was getting that itchy-scratchy feeling at the back of my throat, thinking: how the hell did Americans suddenly get so genius with this grape? Good enough so that even the most Frenchified oenophiles would have to admit that they’re coming out as more than reasonable facsimiles of even the best Burgundies? Something, just twenty years ago, most of us in the business thought we would never see in our lifetime.

Have our pinot noir specialists made a pact with the devil? Or has it simply turned out that West Coast terroirs are not such a hell hole for pinot noir after all? That it is not the scrawny, brooding child the late, great André Tchelistcheff once called it back in the sixties? Tchelistcheff also famously said that “all the challenge is getting the surly child to smile,” and aside from occasional accidents of nature, he couldn’t seeing it happening on the West Coast any time soon.

Then again, even towards the end of Tchelistcheff’s career, growing pinot noir (or any types of grape) between Occidental and the Sonoma Coast, below Sebastopol in the teeth of the Petaluma Gap, or anywhere near McMinnville or Lompoc was considered a physical impossibility. Perfectly intelligent people were repeatedly heard to say what once seemed obvious: that you just can’t grow grapes in frigid airs like that (of course you couldn’t… not with the mile x mile spacing, Cousin Itt canopies and grape chewing crushers still in prevalent use thirty years ago).

And dare I say, much of the pinot-will-never-be-great-outside-Burgundy thinking was based upon the premise that correct soil (i.e. Burgundian) is mandatory for great pinot noir. Yes, soil is important, but obviously climate, and simply coming to terms with the topographical cards you are handed with reasonable intelligence and empirical thought processing, have proven far more important. This is as plain as many a new American pinot’s nose: as pure and fragrant as can be.

Santa Lucia Highlands

But wait, hold your horses, because there is still a lot to naysaying going on. For one, I have yet to find a California or Oregon pinot noir that I can honestly say has “improved” with age. So far it seems that the best ones taste great anywhere from two to six years of age; and after that, all bets are off. Good West Coast pinots don’t seem to get better – they just get… old – tired, worn, decrepit. In that sense, lovers of Musigny and Chambertin need hardly hold their breath: pinot noirs from anywhere west of the Saône have yet to show half the longevity of grand or premier crus of olde.

For seconders, it is still no coincidence that the richest, most aromatic and expressive American pinot noirs are tipping the scales at 14% to 15% alcohol (and people complain about zinfandels being too “big”). Now, I agree that alcohol is just one of many sensory factors in fine wine, and that many 14.5% alcohol pinots taste more finesseful, elegant and balanced than pinots of just 12% to 13% alcohol. Nevertheless, at least for me personally, a 15% alcohol pinot noir is hardly classical; and I would surmise, much of the reason why contemporary pinots fall flat after six, eight or so years is because of this ungainly girth.

But hold on to your black leather gloves: the increasing forays into colder climates to extend physiological ripening at lower sugar levels, commitments to closer spacing and drier farming, less and less dependence upon new or heavy toasted oak, and myriad other adjustments big and small seem likely to become part of the combination to eventually lose the knocks on contemporary American pinots.

All this, and more, crystallized during my recent attendance at the tenth annual World of Pinot Noir in Shell Beach, California, this past March 5-6, 2010. Hence, this report, with a caveat: although hundreds of top pinot noirs are there for the tasting during this two-day festival, the bulk of it is Californian (lovers of, say, Burgundy and Oregon pinot noir always find slim pickings at this event).

I also participated in something called the Iron Sommelier seminar at this year’s World of Pinot Noir; as one of four sommeliers presenting two “ideal” pinot noirs with a dish prepared from a recipe of our choosing. My dish was a household favorite for sumptuous, spicy reds: Red Cooked Pork Belly, for which a good recipe adapted from Molly Stevens’ All About Braising (W.W. Norton & Co., New York/London) can be found at the end of this post. I matched this classic, Chinese style pork belly with two spice driven, snappy, cold climate grown pinot noirs: the roasted meaty, smoky spiced 2006 Hitching Post Cargasacchi Vineyard Sta. Rita Hills, and the round, juicy, strawberry, peppermint and anise/licorice spiced 2006 Maysara Delara McMinnville from Oregon.

As expected, our audience found that both the Hitching Post and Maysara pinot noirs skipped lightly and fandango-y with the peppery, gingery, cinnamon and star-anise spiced qualities of the pork belly; the crisp acidity and round tannin centers of these black and red fruit driven wines titillating the palate with every bite, even at the fattiest ends. Alas, there was no “voting” in this particular Iron competition; not even an opportunity for jury rigging (as there were no judges). But I guarantee: it was a match those unaccustomed to the appreciation of Asian style food with pinot noir are unlikely to forget.

Maysara winemaker Tahmiene Momtazi

I don’t score wines; never have, and never will (how stupid is that? – applying numbers to matters of aesthetics or organic subjects, that is), but I do have favorites. Like everyone, I might love vanilla today, but crave chocolate, Dulce de Leche or Mission Marzipan tomorrow (which is why scores are stupid – have I told you how stupid numbers are yet?). And so according to my notes just before, during and after the 2010 World of Pinot Noir, this is how I personally rate the best of the American pinot noirs tasted - basically in order of wow-ness:

2007 Failla, Occidental Ridge Vineyard, Sonoma Coast – A sultry wine that hits pinot-ness on all cylinders: huge, billowing, vibrant nose of wild berries and concentrated, wild mint, cinnamon stick and brown sugar spiced strawberry against a backdrop of toasty oak; ultra-smooth, velvet textured layering of the luscious fruit and smoky spice, becoming darker on the palate as it glides atop firm, supple tannin, coating every part of the mouth.

2007 Failla, Keefer Ranch, Russian River Valley – It’s a tribute to the magical (or bedeviling) touch of owner/winemaker Ehren Jordan that he can coax such a combination of delicacy and unadulterated strength from fruit grown in multiple parts of the North Coast. Here, an array of perfumes – fresh sweet berries (red, boysenberry, raspberry…) and smoky spices – surge from the glass, and converge in lush, lively, silky sensations on the palate, finishing with a mouthwatering (or was it jaw dropping?) incandescence, bespeaking the best, or most classic, qualities of the grape.

2008 Native 9, Rancho Ontiveros, Santa Maria Valley – Wild berry berry fragrance intertwined with vivid perfumes of peppermint and red licorice, penetrating the nostrils. Equally dramatic dramatic movement on the palate: a fine, silky entry suddenly electrified by slightly tart edged acidity, electrifying the vivid spiced fruit flavors, then layered with dense tannin adding meat to the bone, before finishing with intricate braiding of the contrasting sensations – light yet full, soft yet edgy, tight yet limber, and effusive yet compact.

Freestone's winemaker Theresa Heredia
(with her open top wood fermenters)

2007 Dutton-Goldfield, Dutton Ranch-Freestone Hill Vineyard, Russian River Valley – Tasted the week following World of Pinot Noir: brilliant, deep ruby followed by teeming, luscious aromas of spice essenced red fruit (cardamom, star anise, strawberry, cranberry, black cherry…) which, with almost unbelievable elan, seems to roll into the mouth in dense, thick, round, voluminous waves of flavor; the luscious, almost preserve-like fruit, brightening acidity and muscular tannin merged in seamless singularity.

2007 Dutton-Goldfield, Devil’s Gulch, Marin – The Marin peninsula, south of Petaluma, sees plenty of seasonal sun, but the climate is relatively cool; different, yet comparable, to conditions seen along the more vaunted Sonoma Coast. Steep terracing (up to 60% grades) also effects what comes out in the bottle: in the hands of winemaker/partner, Dan Goldfield, a pinot noir thoroughly saturated, from beginning to end, with sweet, perfumed wild cherry/raspberry fruitiness; thick with youthful, sinewy tannin, yet rounded enough for the zesty flavors to permeate the palate, the silken fine, intertwining sensations slipping over its fisted core.

2006 Freestone, Sonoma Coast – Can American pinot noir get any lusher, sharper and lissome as this? I also walked through Freestone’s precipitously steep vineyard (at 200-500 feet, in a fog smothered section of the “true” Sonoma Coast) – on a recent ear stinging day, so I got an even better feel for what I’d already tasted, comin thro’ the rye: heady, penetrating perfumes of super-plump strawberry, cassis, whiffs of smoke, and ephemeral yet distinct, toasted anise-like spice. On the palate, the incisive, acid zested strawberry fruitiness pierces clear through the velvet wrapping, lighting it up like a finger in the socket (haven’t tried it lately, but remember the feeling well). This (along with Dutton-Goldfield’s Freestone Hill) is definitely among the coastal growths that are changing the way American pinot noir is grown and defined.

