Lots of talk over the last 48 hours about that new report out of Australia predicting a disastrous tipping point for the country’s wine industry.

Winebiz.com, an Aussie online publication, wrote about the report on Nov. 10. Among other things, the report stated bluntly that 20% of existing grapevines Down Under are “surplus,” “bailouts are not an option,” the country is producing “20–40 million cases a year more than it is selling,” and the actual “viability” of the industry is at stake. What is needed, the report concluded, is an “adjustment process” of undefined dimensions.

The next day, Paul Gregutt blogged apocalyptically about the report and, with his title “Fair Warning!”, cautioned the American wine industry that we might become “the next Australia” if we — the 50 States — refuse to “consort as a national wine industry” as opposed to acting “regionally and locally” (i.e. as individual States and regions within States).

Also yesterday, the economist Mike Veseth — whose infrequently updated blog always is worth a read — weighed in, taking a more wait-and-see attitude. “It will be interesting to see,” he wrote, “if the Australian producers are more decisive and if they can find a way to pull themselves back from the tipping point.”

The question, as I see it is, where is the American wine industry heading? Is that light up ahead the end of the tunnel, or, as in Australia, an oncoming train? To begin with, while Australia has an actual national wine industry, the U.S. does not. We have 50 statewide wine industries, and even within States, regions (i.e. AVAs) compete against one another, sub-AVAs (St. Helena, Oakville) go toe-to-toe, and then, of course, individual wineries do battle on the playing fields of the competitive market. So Paul is correct when he notes that the thousands of wineries in America do not “consort as a national wine industry.” Nor are they going to.

What might a united wine industry do anyway, even if it could figure out a way to associate? Not much more, in my view, than the fractured industry we have now. And when you think about it, that sundry wine industry hasn’t done too badly. Without focused leadership, we’ve made America a wine drinking country in a relatively short time, and made wine the alcoholic beverage of choice for aspirational adults. That’s a pretty good accomplishment.

Here in California, I’m pretty optimistic that things aren’t heading into the dumpster. I can’t prove it, but I don’t think we’re in the same dismal boat as Australia. Part of Australia’s problem was that they presented themselves to the world as cheap Shiraz, an image that worked for a time but has now come back to haunt them. And, to the extent the Aussies believe that China and other Asian markets will be their salvation, I say, Asians are as aspirational as Americans and want to be perceived as drinking good wine, not plonk. California has the advantage that — whatever you may think of its wines — the state manufactured for itself the image of prestige and high quality (thanks, in large part, to Robert Mondavi). Therefore, California wines will remain viable and, even more, desirable, both in this country and overseas, as long as individual wineries don’t price themselves out of the market. And that will not happen, I firmly predict. Prices already have fallen and are continuing to fall. The market is adjusting to new realities. I don’t know about the wine industries of Wisconsin, Alabama or Nevada, but the California wine industry — battered and weary — will emerge from this nightmare in solid shape.

I completely agree with Laurie Daniel’s column today in the San Jose Mercury News about the dismal state of California Chardonnay. “A lot of the wines are downright undrinkable, with noticeable alcoholic ‘heat,’ too much residual sugar and/or oak that’s way too aggressive,” she wrote. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

I’ve said many times that I’m a Chardonnay lover. Never have been an ABC guy, never will be. And when I say Chardonnay, I mean Burgundian Chardonnay: barrel fermentation, new oak, sur lies and battonage, the whole works. Chardonnay is the world’s greatest white grape and wine (along with Riesling) and there’s no way I’d ever dismiss the whole category, categorically.

But! Let us get real here. When you taste as many Chardonnays as I do — 500 last year? something like that — you reach the point where you want to tear your hair out and scream (and with what little hair I have left on my head, that’s not a good thing). I hate to single out particular wines for criticism on this blog, but in this case, I will, because it’s a poster child for sweet, flabby Chardonnay. It was Geyser Peak’s 2007 (Alexander Valley), and here’s what I wrote: “Sugary sweet, simple and over-oaked, this Chard has one-dimensional flavors of pineapple candy, vanilla and smoke. 83 points.” Granted, it was only 13 bucks, but I might have said the same thing, or something similar, about Robert Stemmler’s 2006 Chardonnay (Carneros, $34) or Frank Family’s 2006 (Napa Valley, $32) or ZD’s 2007 Reserve (Napa Valley, $55). Buttered popcorn, caramel corn, sugary sweet, candied — what’s going on?

