It comes as no news to me that “lighting can influence both how wine tastes and how much consumers are willing to pay for it.”

Everything influences how wine tastes: temperature, setting, time of day or night, what you previously ate, how you feel, if you got enough sleep, the glasses you taste from, the flight in which the wine is included, what you see outside the window (if there is a window), whom you are with — I could go on.

Under these circumstances, the curious reader will wonder, “Well, then what’s the value of a wine review?” This is a fair question, and one that can’t be analyzed enough.

I know a fellow — Rod Smith, whom many of you also know — a fine writer. We once were at a tasting that Andy Beckstoffer held in his Rutherford offices of Cabernet Sauvignons from his portion of the To Kalon Vineyard (Robert Mondavi’s portion is spelled “Tokalon”). There was a small group of us scribes sitting around a table, tasting and scribbling. Rod had been fairly silent, so I asked him what he thought of the wines.

I remember Rod giving me a less than charitable glance and then saying, in fairly withering terms, “I don’t review wines. I write about them.” Well, sure; I took his point. Rod had reached the conclusion (I’m doing a lot of inferring here, but I think it’s true) that wine criticism is so inherently subjective, there’s no point in doing it. His approach is to write beautifully and elegantly and factually on all aspects of wine’s history and production.

I do that, too, both in my articles for Wine Enthusiast and in my books for University of California Press. (In my Russian River book, there are only one or two critical remarks made about specific wines, and none at all in my Conversations book.) But I also am paid to be a critic, and so a critic I must be. That means I have got occasionally to defend our practice, in spite of the many instabilities that afflict it.

Along these lines, 1WineDude wrote yesterday of his experience at the pre-Premier Napa Valley tasting, where our hosts had graciously set up big flights of Cabernet and Chardonnay. The Dude described his aversion to tasting his way through such massive events (and gently prodded Vinography for doing so). I didn’t make it into print in that posting, but I was there at the Culinary Institute of America, and ran into Dude at one point. When he asked me what wines I liked, I had to tell him, “None,” because the fact is that I wasn’t there to drink or taste. It makes no sense at all to me to try and review wines seriously under the circumstances of a mob scene, in a fairly alien environment of fuss and confused commotion. Instead, I took advantage of the scene to study it, rather like an anthropologist in the field (Margaret Mead among the Samoans?), witnessing the sometimes odd, sometimes amusing, sometimes baffling behavior of the populace. You can learn a lot from just watching people, especially when so many of them are bloggers.

When I taste wine formally, it has to be under precise circumstances in my home. Same time of day, same glasses, same table, same computer, same pattern of opening bottles in the kitchen and bagging them, same corkscrew (a standard somm’s), same view outside my window of a terraceful of geraniums and cacti, same lighting, even with the same TV turned on (with the sound off), which comforts me. Only then can I be assured that all the influences I described above can be minimized in their impact.

Does that make my winetasting less subject to distortion? Yes. Does it make it perfect? No. People who are deadset against individual wine reviewing will always find plenty of reasons to criticize it, and their reasons have some validity. All I can do is do my job, as carefully as I know how, and hope it has some value.

Every time I start thinking that Paso Robles has turned the corner on red wine, along comes a bunch that makes me think the bad old days never went away.

First, the good news. I talk up Paso Robles all the time, especially in Napa Valley. You’d be surprised at some of the “names” to whom I say, “They’re doing some fiercely good stuff down there.” Many of them — Napa vintners — are freaked out by the collapse following the third quarter of 2008. For the first time ever, they’re looking over their shoulders; even Paso Robles, for all they know, might be a contender. So they listen. It reminds me of when the French Rhônistes came over here, in the early 1990s. They weren’t exactly worried about the Californians, but they’d heard distant rumblings…maybe they should find out for themselves what was going on.

Napans would do well to pay attention to Paso Robles. We are in game-changing times. Napa Cabernet is not immune to a market turnaround. A Toyota moment always threatens, or threatens to threaten; the current recession may already have dealt a serious blow to über-Cabernets. There’s a lot of Southern California money invested in Paso, the way that Silicon Valley goes to Napa. If there’s a lesson to be learned from Paso Robles — young, aggressive, ambitious — Napa’s smart winemakers want to learn it.