2008 Costa de Oro, Dijon Selection, Santa Maria Valley – Unabashedly intense, yet beautifully sculpted pinot; the nose telegraphing rich, plush, concentrated red berry/strawberry fruitiness with subtle toasted underpinning; then on the palate, a buxom, velvety, medium-full body, releasing the sweet red berry sensations in round, voluptuous, exhilarating waves.

Hartford Family winemaker Jeff Mangahas at
Arrendell Vineyard in Green Valley

2007 Hartford Family, Arrendell Vineyard, Russian River Valley – From one of the coldest sites in the Russian River Valley’s Green Valley sub-AVA, and tasted the week following World of Pinot Noir: deep nose of black cherry with savory/thyme kitchen herb spices, leaping from the glass; the fruit qualities stuffed into aggressively round, fleshy, densely packed textures on the palate, gripping the taste receptors as they roll into a palate-popping finish.

2007 Chasseur, Umino Vineyard, Russian River Valley – Tasted just prior to World of Pinot Noir, a pinot sourced from the cool center of Sebastopol Hills, explosive with sweetly perfumed, violet and red berry/strawberry aromas; soft, silky entry, turning zesty with voluptuous, mouthwatering fruit in the middle, saturating the senses with downright regal qualities of sheer richness, poise and balance.

2007 Chasseur, Blank, Russian River Valley – Another blue chip from the heart of Sebastopol Hills; violet tinged color and humongous varietal nose of raspberry and strawberry, rose petals, savory herb spices, and smoky tobacco leaves; the sensations following up in a soft yet zesty, perfectly round, plump, velvety, seamless mouth-feel. From top to bottom, beginning to end: very complete, vivid, exacting, exciting.

2008 Baker Lane, Ramondo Vineyard, Sonoma Coast – The Ramondo is located at the southeast edge of Sebastopol Hills, a sub-region recently (in 2005) incorporated into the Russian River Valley AVA; but perhaps, sharing more of the restrained, textured qualities of other lower elevation Sonoma Coast (the larger, overlapping AVA) growths. As with a number of other pinot noirs from this fog chilled region, I find a lush strawberryish concentration in the nose, pure and unfettered by excesses like oak or warm, cola-like fruit. On the palate, the fruit intensity is woven with licorice and bright, dried red currant qualities; soft, round, velvety sensations, long and sexy in the feel.

Baker Lane's Stephen Singer in his Sebastopol Hills home

2007 Sierra Madre Vineyard, Santa Maria Valley – Sierra Madre Vineyard, at the westernmost, coolest edge of Santa Maria Valley’s planted acreage, has been supplying first class grapes to over two dozen other wineries each year going on well nigh two, three decades. Now they also produce wine under their own label, and about time, too: the nose rattles the senses with super-sweet strawberry alarm, incense and peppermint fragrances, and bang-bang vibrato. The sensations are fat and juicy at first sip, then prickly fresh and persistent in the middle, sticking to the palate in bright, fresh fashion. Nice, pure, interpretation of the grape, almost impertinent in its obstinance, whatever that means.

2007 Zepaltas, Suacci Vineyard, Sonoma Coast - Ryan Zepaltas (who also assists at Siduri and makes the wines for Soliste and Suacci Carciere) crafts small lots of single vineyard pinots that show a meticulous hand and puristic sensibility. The Suacci highlights the red fruit, animating acidity and slim, sinewy attributes of many wines from Sebastopol Hills, intersecting the Sonoma Coast and Russian River Valley AVAs, and Zepaltas' talent is in making them taste exactly like that. Here, the sweet, concentrated nose and flavors cast cherry/raspberry perfumes with pomegranate-like pulpiness and just a suggestion of cola. The palate feel is tight yet silky; tannin and oak dialed back far enough for the the lush flavors to expand well beyond the composed parameters.

2007 Pillow Rd., Russian River Valley – Further evidence that it is at the southern end of the Russian River Valley, south and west of Sebastopol (Pillow Rd.’s vineyard straddles the Green Valley of Russian River Valley and unofficial Sebastopol Hills sub-regions) where more and more of the prettiest, balanced, buoyant styles of North Coast pinot noir are be coming from (’07 is this winery’s second vintage). The aroma here is of cake spice tinged strawberry/cherry/raspberry, pure and unadorned by wood or other manipulations. On the palate, the round, fresh, juicy red berry qualities are revved up by bright acidity, encased in a moderately weighted body; and echoing the clarity the nose, the feel is pretty much free of bitter oak tannin, allowing the fruit profile to address the senses directly without passing go.

2007 Hartford Family, Jennifer’s, Russian River Valley – A more aggressive, deeply extracted, lower fruit toned style of pinot noir from the cool climes of the Russian River Valley’s Sebastopol Hills (as opposed to the more fragrant, feminine, strawberry-red fruit forward qualities I usually find in pinots from this sub-region). The nose is scented with dark berries, a violet perfume and coffee grinder spice and smoke; the tannins full yet finely polished, and zesty acid punctuating the thick, pulpy, meaty textured flavors.

2008 Siduri, Sonatera Vineyard, Sonoma Coast – Fruit from the Sonatera Vineyard, located just east and south of the Russian River Valley’s Sebastopol Hills (pretty much in the thick of the fog rolling through the Petaluma Gap) goes to just two wineries: Siduri and Soliste, and both are stellar. This growth seems to give crisp edged, finely delineated styles of pinot noir; as in Siduri’s, with its deeply aromatic, lush, bright strawberry/cherry/blackberry fragrances, underlined with beefy undertones; the palate feel, zesty and medium-full, chiseled yet round and seamlessly knit; and the Christmas pie-plump, sweet fruitiness, distinctly under-oaked, rising from a stratum of sturdy yet giving tannin.

Siduri winemaker/proprietor Adam Lee

2007 Balletto, Burnside Vineyard, Russian River Valley – It’s hard to get enough of these fabulously lush, focused pinot noirs coming from below Sebastopol, the coolest corner of the Russian River Valley. The nose here is drenched in strawberry syrup, dried cherry and raspberry, with spice qualities suggesting clove punctured orange peel, plus foresty/pine-cone like notes. Fat and luscious with fruit, amply supported by freshening acidity and a modicum of fine-grain tannin, rendering a buoyant, balanced feel to the irrepressibly exuberant fruit profile.

2007 Dierberg, Steven Vineyard, Santa Maria Valley – I’ve been told that this producer has been gracefully retreating from the black, burly, pedal-to-the-metal style of earlier vintages, but I’m glad they haven’t taken off the foot all the way. There’s a lot to be said, after all, for pinot noir that lays it all out on the line (you may adore Billie Holiday and Diana Krall, but who doesn’t love being slapped around by Chrissie Hynde or MC Lyte every once in a while?). The Steven is a deep, fleshy, muscular yet svelte wine; its nose inundated with peppery spice, smoked meats and dried forest floor leaves, and the requisite floral, sweet pinot-berry perfume. Turn up the grill, praise the lord and pass the steaks.

2007 Roessler, Clos Pepe, Sta. Rita Hills – Roessler is churning out an entire sumo stable of pinot behemoths these days, and I mean that in a good way: this cuvée, for instance, is so plump yet thickly muscled, toothsome yet amazingly light on its feet, that you gotta give it props, even if the juicy black pepper/pepperminty spiced strawberry/raspberry doth seem to runneth over in glorious, uncouth nakedness. There are minerally, scrubby undertones keeping bright fruit grounded; and although soft around the edges, the fruit is zippy with energetic acidity.

2007 Evening Land Vineyards, Two Daughters Vineyard, Sonoma Coast – Super-intense, sweet berry/rhubarb fragrance mingling with spices suggesting cinnamon, clove and smoked pepper. At first, lean and sprightly on the palate; then in the middle, the spiced berry qualities fill out the medium weight body, heightening the lithe, lively, silk textured qualities before finishing long yet gently.

2007 Tolosa, Marley Anne-Block 518, Edna Valley – Not long ago nearly all Edna Valley pinot noirs were dismissed as weak, Beaujolais-types because, well, that’s the way it was. Tolosa’s Marley Anne puts a decisive end to that assumption, beginning with its super-lush nose, suggesting strawberry jam tilted towards violet and blueberry; with quieter notes of apparently terroir related qualities, suggesting dried scrub and loam. The flavors are surprisingly deep and muscle toned for a wine that is outwardly plump, supple and sweetly scented; the pinot qualities striking rich, pure chords all the way through the progression.

The fog shrouded Sebastopol Hills

2008 Drake, H Block-Bien Nacido Vineyard, Santa Maria Valley – Multifaceted nose of floral/rose petal, fresh berry and stemmy, green leafy nuances. Despite the leafiness in the nose, flush with juicy, silken textured fruitiness on the palate; fleshy yet finely composed, balanced, lively, almost delicate qualities, laying down its slender, feminine frame with finesse and ease.

