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Wednesday Wraparound: Wine as intellectual delight, and a new Freemark Abbey

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Wine writer Gus Clemens must be a man after my own heart. In this lovely column he wrote for the San Angelo [Texas) Standard Times, he writes of wine’s “intellectually challenging” dimension—a dimension I love.

All too often, in our industry, we reduce wine to its objective components. Master somms analyze it to a degree unmatched in rigor, winemakers themselves analyze it for technical flaws and blending opportunities, and wine critics (ahem…) analyze it for its hedonistic attractions. We give scores and numbers and puffs and stars to wine, we talk about raspberries or currants or lemongrass or vanilla, about attacks and finishes and ageworthiness—in short, about every physical dimension of the wine we can possibly say anything about. But we too seldom talk or write about its intellectual component, which is to say: we ignore wine’s appeal to that part of ourselves that is distinctly human, distinctly thoughtful, distinctly divine.

Gus Clemens touches on this component, but it’s really worth volumes. I stand second to no one in falling in love with a gorgeous wine, a “100-pointer,” if you will. I’ve had my share; when you experience a perfect wine, the top of your head blows off, your taste-memory explodes, you want to shout about it from the rooftops. But imagine how much richer your experience would be—not only of a perfect wine, but of all wines—if it included the context of history, geography, politics, economics, philosophy, invention, human boldness, notions of the godhead, the presence of the spirit–the entire panoply of conscious adventure we call the human journey. When I think about wine from this perspective, wine turns Biblical: the ancients believed it was a gift from God, or the gods. Perhaps it really is. I will not apologize for “reducing” wine to a point score, but I will hope that it never becomes only that.

* * *

I want to bring to my readers’ attention the fact that the newly refurbished Freemark Abbey Winery is now open for business. As this article from the St. Helena Star explains, the Jackson Family has invested heavily in the 100-year-old-plus winery, restoring the old stone buildings, building a new restaurant, and launching a museum-style exhibition space, whose content I was honored to help devise. Ironically, Freemark Abbey was the first winery in Napa Valley I ever visited, in 1979, so it has a special place in my mind and heart. I was just getting into “important” wine and wanted an “important” Cabernet Sauvignon to cellar, and so I asked for one in the tasting room. The lady suggested I buy their Cabernet Bosché. In my ignorance, I said I didn’t want “Cabernet Bosché” but Cabernet Sauvignon. The lady told me that Cabernet Bosché was Cabernet Sauvignon. I didn’t trust her; alas, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and I had just enough knowledge to think that I knew what I was doing. Clearly, I didn’t. I have often recollected that incident to remind myself of an important lesson: when it comes to wine knowledge, everybody starts from the beginning. There are no stupid questions. No one of us should ever be impatient with anyone for not knowing what we know. (That is the basis of snobbery.) Besides, what we think we know today may be what future generations call ridiculous. So take things in context; don’t be ideological; be generous, and realize you’re not the measure of all things in wine! And I hope you’ll drop by Freemark Abbey to check out the new digs.


Nice to see the Cabernet bashers come around

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I’m glad I never joined the bandwagon of protest against California (mainly Napa Valley) Cabernet Sauvignon. It garnered a lot of naysayers, but, as Jancis (what, you need a last name?) blogged the other day, even the naysayers are changing their minds. “There has recently been a resurgence of interest in these wines on New York restaurant wine lists,” she writes, an especially notable statement considering that it was New York somms and critics who led the charge against Cabernet.

They claimed Napa Cabs were too much of everything: too ripe, too oaky, too alcoholic, too extracted. I never could quite understand what they were talking about. Of course there were Cabs that were unbalanced, but there also were hundreds of fabulous Cabernets that weren’t—that were utterly delicious and dazzling. And it’s not as if everything from Bordeaux is fabulous. I wondered if perhaps the New York critics actually had the tasting experience with Cabernet to know what they were talking about. I wondered, too, if they went into their tastings with an inherent bias. When you’re tasting wine, you find what you’re looking for.

It’s become a repeating meme in the last year or two for writers to claim that Napa Valley Cabernet is being made differently than it was even four or five years ago. Jancis herself writes of the “increasing restraint” she finds in the wines. Is there evidence of such restraint, beyond the assertions of critics? Are alcohol levels in Cabernet lower than they used to be? I haven’t seen any proof. On the other hand, winemakers have definitely been feeling the backlash from the anti-Cabernet crowd and, in many cases, took corrective action to lower alcohol levels, but how have they done so? There are known methods for reducing alcohol, adding water, spinning cones and reverse osmosis among them. But winemakers are reticent about talking about these practices, because wine writers—usually the same ones that complain about high alcohol—then criticize them for “manipulating” wine.

