I’m going to write a piece on the Atlas Peak AVA in the January, 2011, edition of Wine Enthusiast, so I’m not about to spill the beans here! But I do want to segue into a topic I was reminded of during my drive around the mountain, yesterday, when my host was Jan Krupp, one of the partners in Stagecoach Vineyard.

He was talking about how the growers and winemakers on Atlas Peak want to be better known, since the general feeling (with which I agree) is that Napa Valley’s other mountain AVAs — Diamond, Veeder, Spring and Howell — are more famous and esteemed than Atlas Peak. Although there are some pretty good historic reasons why that is so (and I’ll write about them in January), it set me thinking about AVAs, their reputations, and the role the media plays in establishing the latter.

If you think about it, AVAs, or appellations, are basically political entities. Yes, they’re supposed to be based on real soil and climate patterns, and, yes, the U.S. Treasury Department, which has the responsibility of okaying them, makes petitioners jump through a lot of hoops to prove their case.

But what many people don’t know are all the compromises involved,  especially over precisely where the boundary lines are. I’ve never heard of an AVA application to Treasury that didn’t take years of wrangling over who would and who wouldn’t be included. And, as those of us know who’ve covered California for a while, some of the AVA lines make no sense at all. Jan Krupp, from a high point on his property, pointed out one of the Atlas Peak boundary lines to the west, and it seemed to go right through the middle of a field. Nothing at all to suggest why one side is Atlas Peak and, an inch away, you’re entitled only to “Napa Valley.”

So I wonder. Since Atlas Peak is an official AVA (since 1992), do we assume that there is something called “Atlas Peak terroir” simply because it’s an appellation? And do we media hounds then go out seeking that “Atlas Peak-ness” and, lo and behold, “find” something we dub “Atlas Peak terroir” ? Because, after all, if that’s the way things work, it’s pretty bass-ackwards, IMHO.

We stole, err, borrowed our AVA system from the French, who have had a lot longer to figure out appellations that are small and compact and really do make sense. I have no doubt that there’s a Côte-Rotie terroir. I believe there’s a Chambolle-Musigny terroir. Ditto for Pauillac. But then you have a day like I did, traversing up and down the mountain, looking at it from various perspectives, and you appreciate how complicated things really are up there. Different elevations, exposures, different soil patterns and, as Kan Krupp informed me, different weather patterns. When you throw in, on top of that, that some growers are less diligent than others, and some winemakers pay less attention to detail, you can see that defining “Atlas Peak terroir” is not as easy as it seems.

And yet, that’s never stopped wine writers from trying! As I will, when I write my article. For those of you who don’t have the pleasure of being employed as a wine writer, you should know (I’ll probably be killed for revealing this) that we take a sacred oath on entering the profession: “I swear to Tchelistcheff that I will discover terroir within every single appellation, and will faithfully write about it.”

I’d love to hear from some of my fellow wine writers: Do we sometimes write about appellations as if they’re God-given and must therefore possess some inherent truth of terroir? Is there more of a marketing angle to appellations than a natural one? Or do appellations actually have singular personalities that we can all agree upon?

Back in December, 2009, I blogged on “the Sonoma County label war,” a proposal by the Sonoma County Vintners by which every bottle of wine produced in the county would have to bear the words “Sonoma County” on the label. That meant, if the wine came from Russian River Valley, it would have to say “Russian River Valley – Sonoma County.” Ditto for all of Sonoma’s other 12 AVAs.

I expressed some doubt at the time whether this was really the best thing the county could do to promote itself. It seemed like a too little, too late approach to make up for the diluted Sonoma County reputation the county caused by creating so many appellations in the 1980s.

Over the weekend, the California Legislature unanimously approved a bill that essentially enacts the Sonoma County Vintners concept, dubbed “conjunctive labeling,” into law. Since there’s no reason to think Gov. Schwarzenegger won’t sign it, the new law will likely go into effect, although not for another three years.

Three other California wine regions have conjunctive labeling laws: Napa Valley, Lodi and Paso Robles.