2007 Flying Goat, Rancho Santa Rosa, Sta. Rita Hills – I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a Flying Goat that wasn’t right on the money; and amazingly, this is winemaker/proprietor Norman Yost’s first bottling from this fairly young vineyard (owned by Foley Family Estates, where Yost once was winemaker). This bottling regales the senses with a rich blend of blueberry and raspberry, with earthen, rhubarb-like undertones; seamless flow on the palate, the silken layers of zesty berryish fruit dancing on the palate, while underpinned by firm yet unobstrusive tannin.

2008 Pali, Fiddlestix, Sta. Rita Hills – The nose is wild with fresh crushed raspberry and blueberry fragrances, and the exuberant fruitiness tucked into a moderated yet curvaceous body, beefed up by velvet textures and brothy flavors. The flavors run deep, dense, luscious, touching all parts of the palate. Great vineyard, and a terrific winemaking (that is to say, skilled enough leaving well enough alone.

2008 Freeman, Akiko’s Cuvée, Sonoma Coast – Another new winery “discovery” for me; this bottling representing a blend of multiple vineyards along the Sonoma Coast and the fog shrouded Petaluma Gap and Sebastopol Hills. Beautifully bright, floral perfume, mixing purple plum and bing cherry; the intense fruit qualities balanced on a taut yet silken smooth frame, skipping nimbly into a rich, rousing yet finely composed finish.

2008 Alma Rosa, Clone 667-La Encantada Vineyard, Sta. Rita Hills – Tasted the week prior to World of Pinot Noir; sweetly concentrated strawberry/cherry cola nose with roasted/beefy and red licorice notes; yet almost belying the deep aromas, lithe and lively on the palate; the red berry flavors coming across as sleek and fine boned (think whispery waif in a supple, black leather jacket).

2008 Paul Hobbs, Russian River Valley – I always approach the products of celebrity winemaker brands with skepticism, but damned if this one just hits the North Coast pinot profile right between the eyes: gushy wild berry aroma tinged with smoky, brown spices; sweet, lively berry flavors encased in velvet as smooth and inviting as the shagged walls of Elvis’ Jungle Room; all the aforementioned, stretching across the palate in impeccably tight, fluid balance.

2007 Cargasacchi, Cargassachi-Jalama Vineyard, Santa Barbara County – Cargasacchi’s Jalama is located beyond the boundaries of the Sta. Rita Hills AVA near Point Concepcion; as such, the coldest, westernmost site in Santa Barbara County. Within a compact, pert, marbled beeefy frame, there is a nice burst of bright, sweet varietal qualities; and despite sturdy tannin in the middle, the feel is plump and plush, and the body just moderately weighted, topped with flavors of cocoa dusted raspberry and twiggy earth tones. If you’re looking for the usual surfeit of body and ultra-ripe fruitiness found in most California pinots (as charming as it may be), don’t bother searching here; but this is one vineyard to keep your eye on, if you prefer pinots of more moderate weight and classical scale.

2008 Dragonette, Fiddlestix, Sta. Rita Hills – The Fiddlestix vineyard continues to be a rich source of dynamic, expressive pinots for a number of Santa Barbara producers, and this is among the better ones: red berry pinot qualities filled out by smoky, beefy qualities; and on the palate, the round, meaty, berryish fruit underlined by a judicious dose of toasted oak, steered by buoyant yet sturdy sensations.

2008 CRU, Santa Lucia Highlands – Bright beacon of raspberry/strawberry fragrances characterize a luscious pinot fruitiness, neatly packed into a medium-full yet compact body, putting everything in its place: notably racy acidity, moderately firm yet pliant tannin, and outwardly plummy, smoothly finished flavors, bouncing through the palate.

Fiddlestix Vineyard in Santa Barbara's Sta. Rita Hills

Abbreviated notes on other outstanding pinot noirs, all highly recommended:

2008 Landmark, Grand Detour, Sonoma Coast – Unerring blend of multiple cool climate vineyards; exuberant, toasty, fat, fleshy, luscious fruit strapped over full, expansive, tannin lined body.

2007 ROAR, Gary’s Vineyard, Santa Lucia Highlands – Focused, winsome, strawberry/red berry fragrance harmonized with subtle smoke of oak; very fine, silky sensations, the fruit sharpened by piquant acidity, alive and lustrous the palate.

2008 Alma Rosa, Clone 115-La Encantada Vineyard, Sta. Rita Hills – Richly perfumed nose of red berry and cassis; soft, fleshy, sensuously curved frame; the fruit focused sensations rich and cohesive on the palate.

2007 Stephen Ross, Stone Corral Vineyard, Edna Valley – Exceptionally bright, focused, cinnamon and pepper spiced strawberry fruit; velvet layers flowing smoothly across the palate.

2007 MacPhail, Pratt Vineyard, Sonoma Coast – While carrying a Sonoma moniker, sourced from the Russian River’s Sebastopol Hills; extremely pretty, compelling strawberry/raspberry nose embedded in smoky oak; fairly full, toasty, yet round, silky; the lush fruit zippy in the middle.

Keller winemaker Jacqueline Yoakum

2007 Keller, El Coro, Sonoma Coast – Effusive nose of red berries, licorice, brown spices and subtle, smoky oak; full yet very round, and velvet textured body, allowing the fruit to drive the qualities in the mouth.

2007 Soliste, Sonatera Vineyard-T Block, Sonoma Coast – Transparent cold climate style; slightly unyielding youthful nose giving up sweet strawberry concentration; medium rather than full body, tightly woven with zippy acidity and firming tannin, the flavors running deep enough to exert an exhilaratingly fresh, bright presence.

2007 Flying Goat, Dierberg Vineyard, Santa Maria Valley – Super-juiced red berry perfume tinged with peppermint and brown spices; deep, dense yet finely textured through a long, fruit dominated finish.

2008 Freeman, Keefer Ranch, Russian River Valley – An exceptional new brand to keep your eye on; this bottling sporting a sweet array of red and black fruit, just lightly toasted; plush, juicy, long and refreshing on the palate.

2007 Pisoni Estate, Santa Lucia Highlands – Sweet, heady, wild blackberry perfume with resiny, dried herb spices amplified by rich, toasty smoke-of-oak; the aggressive notes signaled in the nose backed by a big, luscious palate profile, powered further by a core of solid tannin.

Sinor La-Valee's Mike Sinor

2007 Sinor La-Vallee, Talley-Rincon Vineyards, Arroyo Grande Valley – Soft, friendly yet vigorous style; chocolate dust coated cherry cola fruit with subtle toast; velvet layers punctuated by zippy acidity.

2007 Sinor La-Vallee, Aubain Vineyard, Central Coast – Flowery scented, lush, opulent generosity; brimming with cherry cola-like fruit; fleshy and densely extracted on the palate.

2007 Merry Edwards, Meredith Estate, Russian River Valley – From Sebastopol Hills; deeply pigmented, grippy style, yet bursting at the seams with sweet raspberry/strawberry fruit, with generous oak embellishments sitting behind the plush fruit, revved up by snappy acidity.

2008 Pessagno, Lucia Highlands Vineyard, Santa Lucia Highlands – In the big, viscous, sumptuous, seductive style that has popularized many Santa Lucia Highlands pinots: satin and lace garbed concentration of crushed cherry and cranberry, scented with violet and a touch of smoky oak.

Praying for pinot at Alma Rosa Winery

2007 Surh Luchtel, Umino Vineyard, Russian River Valley – Another Sebastopol Hills sourced bottling tasted just prior to World of Pinot Noir; plush strawberries with floral, rose petal fragrances; satin entry, with bright, forward red fruit qualities underlined by soft acidity and rounded tannin.

2007 Foxen, Bien Nacido Vineyard–Block 8, Santa Maria Valley – Sweet red berry nose tinged with red licorice and brown/toasty spices; the fruit and oak tannins wound tightly on the palate, underlying the rich layers of spiced red berry qualities.

2006 Dukes Family, Alyssa, Willamette Valley – Handsome, multifaceted nose of brambly blackberry, and raspberry veering towards cinnamon scented black cherry; sturdy, fleshy, quite full for an Oregon style.

2008 MacMurray Ranch, Russian River Valley – Gentle yet precise style, honed by a sweet toned nose and a slender yet long, silky feel; the pinot fruit qualities balanced on a pin.

2007 Chamisal, Califa Selection, Edna Valley – Sweet scented strawberry/cherry cola fragrance; slightly big in the mouth, but fine, silky flavors melting into a backdrop of earthen, tannin and oak sensations.