Someone or something has to take the blame, but who or what? Well, first of all, there are places Chardonnay simply shouldn’t be grown because it’s too hot. I’ve seldom encountered a great Chardonnay from Paso Robles or Lodi, although there are other factors in those places that limit the wine’s potential. Large tracts of central and northern Napa Valley also are unsuitable, as is Sonoma Valley as you move north from the Carneros.

Whenever I get a distressed wine the question arises in my mind, Did the winemaker do this on purpose, or did he not know this is dreadful? When in doubt, choose the more compassionate interpretation: the winemaker did it on purpose. Why would a smart winemaker make a sweet, oaky Chardonnay he, himself, probably wouldn’t drink? We know the answer to that one: THE MARKET DEMANDS IT. Or so it’s said: Americans like their Chardonnays gooey.

Laurie also wrote: “I made the observation that a lot of the wines seemed to be made to a recipe. The winemakers who churned out some of these wines couldn’t possibly have been proud of them. I suspect that the marketing departments determined that their wineries needed to have an $18 chardonnay in the portfolio, so the winemakers just did what they were told. The wine was treated like a commodity.” Exactly.

I’d love to hear from people who actually sell Chardonnay, particularly merchants. Is this true? Does the average consumer really prefer a flabby Chardonnay to a dry, crisp one? Certainly, California is capable of producing very great Chardonnay. Bjornstad, Au Bon Climat, Hartford Court, Williams Selyem, Gary Farrell and Failla come to mind. They have the richness, mind you, but also the sleek acidity and dry finish for balance. Unfortunately, they’re expensive. It may be that California is unable to produce reliably inexpensive Chardonnays that are also of high quality. That’s the case with Pinot Noir. We may have to face the facts. If my budget was limited to, say, $15 for a bottle of white wine from California, I doubt if it would be Chardonnay, even unoaked. More likely Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Gris or Gewurztraminer.

My San Francisco wine tasting group met again yesterday, in our usual haunt at Pier 19, just north of the Bay Bridge, and with a fine view of the span arching so gracefully to Yerba Buena Island. The theme was old Cabernet; beyond that, our host, Gary Cowan, of Fine Wines International, told us nothing. As this was an extraordinarily educational tasting for me, I thought I’d share the results here.

There were 9 wines. I knew instantly that #1 was very old. From the pale color and, even more, the maderized smell and taste, I guessed it to be 1960s Napa Valley. In fact, it was 1973 Castlerock Cabernet Sauvignon. The wine was a forerunner of today’s Yates Family/Napa Redwoods Estate, and the grapes came from Mount Veeder. I scored it 92 points “for historical interest…a ghostly remnant from another era.” (Words in quotes are from my notes during the tasting. Prices are retail, as determined by Gary.)
My ranking: 5. Group ranking: 7 ($N/A)

#2: Another old Cabernet that I found “dried out, bitter, dead.” Most of the group agreed with me, but one of us loved it. It was 1970 Chateau Montrose (which Parker called “unquestionably a 40-50 year wine”). Well, it is nearing 40. I gave it 86 points, out of respect for its “curiosity” value.
My ranking: 7. Group ranking: 9 ($250)

#3: Yet another old Cabernet, but “still with some sweetness…charming.” Maderized, yes, but “buttery-sugary. Marzipan.” It was Freemark Abbey 1974 Bosche. I gave it 93 points, despite some still-hard, bitter tannins.
My ranking: 4. Group ranking: 6. ($150)

#4. This was my last place wine, and the most polemical of any our group ever tasted. It earned 3 firsts, 3 ninths, 1 eighth and 1 fourth. I couldn’t get past the burnt rubber smell. It was 1990 Ridge Montebello, a wine I had not tasted previously, although I had given the 1991 95 points. It is very difficult to explain how and why a group divides down the middle on such a wine. I gave it 70 points, “undrinkable.”
My ranking: 9. Group ranking: 4. ($225)