There’s plenty of evidence on the Paso side. At their best, Paso reds are juicy-good and balanced, and if that means they spent a little time inside a spinning cone, so what. Saxum is a good example of how delicious these wines can be, but, as Saxum is so rare and expensive, perhaps a better example is Vina Robles. To  name just one, I reviewed their Signature red blend (Petite Verdot, Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah) last Fall, gave it 93 points, and might have gone higher, I suppose, had I let it play with the air in the glass; but at some point in reviewing, you have to close each chapter and get on with the next.

So that’s the good news, but then come those awful Paso Robles reds, and once again I despair. No names, please. This blog is not the place for that (you can look up my reviews in Wine Enthusiast’s database, and it won’t cost you a penny). There are wine companies down there that charge $30, $40 and more for red wines that are so terrible, I think of quitting my day job and becoming a coal miner. What goes wrong in Paso Robles?

a. Overripe grapes. There is nothing more disgusting than inhaling a wine and getting a lungful of raw, harsh port.
b. Thinness of fruit due, I suppose, to overcropping. I have nothing against 15% alcohol, in and of itself, but when there’s not enough fat on those bones, the wine is hot and disagreeable.
c. Bizarre acidity. I imagine some winemakers add stuff out of a bag because the wines are too soft. Nothing like unnatural tartness to make the palate gag.
d. Residual sugar. A longtime bugaboo of mine.
e. Uneven ripening. Sometimes you get asparagus. Not pleasant.
f. Uneven tannins. This probably comes from inferior viticulture or from problems at the sorting table (if there is one).

Why do these things happen in Paso Robles but seldom in Napa Valley? I put the question up on my Facebook page and got some interesting comments. Matt Garretson, who used to make wines in Paso, said, “The issue isn’t so much with the raw materials (which are every bit as good, if not better), but has more to do with the intentions/talent of the grower/winemaker. Far too many posers there, IMHO.” Another commenter, John Danby, noted, “Part of the reason you get some less-than-stellar wines in Paso is that it’s still relatively affordable for the dreamers (gotta love ‘em), making their own wine and finding their way along. In Napa, if you can afford to be here, you can afford the consulting winemakers, etc.” I agree with both statements.

Paso has its work cut out, but they’ve shown enough critical mass of intelligence and fortitude that I retain hope. Anything can happen.

One of my regular readers (Randy) commented here yesterday:

Having read for a while thoughts from Charlie, Steve, 1winedude and Tom, how do you guys get RP, JL and the other players to actually engage you guys on these blogs? Do they actually think they’re like, untouchable or are they so embarrassed by their official words that they can’t back them up in a free moving (on record) conversation?

What a great question. I replied, “Here’s my take: RP, JL and a few others have nothing to gain and a lot to lose by engaging with us po’ folk. They do tend to think they’re untouchable. It’s sad, but true. I would welcome their participation on this blog, but I’m not holding my breath.”

I think this topic is worth investigating a little bit more. When U.S. Presidents choose to isolate themselves away from a curious press corps (as sitting Presidents often do during re-election campaigns), they conduct what’s called a “Rose Garden strategy.” That’s when they appear only at carefully choreographed functions during which they take no questions but appear in all their glory surrounded by the majesty of their office. Their supporters claim that the President is “above the fray” but really, everybody understands that what’s really happening is the President (whoever he is, of whatever party) is actually afraid to engage in a bare-knuckled mano a mano with a bunch of reporters who are (usually) on top of the facts.

That’s how I see RP and JL. Why won’t they engage with me, or any of the other bloggers such as Alder or Eric? If they did, I can speak for the group of us: We would be respectful and keep the dialog on a high level, as we do anyway. It’s true that Tom Matthews, the top editor at Wine Spectator, frequently comments on blogs, but as far as I can tell, it’s not really to engage so much as to respond to criticism, i.e. damage control. It’s not a conversation when all you’re doing is reciting your magazine’s editorial policies.