RED-COOKED BORK BELLY with Bok Choy

Adapted from All About Braising, Molly Stevens (W.W. Norton & Co., New York/London)

Serves 4:

Braise
One 2-inch piece of fresh ginger, sliced into 6-8 coins and smashed
3 scallions, white and green parts, cut into 1-inch pieces
One 3-inch cinnamon stick
2 oz. Chinese rock sugar, smashed into small rocks with hammer (or ¼ cup brown sugar)
2 whole star anise
¼ cup dry sherry
¼ cup soy sauce
¼ cup dark mushroom soy sauce
5 cups chicken stock (or water)
1-½ to 2 lbs. pork belly, preferably skin-on, cut into 2-inch chunks

Bok Choy
1 lb. bok choy (1 medium head or 3 baby heads)
1 ½ tablespoons peanut oil
Coarse salt and fresh ground pepper
¼ cup water

1. Braising liquid: In carbon steel or stainless steel wok, combine ginger, scallions, cinnamon stick, sugar, star anise, sherry, boy soy sauces, and stock or water. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring to dissolve sugar, and boil for 12-15 minutes to infuse liquid with spices.

2. Braise: Slide pork into the wok and lower the heat to gentle simmer. Braise, uncovered, turning pork with tongs from time to time to braise evenly, until meat is fork-tender, about 3 hours. Monitor heat so sauce simmers modestly, never vigorously. Lower heat if necessary.

3. Meanwhile, washing and trimming bok choy: Rinse bok choy thoroughly, paying close attention to inside hollow at base of each leaf where dirt tends to gather. Drain. Cut lower ribs crosswise into 1-inch pieces, and slice the leaves into slightly wider 1-½ strips. Set stems and leaves aside in separate bowls.

4. Simmer bok choy: When pork is tender, turn off heat and let sit. Heat oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add bok choy stems handful at a time and cook, stirring, until stems throw off their water and soften, 4-5 minutes. Immediately begin adding leaves, stirring and tossing with tongs, and season lightly with salt and pepper. Add water, cover, and lower heat to medium. Simmer until bok choy is crisp/tender, about 5 minutes more. Set aside in warm spot.

5. Finish: With tongs, transfer pork to large platter and cover loosely with foil to keep warm. Strain the braising liquid medium sauce pan, and discard solids. Skim some but not all of clear fat from surface (some fat essential to flavor). Boil the braising liquid until reduced by one quarter to one half, about 8 minutes. Taste. Should be salty and intense.

6. Serving: Serve pork and bok choy with drizzle of reduced braising liquid.

Enjoying big zins at ZAP is duck soup

2010-02-03T21:42:00.019-07:00

Nineteen years ago, when ZAP (Zinfandel Advocates & Producers) held the first of its annual tasting extravaganzas in San Francisco, there was little inkling of just how big an event it would become.

A smash from the get-go, the festival quickly built up to its average attendance of some 8,000 purple-teethed zin fanatics (at this past year’s, I actually observed one zin lover brushing his chops in the restroom, then head out for more party juice), with up to 300 producers pouring at least two to six different zins each. If for the dark, lush, full bodied richness of zinfandel you pine, ZAP is for you!

Here’s another kicker, if you are a newly conscious zin lover: ZAP is also a movable feast. This year (2010) ZAP festivities will be held in Denver’s Mile High Station on April 15; then in Costa Mesa in California’s Orange County on April 18-19; moving on to Kahului, Maui on May 21-22; and then Honolulu on May 24. And if you really love to swim in zin, there is even a ZAP European Dream Cruise on August 10-24; when you board a fully loaded Oceania liner to rub elbows with not just a bevy of zinfandel producers, but also with Jacques Pepin and the executive chef of Berkeley’s famed Chez Panisse. See details on zinfandel.org.

So how do you enjoy several hundred big red zinfandels at one time, and still come up roses? You don’t; especially if you’re not in the habit of spitting after every sip. I’m a professional spitter, yet in this past ZAP’s grand tasting in San Francisco (January 30) even I needed a good five hours to slowly pace myself in order to collect notes on barely a hundred zinfandels, before my palate (and entire body) finally cried uncle.

One thing I do need to say, especially to zinfandel naysayers: tasting big zins is not especially hard. Even average quality zinfandels offer plenty enough juicy fruit qualities that cushion the palate just fine, despite average alcohol levels of 15%. Aficionados of pinot noir, cabernet sauvignon, syrah, or Australian,, French, Italian or Spanish red wines need hardly hold up their noses; since when you actually look at those types of wines being produced today, you see that those wines are now averaging over 14% alcohol, too – not much different than your typical modern day zinfandel.

Besides, the reason why red zins taste best at closer to 15% alcohol is simple: that’s when the grape’s decadent fruit and tingling spice really begin to pop and, yes, zap you upside the chin with all the natural goodness of the grape (or as Mae West said about her diamonds, goodness had nothing to do with it…).

Part of the time at this past year’s ZAP I happened be tasting with a wine lover born and raised in France, who confessed to having a hard time with the sheer size of the best zinfandels and their “difficulty with food.” Well, I certainly can see that, if your diet and eating habits are still basically French. Here in the U.S., we don't eat in parsimonious courses, and make no bones about loving, say, our barbecued meats slathered in sticky, smoky, spicy, sweet, even sour edged sauces; and there’s hardly any French wine that goes well with that. We need our big, sweet, spicy red zinfandels!

Another nice thing about good ol’ American zinfandels: everyone has their favorites; and aside from those that say “Turley,” there really is no hierarchy of prestige brands fetching ridiculous prices because of the wanton lust of overweening collectors. Zinfandel lovers are truly a democratic, workingman’s, red loving lot.

Thus, my favorites most certainly wouldn’t correlate with that of another zin lover’s, but more power to the both of us. Like most true-blue big zin lovers, I love the unabashed excess of fruit as well as alcoholic power of today’s zinfandels; but as a classicist at heart, my favorites invariably retain a sense of balance, multi-layered texturing, and qualities of buoyancy and length on the palate as well. Call me a sissy, but I look for a little more besides wham-bam-thank-you-m’am when the push comes to shove.

There is no reason, to my way of thinking, why a good zinfandel can’t deliver as much as 16% alcohol’s worth of intensity, along with some grace and finesse. As a matter of fact, I think that the following most certainly do:

Pruning old zin vines in Dry Creek Valley

2005 Carol Shelton Maple, Dry Creek Valley – Since the turn of the century, Carol Shelton has emerged as California’s high priestess of old vine zinfandel; hers are not just “big,” but perfectly proportioned, always subtly oaked, never excessive in tannin or sweetness, yet as juicy rich as anyone’s. I crave a Shelton zin the way lonely girls crave chocolate. The Maple is bright with autumn berries, with floral perfumed notes; on the palate, balanced, velvet textured fruit qualities fill a medium-full body with a rare air of elegance.

2006 Carol Shelton Wild Thing, Cox Vineyard, Mendocino – Here, wild cherry is mixed with blueberry concentrations in an explosive nose; there is size aplenty, yet the alcohol (15.5%) alcohol) and muscular tannin is the last thing you notice, as the round,, wild berry flavors roll through the mouth in waves of sweet, elegant sensations.

2007 Tres Sabores, Napa Valley – Winemaker/proprietor Julie Johnson has truly been on a roll with her mastery of her old vine plantings, tucked into a slope on the western edge of Napa Valley’s Rutherford District. What is unique about Tres Sabores is its pungent clove and cinnamon spice notes, ringing in the bright raspberry/blackberry aromas; on the palate, moderate tannin buttresses a medium weighted body, holding the luscious, spiced berry flavors close to a smoothly textured vest.

Julie Johnson at 2010's ZAP in San Francisco

2007 Macchia Adventurous, Amador County – Macchia specializes in exuberant yet finely crafted Lodi sourced zins, but this one from Amador is pinpoint, elegant, claret-like in style; its silken layers teeming with blackberryish fruit; firm yet fresh, animated, and deftly balanced through a smooth finish.

2007 Carol Shelton Rocky Reserve, Florence Vineyard, Rockpile – The Rockpile AVA, defined by 800 to 2,000+ foot elevation slopes located north and west of Dry Creek Valley, east of Lake Sonoma, yields good sized zinfandels of hillside concentrations, somewhat elevated acidities and leaner profiles; translating in the bottle to wines of extremely unusual length and buoyant mouthfeels without the fat, plodding feel that typifying even the best California zins. Shelton’s announces itself with a low key yet glowing, harmonious array of blackberry, raspberry, crème de cassis, peppercorns and smoky roped tobacco aromas; progressing into a crisp edged, tightly wound medium-full body, uncoiling its silken, multifaceted fruit and spice sensations in dramatically long, sinewy, finely delineated fashion.

2007 Mauritson Rockpile Ridge, Rockpile - Rockpile sourced zins, in fact, often fool you; coming across as tight and restrained in the nose, then turning around and releasing layers upon layers of thick, lively, zesty sensations that go on and on in the mouth. Mauritson’s Rockpile Ridge is a perfect example: once you get past a modest raspberry concentration in the nose and a wall of fisted tannin on the palate, the fruit evolves into bouncy, bang-a-gong flavors, prickling the palate, then spreading out and finishing with a big, bright, and velvety smooth feel.