#5. I didn’t care for this wine, either, mainly because it was dominated by a curiously deadening aroma of mold. Others perceived the same. It wasn’t TCA. It was also hard and tannic. It was the 1984 Joseph Phelps Eisele, from the vineyard in Calistoga, and I gave it only 83 points.
My ranking: 8. Group ranking: 8. ($195)

#6. I called this “solid, old-style Cabernet” and judged it to be from the 1980s. “Bone dry, tannic, with old-style blackberry, currant and cedar flavors.” It was quite a good wine, with some life ahead, and I gave it 91 points. It was Heitz’s 1985 Martha’s Vineyard.
My ranking: 6. Group ranking: 5. ($250-$325)

#7. With this wine we entered a much younger era. The tannins were entirely different from the previous wines: softer, rounder, more refined. The wine was 1992 La Jota “Anniversary” Cabernet, and I gave it 94 points for its “dense, powerful, concentrated” structure. I was reminded that by the early 1990s the era of tannin management (bladder presses, riper fruit, canopy management) already was underway. It was a beautiful wine with still a good future.
My ranking: 3. Group ranking: 1. ($195)

#8. This wine seemed older than #7, although Gary usually arranges the wines from oldest to youngest. It was paler, and certainly more brittle and lighter in body. Yet I loved its elegance, its almost tea-like delicacy, and the floral-sandalwood and cherry flavors. It was 1990 Cos d’Estournal, a beautiful old Bordeaux. “Enjoyable and complex.” I scored it 93 points.
My ranking: 2. Group ranking: 3. ($255)

#9. This was my highest-ranking wine, but by the end of the tasting, I probably would have scored it a little lower. It was the 1991 Beringer Chabot Vineyard Cabernet, and I initially gave it 94 points for its sheer, Napa-esque muscularity. The primary fruit was just beginning to evolve to more mature bottle notes. A great Cabernet that seemed far younger than 18 years. This led to a discussion about allowing wines to air before you rate them. For example, the #1 wine — the 1973 Castlerock — continued to gain in aromatic complexity after 2 hours in the glass; I would have scored it higher had I tasted it later. Some of our group argued for future wines, especially older ones, to be put in glass at least 2 hours before we taste them, to let them breathe. This isn’t a bad idea.
My ranking: 1. Group ranking: 2. ($225)

Gary followed the tasting by treating us to an astonishing white wine: von Othegraven 2008 Altenberg Riesling Kabinett Erste Lage, from the Saar. It was a near-perfect Riesling, off-dry and minerally, with a tang of citrus, tangerine, flowers and honey. And what acidity! The alcohol was 8.5%. Gary plans to retail this beauty for $28. A steal.

I’ll be going down to Monterey this Friday for the Great Wine Escape Weekend, which Wine Enthusiast co-sponsors; Saturday night is our big Wine Enthusiast Signature Winemaker Dinner. This year it’s 5 courses, each prepared by a chef from a different venue (PlumpJack, the Intercontinental Monterey, the Food Network, the Carneros Inn and the Intercontinental’s pastry chef). There will be 2 wines with each course, i.e. 10 wines in all, which means I’m going to have to set limits; otherwise, I’ll be slurring my M.C. words by night’s end! It’s happened before…

I’ve been surprised by the public’s flipoff of last week’s news that 7-Eleven is now selling a $4 “value” wine, Yosemite Roads.

The launch was covered on blogs and online publications. I went through a bunch of them to read the comments, and frankly was baffled by the derision and downright anger expressed by people who took the time to write in.

From “Daily Finance,” an AOL site:

-7-Eleven WINE??? I just might vomit into my morning coffee…

-i wouldn’t drink it if it was free.

-A fine bottle of chablis, vintage 45 min ago. bleeah !

From neatorama:

-Are the sales of Thunderbird and Manischewitz falling that low.

-this is an entirely different kind of gross from Thunderbird and Manischewitz.

The Chicago Sun-Times headlined Wash down a Slim Jim with a ‘full-bodied’ 7-Eleven wine

From the Huffington Post’s blog:

-Convenience store wine….mmmmmm.

-Watch out Boonesfarm. You’ve got competition.