I asked my Facebook friends, many of whom are California winemakers, what they think of this law, and the response was pretty negative. I can’t explain that; I simply report. A few examples:

“Capture winery is totally opposed.” — Tara Sharp

“My label is Dane Cellars and I oppose it also.” — Bart Hansen

“Horrible law.” — David Grega

“Dumb, dumb and dumber. I have withdrawn from the Vintners in protest and won’t participate in any of their marketing efforts.” — John M. Kelly

“…we are also considering withdrawing.  Most upsetting: we’ve voiced our concerns to the Sonoma County Vintners in a detailed, thoughtful way and they’ve completely ignored our points.” — Tara Sharp

“F’n ridiculous, moronic, and other words not fit to type.” — Hardy Wallace

“It’s a bad idea, and it sets a bad precedent for other large geographical AVAs to ram the same sort of requirement through their state legislatures.” — Randy Hall

“it’s silly” — Mark Clarin

Although to be fair, there were a few defenders:

“I think its great personally, strength via solidarity, and seems plenty of industry concurred; just b/c SVVGA didn’t follow your concerns doesn’t mean they weren’t listening.” — William Allen

“Is the Napa law ridiculous too? What about Paso Robles? How about Lodi? The one thing Sonoma County (wineries) ALWAYS gets criticized for is that they can’t come together for a common good… and a lot of the comments above illustrate that point exactly.” — Kelly Keagy

I’m still enjoying Secrets of the Sommeliers. There’s a section where Rajat Parr is talking about “the key to memorizing and comprehending wine styles from classic regions,” which is “to establish a single benchmark wine that represents a region or style.” Then, in analyzing any other wine of that variety or style, you compare it to that classic wine.

For example, here’s Rajat’s thinking process for understanding Bonnes Mares. “Does it taste like Pinot Noir?…Then, does it taste like Pinot Noir from Burgundy? Does it taste like Pinot Noir from the village of Chambolle-Musigny? And, finally, does it taste like Pinot Noir from the Chambolle-Musigny vineyard of Bonnes Mares?” If it does, “For me,” Rajat says, “that wine is Domaine Roumier Bonnes Mares.”

There are, to be sure, not all that many “classic” regions throughout the world where such an approach is possible. Rajat limits them to a top tier including Burgundy, the Loire, Champagne, Bordeaux and the Rhone; also, German Riesling (Mosel, Rheingau, Pflaz, Rheinhessen), Austrian Riesling and Gruner V., and Italian Piedmont, Tuscany and Veneto.  He makes allowances for Spanish Rioja, sherry and albarino, port and vinho verde and, from the New World, New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, Aussie Shiraz, Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon and Oregon Pinot Noir.

We can nitpick. I thought it would be interesting to take Rajat’s approach to “comprehending wine styles” and apply it to California. What are the classic grape varieties and wines, areas, producers and vineyards that represent “benchmarks” for the state? This is easy to do, in principle; hard, in fact, mainly because California’s history is so much shorter than France’s. Also, because in California, you can legally grow anything anywhere, as opposed (notoriously) in Old Europe.

Still, difficult as the task may be, it must be attempted, starting with Cabernet Sauvignon. I will concur with Rajat that Napa Valley remains the alpha and omega of Cabernet — so far. I consider Rajat’s Four Questions (does it taste like Cabernet? Does it taste like Cabernet from Napa Valley? Does it taste like Cabernet from the Stags Leap District of Napa Valley? Does it taste like the Hillside Select of Shafer?) and make my decison. Shafer Hillside Select: a California Cabernet Sauvignon that is a benchmark.

Pinot Noir. Rajat doesn’t consider California Pinot classic, although he does let Oregon into the club (which must make Paul Gregutt ecstatic). But that’s Rajat’s club. Mine is open to California Pinot Noir. Is there a wine that tastes like Pinot Noir? Does it taste like Pinot Noir from the Russian River Valley? Does it taste like Pinot Noir from the warmer Middle Reach of the Russian River Valley? Does it taste like the Rochioli Riverblock Pinot Noir? Yes, four times. Williams Selyem Rochioli Riverblock Pinot Noir, a classic benchmark.

I’ll stop with Cabernet Sauvignon and Pinot Noir, because there are other issues to sort out. Because you can legally plant anything you want anywhere in California, we can’t say (as they can in France) that the best Pinot Noir must taste like it comes from Burgundy (or the Cotes de Nuits, or Bonnes Mares). It’s in no one’s interests to set up beauty contests between the Middle Reach and Green Valley, or Philo, or the central Santa Lucia Highlands, or the Santa Rosa Road corridor of the Santa, err, Sta. Rita Hills, or the Arroyo Grande, or Carneros, or anyplace else. Ditto with Cabernet, which you can’t even limit to Napa Valley; and, even if you could, you would have to take into consideration the wide range of terroirs, ranging from Howell Mountain to the Rutherford Bench, from the flatlands of Georges III to the top of Atlas Peak, and so on.