Mauritson's Rockpile plantings

2007 Rosenblum, Rockpile Road Vineyard, Rockpile – Rosenblum has established its rep on big, roly-poly zinfandels. Dyed-in-the-wool zin-bibbers adore it, non-zinners abhor it, and to each his own, right? Yet it’s fun to see how this winery’s style squares with fruit from the high elevation Rockpile region. Although they’ll pick at a couple degrees more Brix than, say, Carol Shelton, and end up with a degree or two more alcohol (usually around 15.5% for Rosenblum, as opposed to 14.5% for Shelton), Rosenblum’s Rockpile is structurally firmer (like muscled toned fat, rather plain fat), and less outwardly sweetish, than its two dozen-plus other zinfandel bottlings. The ’07 delivers of blast of blackberry jam in a liqueur-like nose; and on the palate, the wine really kicks in with full, velvety, glycerol textured flavors, long and fluid, floating (to paraphrase Dylan’s Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat) like a mattress balancing on a bottle of wine.

2007 Gamba, Moratto Vineyard, Russian River Valley – This old vine bottling (planted in 1920) yields a luxurious mélange of ripe blackberry, plum, smoke, blackpepper and allspice in the nose; these qualities holding up in equally compelling doses in the mouth, filling out a big, zesty edged body, as thick and rich as black chocolate. Stunner.

2007 Acorn Heritage Vines, Alegria Vineyards, Russian River Valley – Ah, the joys of 100-plus year old Sonoma vines; field mixed, as they were, with upwards twelve other varieties (in the Alegria, including large percentages of Petite Sirah and Alicante Bouschet, along with vines identified as Carignane, Sangiovese, Syrah, Trousseau, Petit Bouschet, Negrette, Muscat Noir, Cinsault and Grenache). Whatever the case, it is what it amounts to that counts, and this one is a doozy: positively rich, multifaceted aromas of blackberry, raspberry, smoky mocha coffee, pods of vanilla and cracked peppercorns; and all of these flavors tucked into a velvety, buoyantly balanced medium-full body, finishing with zip and persistence.

2007 Bella Vetta, Jack’s Cabin Vineyard, Rockpile – At every ZAP you are bound to “discover” something new, and this was a thrilling find for me: a focused blackberry nose laced with baking spices; fleshing out even further on the palate with a solid, meaty, bouncy feel, bursting from the seams of its smartly sized, medium-full body with the fresh berry pie flavors.

2007 Rosenblum, Planchon Vineyard, Contra Costa – Oodles of blackberry jam on toast, with sides of smoked bacon, in the nose; on the palate, velvet textured entry, leading to big, thick, fat feel, hardened in the middle by sturdy tannin, while finishing lush and juicy.

2007 Cedarville Estate, El Dorado – Located 2,500 feet up in the spectacular mountain setting of the Sierra Foothills, this vineyard has produced equally spectacular zins on a consistent basis during the past decade. The varietal profile here is of fresh raspberries handsomely wrapped in pungent espresso-like smokiness; and on the palate, not only is the feel lush, round and juicy, but also thick with tannin adding a dense, musclebound feel, lightened by a good acidic zip.

2008 Robert Biale, Verozza Vineyard, St. Helena, Napa Valley – The wine world owes much to the efforts of Bob Biale, whose masterful bottlings of old vine zinfandel have more than justified the preservation of these heritage plantings, even in the face of the relentless cabernezation of the Napa Valley. Wines like the Verozza Zinfandel – from “old warrior” vines approaching their hundredth year, still tended by the grandson of founder John Varozza – need to be appreciated for their historicity and rarity (barely 250 cases produced each year), but even more so for their pure, full fledged qualities: beautifully sweet, flowery scents of boysenberry and blackberry tinged with faint whiffs of old cigar boxes; balanced medium body, teeming with vivid, fresh, limpid berry flavors, veiled in silk and bright, intrinsic acidity.

2007 Rock Wall, Sonoma County Reserve – In early 2008 Kent Rosenblum sold his namesake winery to the beverage giant, Diageo; and he now concentrates on Rock Wall in partnership with his winemaker/daughter, Shauna Rosenblum. It’s a brand new family affair, and this bottling bodes very well: blasting off with pepper and chocolate studded, floral scented raspberry notes; transitioning into lush, ripe, fleshy flavors anchored by underlying tannin and sweet oak, caressing the palate with undulating textures.

2007 Valdez Family, Quinn Vineyard, Dry Creek Valley – Trayfuls of fresh, plump raspberries flood the nose with sticks of cinnamon and blackpepper; and while the expectations on the palate is for sweet sensations of the same, the feel is actually tight and cohesive, with sturdy tannin and zippy acidity doling out the sweet sensations in long, finely finished layers, suggesting elegance and balance rather than the usual plain tubbiness.

Master zin grower, Ulises Valdez

2007 m2, Soucie Vineyard, Lodi – This artisanal Lodi producer seems to have the touch; taking ultra-ripe, juicy, jammy qualities typifying old vine Lodi vineyards (the Soucie Vineyard was first planted in 1916), and crafting them into something finer, longer, more elegant than what is usually found in this delta region, without sacrificing the power or pure exuberance. The ’07 starts with fragrant, violet-floral notes, and then wraps the sweet jammy fruit in silken packaging, soft and transparent on the palate.

2006 Starlite, Alexander Valley – Never expect giant sized zinfandels from this modest estate; but rather, exceptionally fine, upbeat, silky textured wines of moderate weight and zesty edge, belying a sheer intensity of bright raspberry perfume underscored by cinnamony spice notes. It is precisely these restrained qualities that has made Starlite the “in” zin of choice in rarified restaurants like San Francisco’s La Folie and Michael Mina, and New York’s Alain Ducasse, Daniel, Veritas and Gramercy Tavern.

2006 C.G. di Arie Southern Exposure, Shenandoah Valley – Vinified primarily from the 140 year old Grandpére Vineyard, this concentrated wine leads off with pungent aromas of blackberry cake meshed with dried black cherry, licorice, smoke and cedarwood; the same sensations, thick and sinewy on the palate, the lush fruit flavors wound tightly by strapping tannin and sweet, toasty French oak.

2007 Klinker Brick, Lodi – Where else but in Lodi can you still find $16-$18 zinfandel with all the stuffing of zins from other regions going for twice the price? This wine is one juicy fistful of blackberries, lush and drippy on the palate; rich, round, and fruit driven directly to the sweet spot of any zin lover’s palate.

Love of zin is set in stone at Starlite Vineyard

Santa Barbara is much more than pinot noir (and snapshot of Santa Barbara's current releases)

2010-01-15T21:40:00.011-07:00

In Sideways, Miles describes Santa Barbara as the pinot noir grape’s “promised land.” But make no mistake: Santa Barbara not just about pinot noir; nor only about chardonnay. In fact, much of the Santa Barbara is not even suited to those particular grapes, but rather completely different ones.

As a growing region, Santa Barbara is made up of four officially recognized American Viticultural Areas (i.e. AVAs); plus at least another four unofficial sub-regions, known to vintners and aficionados by their varying climates, soil types and topographies.

The county’s largest AVA, for instance, is Santa Ynez Valley; which runs along the Santa Ynez River in a west-to-east direction, starting about 12 miles from the coast at the town of Lompoc, extending 28 or so miles until running up against the Los Padres National Forest. At the western end of Santa Ynez Valley is the sub-AVA of Sta. Rita Hills; where due to its coastal proximity, temperatures can run a good 15 to 20 degrees lower on any given day of the growing season than that of the recently recognized (only since Nov. 2009) sub-AVA of Happy Canyon, located at the far eastern end of Santa Ynez Valley.

The drastic difference in heat units alone makes Sta. Rita Hills ideal for growing pinot noir and chardonnay; whereas virtually no pinot noir and chardonnay are grown in Happy Canyon. It may be too hot to produce much more than mediocre pinot noir or chardonnay on the east side of Santa Ynez Valley; but Happy Canyon does happily produce truly fresh, highly lauded white wines from the sauvignon blanc grape, extremely promising red wine combinations from cabernet sauvignon, cabernet franc and merlot, as well as fine examples of Rhône style wines from grapes like syrah, grenache and viognier.

Richard Sanford, Sta. Rita Hills pioneer

Between Santa Ynez Valley’s Sta. Rita Hills and Happy Canyon are the unofficial sub-regions of Ballard Canyon and Los Olivos. Here, vineyards planted on hillsides and benches sit in fairly warm climatic pockets which, like Happy Canyon, are more conducive to Mediterranean climate grapes. A number of California’s most acclaimed syrahs – black, dense, yet unctuous, perfumed wines – are produced in this middle section; as well as perfectly respectable, if underappreciated, reds from the Italian Sangiovese grape. Remember the scenes in Sideways where Miles dumps a bucket of spittooned wine on his face, and jumps out of the car in self-pitying dispair? These were filmed in Firestone Vineyards near Los Olivos, and Miles is running through winery’s 25-30 year old cabernet sauvignon.