Wine Spectator and Wine Advocate have taken a thrashing on the blogosphere in part because of their perceived arrogance. I wonder why they’ve held out for this long from engaging in the back-and-forth. It’s certainly not too late; they would be received here with open arms. As for JL, he seems to be more isolated than ever. One never sees him anywhere in California, whether it be at a bloggers conference, a writers conference, a Premier Napa Valley event, or anywhere up and down the state. As far and widely as I travel, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Jim in years. I wonder why. It seems so, well, twentieth century to play the “I vant to be alone” game. Bob, Jim, come on down! The weather’s fine. You might even find a little romance out here on the dance floor.

Event Alert

My friend Bo Simons, who runs the wonderful Sonoma County Wine Library, asked if I could publicize their upcoming (Feb. 26, 6:30 p.m.) event, which will honor Arturo Robledo. Mr. Robledo worked his way from laborer to supervisor, to vineyard manager and is now a successful business owner. A bevy of wine industry stars will appear at the event, which is at Paradise Ridge Winery, in Santa Rosa. If you’re interested, you can call Bo at 707-433-3772, ext. 5.

I returned home in a euphoric state of mind. (My therapist had to explain the difference to me between “manic” and “euphoric.”) All this stuff about monetization and ethics and “blogs into books” may be boring inside-the-beltway fare for 99.9% of the wine-drinking public, but it’s the meat-and-potatoes of the writer’s life, and it was so educational and pleasant to be able to explore these issues with our own kind.

Alder Yarrow did a yeoman’s job at coverage on his blog the other day. I had noticed him more or less continually pecking away on his laptop (Joe Roberts, too) and wondered how a mere human can be in 2 places at the same time, i.e., listening and paying attention to the intellectual give-and-take of a panel discussion, while at the same time twittering and/or blogging. But, as Alder and Joe and the others seem to be able to get away with this balancing act quite well, who am I to say it can’t be done?

I do take some — not a lot, but some — issue with Alder singling out Heather John’s statement

“Wine writers have some of the worst reputations for bad ethics in the business”

as “The most interesting.” After all, there were dozens of interesting, compelling and wise things said throughout the symposium’s three days. I could, for instance, cite Michael Bauer, to the effect that “A paid wine writer can afford to be ethical.” Heather may have simply been reporting on what she’s told by P.R. people, and I don’t doubt that the bad behavior Alder itemized is rampant among a certain class of “writer.” But the implication that malfeasance is more widespread among print writers than bloggers made me squirm. Well, of course it would be, for now; there are a lot more employed print writers than bloggers, they’ve been around for a longer time, the wineries have long histories with them, etc. So it’s not because print writers are sleazier or less ethical, it’s a question of numbers. There’s been this suggestion that bloggers are somehow purer and more noble than print writers; less capable of sin; less self-interested, and more interested in the greater good. That’s piffle.

Not piffle is this sentence from 1WineDude: “Both Eric Asimov and Steve Heimoff are practical, warm and charming in person (meaning that I have lost at least two bets and the week isn’t even over yet).”

Why would Asimov and Heimoff not be charming and warm? I don’t know what “practical” means, though. (And, by the way, nobody is more charming than Mr. Dude himself!) Somebody (okay, not just anybody, but the estimable Tom Merle) wrote in to the Dude’s website that:

“Of course your hosts would ~say~ this. They can’t ask you point blank to shill for them, even though…they expect it. Just as all entities who sponsor press junkets are morally right to expect coverage for their product, service of client. This is planet earth. If someone scratches your back, you better scratch back or you have violated the protocol.”

So let’s take a minute to talk about gratitude, and back-scratching, and who-owes-what-to-whom-for-what, and all that good stuff. The late, great California Secretary of State, Jesse Unruh (yes, the same guy who said “Money is the mother’s milk of politics”) once remarked, of lobbyists:

“If you can’t take their money, drink their whiskey, screw their women, and vote against ‘em anyway, you don’t belong in the Legislature.”