Of course, Rajat could have taken the same approach to, say, Clos de Vougeot, Chambertin, Musigny, etc., as he did with Bonnes Mares, which would complicate and lengthen his process. But he would not have had to include Pinot Noir from anyplace else in France, which simplifies it; Rajat is limited to a relatively smallish growing area. It may be — I can certainly see the day coming — when we will have to begin including Cabernets (and Cabernet-dominated blends) from Paso Robles, Happy Canyon, parts of Sonoma County (of course) and possibly other areas, among the “classic benchmarks” of California; and, of course, we’re already there when it comes to Pinot Noir.

Another difficulty in California, as I earlier said, is its briefness of history. Take a wine like Evening Land’s Occidental Vineyard Pinot Noir. It is extraordinary, classic — but since they’ve only released a single vintage (2007), can it be a benchmark?

I don’t take precisely Rajat Parr’s approach to analyzing wine. But it is a useful, instructive one. What do you look for in judging a glass of wine? What benchmarks exist in your head? Whether or not you use a 100 point system, or puffs, or stars, or some other icon, or just a vague feeling in your mind, how do you calibrate wine quality?

I want to write an article later this year or early next on Russian River Valley Pinot Noir, and how it varies from place to place in that big, rambling appellation. And it is big: at 96,000 acres, it could swallow up the Santa Lucia Highlands, Santa Rita Hills and Mount Veeder, with room to spare.

When I wrote (2005) my first book, A Wine Journey along the Russian River (for some reason, the editors at University of California Press determined that the word “along” did not deserve a capital “A”, and I never did understand why), I began delving into the RRV’s different climates, or micro-climates. But in the years since, I more or less dropped the topic, which seems more important than ever, because — given how great Russian River Pinot Noir is — it’s only a matter of time before the region is carved up into smaller AVAs; and these, I think, will be based more on climate than on soil differences.

I see 4 main regions in the Russian River Valley. First is Westside Road, or the Middle Reach (so called, I believe, because it was the bend in the river where the gravel was deposited).This area extends from just southwest of Healdsburg to at least the Wohler Bridge; I guess an argument could be made that it goes out past Gary Farrell, but I’m not sure. The Middle Reach is the warmest part of the RRV, because it’s furthest inland and away from the maritime influence that comes up from the south. Certainly this is true the closer you get to Healdsburg. In my experience, Middle Reach Pinot tends to be bigger, darker, riper, softer and higher in alcohol than from anywhere else in the valley. Williams Selyem defines this style.

Another distinct region by contrast is little Green Valley, which is contained within the greater RRV. It was given AVA status only a month later than RRV, because (I assume) it was so easy to prove the case. Green Valley may well be the chilliest part of the valley. Wide open to the winds and fog that come in (via the Petaluma Gap and from Bodega Bay), Green Valley Pinots are a little lighter in texture, paler in color and crisper than Middle Reach Pinots, and their flavors tend toward cola. Iron Horse and Marimar Torres define the region.

Moving east from Green Valley, you get to a very famous stretch of River Road that includes many RRV Pinot pioneers: Joseph Swan, DeLoach, Dehlinger. Merry Edwards refers to “The Golden Triangle” to define this section; its bullseye may be where Olivet Road hits River Road. This also is a cool, damp region, and I’d love to have the opportunity to more closely study its climate data and compare it to Green Valley’s.

Then you get to the big Windsor area in the east, but aside from some bottlings Merry Edwards used to make she called Windsor Gardens (I think she lost the use of that vineyard some time ago), I haven’t had many Pinots from there. It would be warmer than either Green Valley or The Golden Triangle, but for me it’s largely terra incognita.

Anyway, that’s how I divvy up Russian River Valley in my mind, but remember, this is based on interviews and research I did 5 and 6 years ago. That’s why I want to revisit the topic in depth, in the form of an article. That will give me the opportunity to really dive in, with extensive interviews, tastings and research. It’s the only way to begin to understand a region, but alas, there are too many regions and not enough time to ever do the job properly, even when you’re reporting on just one region like California, rather than the whole world.

When I do get around to writing the article, probably the first person I’ll call is Bob Cabral. He makes so many different single-vineyard Pinots that he definitely has a feel for regional variations. Dan Goldfield also would be helpful, as will Merry Edwards herself. So will Adam Lee, at Siduri. Those are my “usual suspects.” But part of the joy of writing a big, juicy article like this is that it invariably leads you in new, unpredictable directions. Somebody refers to somebody else you never heard of, and that person turns out to be a treasure trove of knowledge. And who knows? Maybe some of my super-smart and appreciated readers will write in. This is an article I can’t wait to begin.