North of Santa Ynez Valley is the Santa Maria Valley AVA, which enjoys relatively cool, morning fog shrouded growing seasons effected directly by a good sized coastal gap between Arroyo Grande (in neighboring San Luis Obispo County) and the farming community of Santa Maria: near-perfect growing conditions for pinot noir and chardonnay, as well as Northern Rhône grapes like syrah and viognier. Some of the county’s best known producers – like Au Bon Climat, Qupe, Cambria and Byron – draw most of their grapes from Santa Maria Valley.

Sandwiched between Santa Maria Valley and Santa Ynez Valley is the unofficially recognized sub-region of Los Alamos Valley; enjoying moderate micro-climates that produce excellent pinot noir and chardonnay, but becoming increasingly known for exceptional Rhône style wines made from syrah, viognier, marsanne and roussanne. Finally, atop the hillsides of the Tepusquet Mountain Range at 400-800 ft. elevations, is the lesser known, unofficial sub-region called Santa Maria Bench; where lean hillside soils and fairly cool microclimates make for especially intense, velvety styles of syrah.

En conclusión: if you are not appreciating the “other” wines being produced in this promised land, you are simply missing out on a lot of pleasure. The following is a report recently published in Sommelier Journal (Nov. 2009) on some of the latest releases from Santa Barbara, culled from conversations with some of the county’s most respected winemakers. Re:

Stolpman Vineyard's Sashi Moorman

SNAPSHOT OF SANTA BARBARA’S FINEST CURRENT RELEASES

No one has farmed in Sta. Rita Hills as long as Richard Sanford, who describes the 2007 vintage as “mild… without the occasional bursts of heat we often experience in summer.” There were no issues in spring, so vineyards carrying modest crop loads “ripened well, the stems and seeds browning before harvest, the acid balance high.” Hence, Sanford’s 2007 Alma Rosa La Encantada Pinot Noir; its raspberry/blueberry fruitiness tinged with brown spices and soft but snappy, sinewy textures.

At the center of Santa Ynez Valley along Ballard Canyon Rd – a fairly warm climate region influenced as much by hillsides composed of beach sand and white calcareous stones – Steve Beckmen reports that 2007 was actually also a “cool vintage” atop his Purisima Mountain estate. For Beckmen, the combination of drastically reduced yields, Biodynamic® farming, and unusually mild temperatures produced “some profound syrah wines.” While structured with tannin and acidity, the 2007 Beckmen Purisima Mountain Syrah leans more towards gushy, fruit-bomb qualities, with violet, dark berry notes true to the grape; whereas from a south facing slope next door to Beckmen’s vineyard along Ballard Canyon Rd., the 2007 Stolpman Estate Syrah, is even deeper, thicker, more viscous in meaty, smoky, lavender and violet perfumed fruit.

In respect to their white wine grapes, Tom Stolpman and his winemaker/viticulturist Sashi Moorman both describe 2007 as “perfect,” and pushing the envelope with their dry farmed, close spacing, they produced a 2007 Stolpman L’Avion (90% roussanne/10% viognier) of stunning qualities: huge, round, fleshy with glycerol and waves of exotic fruit (mango, honeysuckle and ginger flowers).

In the cooler confines of Santa Maria Valley, Bob Lindquist describes 2007 as an “outstanding vintage,” marked by a long, cool season allowing grapes to ripen to ideal acid/pH balance at sugars 1 to 2 degrees Brix lower than normal. Lindquist’s 2007 Qupe Bien Nacido Hillside Estate Roussanne weighs in at a mere, levitating 12.6% alcohol, with a lemony crispness, minerally texture, and the classic white flower/marzipan/vanilla bean varietal fragrance.

Finally, since Santa Barbara is best known for pinot noir, it is important to note that we will soon be seeing a number of the earliest releases from the 2008 vintage. Pinophiles, gird thyselves: the ’08 pinots will be everything a proverbial Miles would want. Farming in Santa Maria Valley, for instance, Costa de Oro’s Gary Burk tells us to expect wines “characterized by a smooth and even ripening curve.” The grapes from Burk’s Gold Coast Vineyard came in with “beautiful balance and precise pinot noir flavors,” adding that “this vintage reminds me of 2005, where we had equally balanced and age-worthy wines.” In fact, the 2008 Costa de Oro Santa Barbara Pinot Noir is already plump and buoyant with juicy pinot fruit, its luxurious, velvet texture riding on graceful acidity, and prominent spice and earth notes.

Costa de Oro's Gary Burk

Dumb, da dumb, dumb (wine journalists), and snapshot of Oregon's current finest pinot noirs

2010-01-13T13:40:00.012-07:00

As someone who's penned newspaper wine columns for over twenty years, I think I can say this: newspaper wine columnists write the dumbest things. So wine lovers beware: particularly the piece written by a Chicago Tribune writer, which I read this morning (Jan. 13, 2010) in The Denver Post (which brings up another old beef of mine: why reprint dumb columns from newspapers in other cities, when there obviously are plenty enough good, or better, wine columnists living and working in your own town?).

In any case, the offending piece is titled: Oregon or California pinot noir? Taste test decides. Decides what? In the piece, the columnist opines, "California used to be the undisputed American star in the world of wine. But, increasingly, Oregon has been stealing the limelight, to the Golden State's sometimes obvious chagrin." Says who? I spend about a third of my time in California, talking with California wine lovers and producers; and although over the past two decades they've been very much aware that very fine wine is made in Oregon, I have never, never heard anyone express "chagrin." Wine lovers and producers may have preferences, but by nature they are a pretty catholic lot: they appreciate good wines from everywhere it's made. Vinous conflicts of the sort reported in this piece are pretty much imaginary; at least in respect to "Oregon vs. California pinot noir": existing only in the minds of reporters prone to senseless sensationalism.

The story goes on to report the results of a question posted in Facebook and Twitter, asking "who made better pinot noir: Oregon or California?" The splits were "sharply split and decisive." Predictable enough. Then the piece reports the results of a recent "California-Oregon smackdown," in which "three Oregon pinots were put up against three from the Russian River Valley." Conclusion: "and the winner is... California." Gee whiz, three measley pinots from Oregon vs. three pinots out of hundreds and hundreds from California? Sort of like taking three random kids from one high school and three from another high school, having them play ping pong and then coming to conclusion that one high school is better at ping pong than the other.

It's not that wine lovers, or lifetime wine professionals like me, don't find comparisons valid. We compare similar wines from different regions all the time to learn the differences, and even to determine what we ultimately prefer. The dumbness, virtually always, is in conclusions that wines from one region are "better" than the other; or in the case of wine columnists, leading readers to such errant conclusions. As with all aesthetically crafted products, wine preferences are decidedly personal; and stating that one preference is superior to another is a decidedly dumb thing to do.

Oregon's Ken Wright

To the Chicago Tribune writer's credit, he did make some valid observations of the six pinot noirs tasted in his particular smackdown: "In general, the Oregon pinots were lighter in color, fruitier in the nose and cleaner on the palate than the Californians, which were dark, smelled more like hay and mushrooms and had more powerful fruit." But as someone who makes a living doing these comparisons, I have to say this: you could select three different Oregon pinot noirs and three different California pinot noirs for another smackdown, and easily come up with the opposite conclusion -- that Oregon pinots are darker, having more powerful fruit and smell earthy, whereas California pinots are lighter in color, fruitier in the nose and "cleaner" (whatever the hell that means) on the palate. The growing conditions and winemaking styles that produce these differences in the two states have become so numerous and varied, it has become virtually impossible for even experienced pinot "experts" (this word, always a state of mind), much less average pinot lovers, to make out the differences in "blind" or "double-blind" tastings.

In fact, it's been like that for well over ten, nearing twenty years now: pinot noirs in both California and Oregon are more varied and sophisticated than ever! So why report that one might be "better" than the other? My conclusion: by assuming the lowest common denominator awareness of wine lovers who read this chaff, the writer plainly insults his own vinous intelligence. Whatever the case, readers deserve a lot better than this; and to the editors of The Denver Post, I just have to ask: if you're too lazy to write your own wine columns, could you at least do a better job of weeding out the junk from other newspapers?