-can I get that in a Big Gulp?

-Get out’a here. You made that up.

From the Dallas Observor blog:

-Id prefer Five Buck Chuck from Trader Joes as a drinking/cooking wine than 7-11′s wine flavored malt beverage any day!

-MMM MMM, It’ll get ya drunk!!!!!

-I think that;s useless…nobodys gonna buy it!

-W.T.F is next? Ronald McDonald Wineries – the McPinot – perfectly paired with Big Mac’s secret sauce.

Even the Ridge (winery) blog made this more erudite dig:

-I am speechless. Or, to borrow an exquisite colloquialism I picked up in Ireland, I am rather gob-smacked. I don’t know what to say…I have to go lie down now.

[this is Steve again] How to interpret this reaction? Partly it’s just plain old humor, of course — blog readers having a little fun, and 7-Eleven is an easy target. But there’s something else going on, on a deeper, more disturbing level, and that is the overt patronization of the [perceived] kind of people who frequent (and work at) 7-Eleven.

For contained in many of these comments is a not-so-subtle disdain of blue collar workers, immigrants, people of color and poor folk who (in the conventional wisdom) shop at 7-Eleven. Scan the comments again and the starkness of class-based antagonism comes out:

- the references to getting drunk, as if people who buy wine at a “nice” wine shop do so to daintily sip, while anybody who would buy wine at 7-Eleven has to be a lush.

- the assumption that the wine has to be bad because 7-Eleven shoppers have no taste. Do you think any of the commentors actually tasted the wine before pronouncing it awful? I doubt it.

- the downright anger. Vomit…wouldn’t drink it if it were free…gross. What’s that all about?

Personally, I think it’s great that 7-Eleven is selling wine. We — the wine community — are always wishing that wine were more mainstream in America. Well, 7-Eleven is as mainstream as you can get. For me, the lesson in all this is that wine lovers should avoid the snobbery of viewing inexpensive wine as garbage fit only for the dregs of society. (The food equivalent of this is that “our” kind of people shop at gourmet markets while “those” people shop at convenience stores.) That’s not only wrong, it’s anti-American. 7-Eleven deserves a big pat on the back for bringing Yosemite Roads to the masses.

Just a quick post from here in my Napa hotel room before I hit the road for the rush hour commute, in the rain, for Oakland. Yesterday, I blind tasted 52 Cabs and Bordeaux blends at Napa Valley Vintners’ offices, in St. Helena. And as always happens, there were some real surprises.

My scores and reviews will be published in future editions of Wine Enthusiast so I can’t get into detail here, but I will say that some inexpensive wines beat out some very expensive ones. First, I went through all 52 in sequence, then narrowed down my top scorers into a final group of 12. I focused on that flight of a dozen very carefully, then made my ultimate scoring decisions. The entire tasting took more than 3 hours.

Fifty-two wines is more than I usually do in one sitting, but in this case it was very easy. The Vintners Association did a wonderful job setting everything up, which meant I didn’t have to, which freed my energies. I used a swivel chair to move up and down the table of bagged wines. There was water and Carr’s little crackers and spit cups, and that’s all I needed.

I should add that the particular wines I tasted were ones that don’t normally send me review bottles, which is why I traveled to Napa to taste them. I had the feeling that some wineries that never would have submitted to a group tasting did so because of the economy; just because you’re Napa Cab doesn’t mean you don’t have to get out there and market yourself. It was evident, right off the bat, that these were wines of great purity and grace. When you are at that quality, everything is good. It’s just a matter of splitting hairs. There were truly no bad wines; they all that that Napa Valley je ne sais qua. Under those circumstances you’re looking for nuances, not bold strokes, to make quality judgments.

So what does it mean than an inexpensive wine beats a super-pricy one? When you pay $100 or more for a bottle of wine, much of what you’re paying for is image. On the other hand, when you get something great for under $30, you’ve got a great value. I’ve spent most of my career trying to explain that great wine doesn’t have to cost a lot, and yesterday’s tasting proved that once again.

A final word about the handful of wineries I wish had submitted to the tasting, but didn’t. Why not? Fear? Pride? Because they don’t have to, or because they think they don’t have to? They know who they are.