Those are words of wisdom, Mr. Merle, which I would paraphrase thusly: “If you can’t take their samples, eat their food, stay in their lodges and then trash their wines, you shouldn’t be writing about wine.” (I have deliberately omitted any reference to SWOTJ, or “screwing while on the job.”) I don’t mean “trashing” gratuitously, only as needed. It’s also, I may say, a little unfair to “them” to imply that “they” expect good coverage in return for their largesse. In my long career, they don’t. They hope for good coverage. They may even pray for it. But it would be tacky for them to expect it, and most winemakers — at least, in California — aren’t tacky. As for Mr. Bill Harlan, who, as the managing partner (or whatever his title is) of Meadowood and the proprietor of  Harlan Estate, if anybody thinks this man needs to have his back scratched by a blogger, you don’t know him.

[I wrote this last Saturday at the Wine Writers Symposium. Some stuff had popped up, and I was thinking along these lines.]

Outcast. Outlaw. Non-conformist. Punk. Exile. That’s the wine writer. We don’t quite fit in, we [anachronism alert!] ink-stained wretches of the Fourth Estate.

We’ve always been the outsiders, the gadflies and goads who pin-prick the powerful and bring them down to earth, if necessary, with a healthy dose of truth. Next time you’re in a conclave of movers and shakers, with their Armani suits, shiny Tag Heuers and perfectly coiffed hair, look around. That slightly unkempt fellow lurking uneasily at the edge of the room, there physically but not quite included, in his worn old corduroy sports coat, shirt worn for the second day in a row, and in need of a shave, is probably a reporter.

We don’t play the game their way. We play it ours. Even as we break their rules, we ask them — politely, respectfully, and with as much good humor as we can muster — to abide by ours. We are rebels, but we are not rednecks.

The reporter always has had this role, which is why the powerful loathed them. “If one morning I walked on top of the water across the Potomac River,” complained Lyndon Johnson, “the headline that afternoon would read:  ‘President Can’t Swim.’” “Four hostile newspapers are more to be feared than a thousand bayonets,” Napoleon concluded. Left unchecked and unaccountable, the powerful will be corrupted, sometimes without even knowing it. Wittingly or unwittingly, they cut a corner here, overlook a detail there, allow things to slide. Winemakers and winery owners are the power elite in this industry, our Kings and Generals, god-like but not omniscient. They make mistakes, have blind spots, play games. They will tell us how great their wine is and dare you to contradict them, and if you are diffident, they will have got you. It is the role of the wine journalist to tap the errant winemaker’s shoulder and say, “Ahem, excuse me, I hate to tell you this, but…”.

Reminding a winemaker that he has produced something mediocre is a needed task, but never a pleasant one. Telling truth to power should be done with the utmost humility, as well as strength. There are constant temptations to be co-opted by the very system you are sworn to cover. Satan will take you to the mountaintop, show you the power and glory, and whisper, “It’s all yours, my child. Just give me your soul.”

Which the wine writer must never allow. He holds back when traveling in the inner sanctums of the industry. Keeps something in reserve, never allowing himself to become too assimilated. Yet he is only human, and craves companionship. Where does the wine writer fit in? In the fraternity of other wine writers, who alone can understand. We inhabit the writer’s Zeitgeist. With them our weltanschauung is cooperative. At the wine writers symposium, alone among ourselves, without the distracting presence of winemakers or P.R. agents, we were able to see the untruth of Thomas Jefferson’s dictum

Advertisements contain the only truths to be relied on in a newspaper

as we struggled intellectually and morally to figure out how to tell the truth through words in the fairest possible way. We may not have come up with the answer, but our very struggle testified to our sincerity.

I sometimes try, though, to see us through the eyes of winemakers and winery owners. They view us, I think, as exotic beasts. Deep down inside, they’re a little afraid of us. We can, after all, with a keyboard stroke help their bottom line, or hurt it. We wine writers keep winemakers on edge.

I quoted Napoleon above. Here is the rest of his quote: “A journalist is a grumbler, a censurer, a giver of advice, a regent of sovereigns, a tutor of nations.” He meant this as reproval. It was, in fact, praise.