Speaking of which, the following is a report I recently filed for Sommelier Journal (Nov. 2009 issue) on some of the finer pinot noir releases recently coming out of Oregon, based upon tastings and conversations with vintners just before the 2010 harvest. Not that that I think Oregon makes the greatest pinots in the world, mind you. But they are certainly among the finest; something anyone with common sense, two eyes, a nose and a palate that enjoys the taste of good wine would have to say. Re:

SNAPSHOT OF CURRENT OREGON PINOT NOIR RELEASES

Pinot noir has become synonymous with the relative cool climate grapegrowing regions of the Willamette Valley AVA (i.e. American Viticultural Area), stretching along the Oregon coast from Portland to Eugene; and consumers can now look forward to the more serious releases from the rainy, thus oft-maligned 2007 vintage. The better producers, says Penner-Ash winemaker/proprietor Lynn Penner-Ash, shouldn’t be “penalized” because “some winemakers can’t make wine in a cool, wet year.” As one of Oregon's most respected vintners, Penner-Ash pulled out all the tricks learned from her twenty-plus years in the Willamette, picking before, during and after the rains that persisted throughout the month of October. Her pièce de résistance and top-of-the-line, the 2007 Penner-Ash Pas de Nom, is simply amazing – plush, powerful, exotically scented.

For Joshua Bergström, the 2007 vintage was more a matter of patience and circumstance. “We waited six weeks from the time the rains started,” says Bergström, picking towards the end of November. For Bergström, Biodynamic® growing also is the difference. Less dependent upon “chemical diet,” Bergström’s plantings retain acidity, minerality and depth, with lower alcohol, in both “cold and hot vintages,” as evidenced by the deep, generous, pliant 2007 Bergström Dundee Hills Pinot Noir.

For the dry farmed, Biodynamic® certified Brick House Vineyards, according to proprietor Doug Tunnell, 2007 was “the most aromatic vintage in memory… during the harvest the entire winery smelled like a candy confectionary,” resulting in pinots like his 2007 Brick House Ribbon Ridge Pinot Noir: hauntingly perfumed, in the fine, delicate style associated with this estate.

Is it a coincidence that other Biodynamic® producers were so successful in the challenging conditions of 2007? The 2007 Beaux Frères Upper Terrace Pinot Noir is tasting like a banner year (certainly, among the winery's finest vintages ever): a silk tapestry of spiced strawberry and smoke. More proof-positive that you should never pay attention to premature, knee-jerk vintage assessments of the establishment wine press (i.e. dumb, de dumb, dumb); but rather, wait for the wines to actually go into bottle before tasting them, and drawing your own conclusions.

Seven Springs' Isabelle Meunier

Further south in Willamette Valley's Eola-Amity Hills AVA, winemaker Isabelle Meunier describes her deep rooted Seven Springs Vineyard (owned and managed by Evening Land Vineyards) as “bullet proof… impervious to rain, unaffected by heat.” The 2007 Seven Springs La Source Pinot Noir was picked during “good days” at the start of the October rains, yet few pinots from anywhere, any year, are as fine and luscious, bursting with wild raspberry, anise, rose petal and blueberry jam. Yet, not to be undone, the single vineyard Eola-Amity Hills bottlings by Cristom’s long respected winemaker, Steve Doerner, are also wildly successful; epitomized by the 2007 Cristom Jessie Vineyard Pinot Noir, a sweet, electrifying mix of red and black berry fragrances, smoky spices, dried cherry skin, and savory, gripping, round and muscular textures.

Since high demand Willamete Valley pinot noirs are often allocated or even pre-sold, it’s a good idea to get a handle on the upcoming 2008s. Perhaps no Oregonian makes wine in greater demand than Ken Wright, who says ‘08 was very cool, almost bleak, especially after a “significant rain the first week of October.” But this was followed by “twenty-two gloriously warm days that gave the grapes the opportunity to assemble everything… tremendous structure, and very agreeable, complex, delineated flavors.” A market indicator: the 2008 Ken Wright Carter Vineyard Pinot Noir, displaying ringingly bright, concentrated wild berry fruit tucked into densely layered textures, begging for more time in the bottle than usual for Oregon. Wright advises us to expect 2008 to be “not be as fleshy as ’06, ’02, or ’94,” but punctuated by an energetic acidity that “reminds me of ’88.”

Del Rio's Jean-Michel Jussiaume

But Oregon is not only about Willamette Valley. There are, in fact, a number of bright, effusive 2008 Pinot Noirs coming out of Southern Oregon (an AVA lying south of Eugene, extending down towards Cave Junction and Ashland along the California border) now entering the market. Del Rio Vineyard’s bright, youthful new winemaker, Jean-Michel Jussiaume, produced a 2008 Del Rio Pinot Noir that is lithe and flush with wild raspberry and strawberry, reflecting a loose-cluster year, lightened by a poor spring set. In Illinois Valley, in the far western reaches of Rogue Valley, Ted Gerber says his higher elevation Foris Vineyards never have “acidity issues.” In ’08, a “fabulous fall” ushered “ripening all the way through October,” yet allowed for picking at lower sugars (i.e. moderate alcohols). The 2008 Foris Maple Ranch Pinot Noir is alive with berryish fruit, yet deep, tight, compact.

Dream on (favorite drinking wines)

2010-01-05T14:19:00.022-07:00

I have this recurring dream. It's almost mid-day. We wake up late, and haven't yet eaten. So after stopping at a tiny charcuterie for some sausages, marinated olives, a round of local bread – tasting of freshly risen dough, crusted on the outside, silky on the inside – and a bottle of wine, we follow a winding brook at the foot of a steep hill outside the village, in search of a table in the sky.

The residual morning chill is still sharp in the air as our shoes crunch over some loose, schistous rocks, but we quickly begin to warm as we steady our footing, making headway up the slope. The landscape is a primeval mix of twisted scrub, giving off resiny, herby smells as we brush against them, along with lethal, gigantic sized agaves shooting up their thirty foot spikes.

Finally, the passing brook leads us to a small pool. We feel like jumping in, but when we dip our hands into it we're almost shocked by the stinging cold. So tucking our pack behind a rock and weighting our bottle beneath the water, we head off around a bend to catch a fuller view of the civilization below. The sun is now just post meridian, beginning to bathe the town’s distant red roofs and winding streets in swaths of brick and gold, and beyond it the earth appears to rise and dip with misshapen squares of scattered farms and homesteads, separated by taupe toned rock walls making lines like a Navajo blanket. Imbued by the entire fantasy, I look at my smiling partner and whisper those three magic words…

Shall we eat?

And if I'm not yet snapped back into reality by a ringing phone or knock at the door, this is where the dream really starts to cook. The garlic and spiced sausages jolt the palate, and the bread cracks and flakes; but it's the steely cold wine – which is red (isn't real wine red?) – that really gets me. Since we're shooting it directly from the bottle, we're not exactly savoring the "bouquet." However, the taste is like pure, undulating velvet – smooth, seamless flavors of some kind of sweet, purple stone fruit, mingling with cracked pepper and brown spices – and the aromas rush into the head from behind the palate, even long after the wine is swallowed. Better yet is knowing – this is my dream, mind you – that the wine was cheap, and there's a lot more where it comes from.

Which is why, when you think of it, I've probably remained in the wine business virtually all of my adult life. While dreams are nothing more than wishes, the reality is that there are always such wines to be found; despite the often overwhelming plethora of bottles and brands, at increasingly painful prices, that assault you every time you walk into a store.

When I first started in the business one of my biggest inspirations was the late, great Justin Meyer. He was one of the few winemakers (and I’ve met hundreds) who, when he would start to speak, my pen came out because I knew he would say something memorable. Looking at some old notes recently, I came across one of Meyer’s balder statements: “Americans pay too much for their wine.” This probably didn’t mean much to me before because I always believed people should spend whatever they feel like for a bottle of wine.

But now, over twenty five years later, I think I understand what Meyer was saying: there’s simply no correlation between the pleasure you receive and the price you pay when it comes to premium quality, commercial wine. Like Meyer, I’ve probably drunk too many wines that cost only $10 that I enjoyed a lot more than wines costing over $50 or $100. It doesn’t stand to reason, but my palate makes it so; especially taking in the factors of the foods I eat and the companions I keep. In many cases, better than a dream…

FAVORITE DRINKING REDS

Perhaps this explains those waking dreams: reminders that it’s the taste of the wine, stupid, not the 95 points or whatever is written on the wall or whispered through grapevines, that counts at the table. I’m sorry to say, but the dumbest thing a wine lover can do is believe everything he reads or is told.

Over the years my list of new “favorites” – which are invariably red (isn’t that the first duty of good wine?) – has never ceased to grow; and I suspect, even if they weren’t to his exact taste, Justin Meyer would have approved. Why? Because no one gave permission (call me stubborn, but I refuse to read reviews), yet they stimulate the pleasure centers all the same.