Met up the other day with Mark Dirickson and Mike Kohne here in Oaktown. You probably don’t know their names but you’re most likely familiar with some of the wines they’ve been behind. Mike was winemaker at Rosenblum for a long time, while Mark was at Rancho Santa Rosa, down in the Sta. Rita Hills. Now, they have a small new project, Mercy Wines, and I have to say the wines are quite good. (My reviews will appear in upcoming issues of Wine Enthusiast.)

One thing Mark and Mike wanted to talk about was how to promote the little American Viticultural Area where they’ve decided to get their grapes: the Arroyo Seco, which is in Monterey County. Of California’s 104 (and counting) AVAs, Arroyo Seco is one of the smaller ones: only 18,240 acres, which makes it vastly smaller than, say, Russian River Valley, Napa Valley or Paso Robles. It’s also one of the older AVAs in California, having been recognized by the Feds in 1983 (a flagship year for California AVAs, with 16 created, the most of any year, before or since, in that early-Eighties era of appellation-mania).

I’ve always had a good respect for Arroyo Seco. I’ve been there, walked through it, and every time I’m on the 101 driving along the Salinas Valley I look for it, nestled there to the west, between the valley floor and the Santa Lucia Highlands, on its own little sort of bench. It’s a very rocky place, with big piles of stones left behind after thousands of years of Salinas River flooding. It’s also a cold place. Winds from Monterey Bay — whose waters never get much above 58 degrees — sweep fiercely down the Valley; not for nothing are they known as the Howlers. They make Arroyo Seco a Region 1 growing area on the old U.C. Davis system. In other words, cold!

Arroyo Seco’s problem has been the same as that of many California regions in the Central/South coast, all the way down to Santa Barbara County: for many years, growers sold their grapes to big, outside companies — Gallo, Constellation, Diageo and others — who blended them into California- or Central Coast-appellated wines. The public consequently never got to hear about Arroyo Seco, which meant producers didn’t want to put the name on a label, which meant none of the wines became well known, which limited price, which meant the grapes continued to be blended into bulk bottlings, etc. etc. The same old vicious circle.

In my mind, one of the first pioneers to break the cycle were the Meadors, Doug and LuAnn, at their Meador and Ventana wineries. Jerry Lohr also broke through and bottled some fine wines. But a few good wines here and there are not enough to put the name of a smallish AVA on the lips of tastemakers, like sommeliers, wine critics and merchants. Arroyo Seco still means nothing to the average consumer.

Mark and Mike want to change that, but they’ve been around the business long enough to know it’ll be hard. For one thing, making a region famous depends only partly on wine quality. It’s also a function of tourism infrastructure. One reason Napa/Sonoma and Santa Barbara are so famous is because they’re so hospitable to visitors, with their inns, hotels, golf courses, restaurants, towns, tasting rooms, etc. The Arroyo Seco has none of that. In fact, Monterey County has none of that in the Salinas Valley. The last time I stayed there to report, I took a room in a Motel 6. (At least the towels were clean.)

It’s a pity, because the Arroyo Seco really does have that “placeness” that a good wine region needs. It has terroir. As chilly as the area is, the grapes take a long time to get ripe, but there’s almost no threat of Autumn rains because this is far south enough to avoid rains, usually until at least late November. (Coastal California precipitation decreases rapidly, on average, south of San Francisco Bay.) The result of the climate and the stony soils gives wines of character: great fruitiness and high natural acidity and minerality, which are wonderful traits for a wine to possess. The Arroyo Seco isn’t the place for Bordeaux red grapes: way too cold (although I did once really like a 2006 Merlot from Wente). But Pinot Noir does great, as do Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc, and what little Syrah there is (usually from Meador or Ventana) has a smoky, meaty Northern Rhône-style thing going on.

Over the years, the best Arroyo Seco Pinots have been from K-J (Seco Highlands), La Rochelle, J. Lohr and Carmel Road. The best Chards are from K-J, Wente, J. Lohr, Mount Eden, Jouillian and Scott Family. I’ve liked the Sauvignon Blancs from Pessagno, Bernardus and Radog. And now, I like all three of those varieties from Mercy.

The discussion about how to promote an AVA reminded me of similar discussions I’ve had with representatives from Suisun Valley and the Santa Maria Valley. All AVAs recognize the desirability of being better known and respected in the consumers’ mind. Unfortunately, it’s really hard to do that, most of the time, no matter how good the wines may be. That’s where we writers enter the picture: we can educate.