The following fave-raves might also give you an idea of the stunning range of deliciously different wines that might broaden your culinary perspective or, better yet, fit right in with the foods you’ve enjoyed all along. A good dozen choices, plus a lagniappe:

Jesse’s Grove, Earth, Zin & Fire (Lodi, California) – I was recently shocked - when presenting this in a professional wine/food matching seminar - by how the Earth, Zin & Fire effortlessly outperformed a top pinot noir, riesling and chardonnay in variant food contexts, with meats of all colors. Thus, I’ve come to rely more and more upon Lodi grown zins like this for democratically priced, zesty reds to embellish one of my all time favorite meals: meatless spaghetti in souped up, sweet onioned, herbalicious sauces under mounds of grated Parmigiano. Oh, but this is also the perfect barbecue wine, too: mild yet tingly acidity and restrained tannin only elevate bouncy raspberry/blackberry jam aromas and flavors, tinged with cracked peppercorn – just for thing for grill branded, caramelized meats slathered in sweet, gingery soy or sweet/spicy/vinegary marinades. But when in doubt, cook the spaghetti and, to sweeten up the pot, pop a Lodi zin.

Parducci, Petite Sirah (Mendocino, California) – The current owners (Mendocino Wine Company) have not only turned this venerable old winery into the greenest in California (if things like organic grape growing, carbon neutrality, use of biodiesels and biodegradable packaging means something to you, Parducci has been leading the way), they have revived the brand in the area it counts the most: totally fresh, delicious wines, like this unbelievably well priced ($9-$12) petite sirah; exuding a sweet blueberry concentration spiked with pepper, and a dense, full, round, fleshy, purple robed body wrapped in moderate tannin and understated oak. Matching foods? You name it; starting with meatloaf in fresh mushroom gravy (in Hawai`i, we’d add an over-easy egg and steaming white rice), or anything having to do with steak: grilled, pan roasted, blackened, Louisiana Lightninged, smothered in onions, drenched in melted herby butter, bang up against a banister, or singed under your wife’s tanning lamp – really, all you need to do is make sure there’s something meaty to make this round, fleshy red wine work its magic.

Luchador, Shiraz (South Australia) – The only thing suspect about this wine is its silly (okay, “fun”), gimmicky lucha libre labels, depicting masked Mexican wrestlers (there are now four variations of such). But there are tons more that this wine has going for it: most notably, massive, forsooth macho, amounts of flavor, beginning with an exuberantly aromatic mix of blueberry, blackberry and Brie-like notes in the nose, and ending with thick, roly poly, cherry bomb fruit qualities in the mouth, unimpeded by dense, rounded tannins. Everything a good Aussie Shiraz should be, including a decent price ($15). As Steve Miller once said, somebody give me a cheeseburger!

Jose Maria de Fonseca, Domini (Douro, Portugal) - Since Port has fallen out of favor internationally in recent years, the Portuguese have been producing more robust, vigorously flavorful, outrageously well priced table reds exactly like this: made from the same grapes that go into classic Port, resulting in all the richness of Port, sans the alcoholic fortification. In the case of the Domini: a blend of touriga franca, touriga nacional and tinta roriz. Black color and opulent nose – sweet black fruits in a box of vanillin oak – and if you dig a little deeper, a taste of leather and stony, granitic terroir on the palate, merging in a fleshy, medium-full body, thickened by round, polished tannins. While retailing between $12 and $18, a vinous experience at any price.

Heron, Sexto (Terra Alta, Spain) - Laely Heron is an enterprising woman better known for her sourcing of some of the sexiest merlot based reds known to man, from France’s Languedoc region. Heron blended this uncommonly deep, substantial red from six grapes (hence, Sexto) grown in the high elevation, rugged, off-the-beaten-track terroir of Catalonia’s Terra Alta, just off Spain’s Mediterranean coast. Dry farmed, old-vine grapes like garnacha (33%), carineña (30%) and tempranillo (20%) give the wine wild, juicy qualities; cabernet sauvignon (6%), and syrah (5%) add undeniable power; and the rare lledoner pelut noir (6%) tops it all off with a sinewy, pungent tumescence. For $12-$14, sexto may never been better!

Laely Heron

Bodegas Zabrin, Atteca (Calatayud, Spain) – This wine would not be so ridiculously good if not for its ridiculously good price ($13-$15 in most retail markets). Made from 80 to 100 year old vines of garnacha (a.k.a. grenache, the workhorse grape of Southern France), the nose is hugely rich and sweet (like cocoa dusted berries) and enlarged by smoky French oak; soft, round, medium-full, spiced berry qualities on the palate, tied down by firm tannins, making for a good, savory yet dry finish.

Clos la Coutale, Cahors (South-West France) – Depending upon which side of the country you’re on, this wine will set you back anywhere from $14 to $20. So you may want to buy two bottles, because it’s truly difficult to just drink one: a simply gorgeous combination of weight and ease, with seriously plump flavors filled out by round yet meaty tannin. This is a blend of mostly malbec (giving a blackberryish juiciness) with tannat (adding muscle and the feel of density), and just a smidgen of merlot (perceptively lush notes oozing out between the grains). Some nights, I think I’ve sat and cried over this wine’s majestic confluence of sensations. Okay, maybe not. But no serious dreamer of velvety reds should live without this.

Emiliana NOVAS Carménère/Cabernet Sauvignon (Valle de Colchagua, Chile) – The carménère grape typically yields a wine scented, for all the world, like Tabasco and jalapeño-like peppers. But in this organically grown wine, the grape is fleshed out by the firm tannin and minty berry qualities of cabernet; its medium-full body filled to the brim with plump fruit wrapped in smoky oak, while nuanced chile spices add interest rather than distraction. I once found this to be a seamless match with a mildly peppery arugula salad, tossed with Parmigiano, pine nuts and a soft, winey vinaigrette; but you should think things like rare beef sandwich with a pungent mustard or horseradish, pulled pork with a mess of sweet vinegared, salted frisée or cress (peppery greens help to round out the red wine tannins); although if there’s some truffle oil in the cabinet, well then, splash away!

Pircas Negras, Malbec (Famatina Valley, Argentina) - Malbec may be one of the "lesser" black skinned grapes that originated in Bordeaux, but in the high elevations of Argentina it is considered the “king”; and like any good king, it truly rocks across the palate with amazingly thick, juicy, massively muscled yet satiny smooth qualities, suggesting smoke, scrubby herbs, and sweet, wild raspberry. This brand (imported by Organic Vintners and qualifying as vegan) is a rock solid introduction to Argentina’s world of malbec; and if you haven’t yet experienced the thrill and value of it, then you’re in for a treat – especially for the $10-$11 price.

Bodegas Agapito Rico, Carchelo (Jumilla, Spain) – Carchelo is what you see on the label of this unusual blend of the mourvèdre (called monastrell in Spain), merlot, syrah and tempranillo grape varieties that I've been enjoying for well over a decade. The best way to describe it is that it gives $24 worth of flavor for a $12 price. Another way is to think of being fed meltingly rich, chocolate covered raspberries by lacy, satiny, black silk gloved hands. Any questions?

Bodegas Bretón, Loriñon Crianza (Rioja, Spain) – This is one of many fine examples of smooth, pungent, soft-as-suede $12-$13 tempranillo based reds coming out of Rioja today. The nose is punctuated by the red plummy, burnt leaf and beef consommé-like qualities of the grape, and there’s a feminine feel to the wine’s long, willowy, light to medium weight and tannins. All adding up to something of exceptional food versatility – easy enough for grilled fish, yet beefy enough for any meat, white or red, especially when coming off the barbie (since charring brings out the smoky nuances of the Loriñon).

Planeta, Cerasuolo di Vitoria (Sicily, Italy) – Sicilian reds made from the thick, black nero d’Avola grape have been popping up everywhere in recent years; but for the average Joe, the hard, bitter qualities of those wines are an acquired taste. The Cerasuolo – made from only 60% nero d’Avola – is fattened up by 40% frappato, effectively transforming the wine into a bowlful of plump cherries, while adding gingery nuances in the aroma and flavor; the nero d’Avola asserting its usual deep pigmentation and cracked pepper spice. At $16-$20, this makes an exotic, dense yet easy drinking red, especially with peppery charcuterie and lush, semi-soft cheeses with the usual fruit preserves. Throw in a side of lobster (think Chinese black bean sauce), a pound of cayenned crawfish or pulled pork with or without the barbecue spice, and you’ll find that few wines are as food resilient as this.

Alex Sokol Blosser

Sokol Blosser, Meditrina (Oregon, Washington & Paso Robles) – At $18-$22, this proprietary red stretches it insofar as “everyday” pricing; but oh, how it throttles the senses: ripe, sweet, plump cherry fragrances tinged with wild raspberry, flowing fluidly across the palate in waves of zesty sensations, redolent of berries and cherries. The current (fifth) edition of this nonvintaged blend is composed of Dundee Hills (Willamette Valley) grown pinot noir, Columbia Valley syrah, and Paso Robles zinfandel; proving once and for all, that when it comes to satisfyingly good drinking wine, it ain’t never the meat, it’s the motion.