Well, I always knew that the anti-Cab crowd would run out of steam sooner or later, and I guess they now have. There is a bandwagon effect in wine criticism whereby somebody—usually a thought leader—coins a critique, which then is borrowed by everyone else, lemming-like down the line, and repeated endlessly; that, indeed, is the definition of “meme.” Yet memes have lifecycles. “Successful memes remain and spread, whereas unfit ones stall and are forgotten.” The bashing of California Cabernet has proven to be an “unfit” meme and therefore it is quickly being forgotten. The fortieth anniversary of the Judgment of Paris—which is actually what prompted Jancis’s July 9th post—has been extensively covered in the media, with California Cabernet receiving near-unanimous praise. As Jancis notes, just about every time the Judgment is replicated, Napa Cabernet beats Bordeaux. So we need a new meme here: California Cab really is as good as Bordeaux (albeit different), by almost every objective standard (and you can’t get more objective than a blind tasting conducted by professionals).

Which is why I say I’m glad I never bashed Cabernet. Now, I don’t have to explain why I changed my mind.


“There were giants in those days”

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The news that Paul Draper is retiring came, not as a complete shock, because after all, he’s 80 years old. Rather, it was a realization, the latest in a sorry series, that “the mighty men of old, men of renown” are passing from our scene like the last of a fine vintage gone to frost.

I did not know Mr. Draper well, although well enough for him to return my phone calls and to invite me to Ridge, where he was winemaker for more than 45 years. In fact, it was at one of those visits that he tasted me to about 30 vintages of Monte Bello, a tasting I will never forget. The quality was of course high, vintage variation was terribly interesting, and I found it fascinating that no Monte Bello had even been produced in excess of 14% alcohol. I also had the opportunity to interview Mr. Draper many times on the telephone.

That he was a “giant” is true in this sense: Certain industries, or perhaps “human practices” is a better term, seem capable of launching men and women to the status of “gianthood.” This is a near-mythic status in which we sense something more noble and inspirational than you might find in, say, insurance salesmen (with all due respect to insurance salesmen). The wine industry, and particularly its production side, seems always to have produced giants. I think of, for instance, of the winemaker, his name lost to history, who made the Falernian wine from the Opimian vintage of 121 BC, which Julius Caesar himself loved when the wine was more than sixty years of age. I think also of Arnaud III de Pontac, the proprietor of Haut-Brion, who hauled, with great difficulty and at great danger, his wine across France around 1660, so that the English King Charles II would fall in love with it, as Pontac knew he would.

I think of the Widow Cliquot, and the Finnish sea captain Gustave Niebaum, and Andre Tchelistcheff, and Max Schubert at Penfolds, and of course of Robert Mondavi, a giant if ever there was one. These were men and women whose visions were capacious, and upon whose shoulders not only their own fates rested, but the fates of entire generations of vintners and wine drinkers. And they knew it, these giants, knew how large were the tasks they assigned themselves, respected the challenges and difficulties, and gladly accepted them; for they knew, also, that to trod the well-worn path would lead them only to well-trod places. In their fertile imaginations, they perceived places no man had perceived before them, and, in going boldly to those places, enabled the rest of us to follow their paths.

Mr. Draper’s story is well-known and need not be repeated here. What is interesting is that he helped, with his partners, to create, not only a First Growth of California, but to do it in a place—the Santa Cruz Mountains—that was not named Napa Valley. It is true that those mountains had a very noble place in California’s vinous history: the La Questa Bordeaux-style red wine, planted in the 1880s supposedly from cuttings obtained at Margaux, was one of the first “cult” wines. But by the time of Ridge’s founding, in 1959, the gaze of the industry already had turned to Napa Valley, which makes the decision of Ridge’s founders to locate in Cupertino all the more curious, and Draper’s achievement all the more noteworthy.

That Mr. Draper’s style of Cabernet—leaner, more elegant and ageworthy—also marched to a different beat from that of Napa Valley also contributes to his legend. He never deviated from his style, as wine writer Laurie Daniel noted in the San Jose Mercury News. That style, which she accurately called “graceful,” does not seem to have inspired other California Cabernet makers, aside from perhaps a Cathy Corison or two; instead, others marched towards higher alcohol, greater extraction, more new oak. Mr. Draper realized that if he allowed the grapes to reach the high sugars necessary for superripeness at the cool Monte Bello ridge site, they would result in a bizarre, unbalanced wine, of limited ageability. So he “danced with the one that brung him,” to the joy of Monte Bello fans everywhere.

Still, it would be misleading to ascribe Mr. Draper’s achievements solely in technical terms. The things that result in men being thought of as “giants” have less to do with their specific behaviors or creations, and more with something mysterious and inchoate which they inspire in others. (Alexander the Great had this very impact.) Some of that has to do, of course, with personality, and the fact that Mr. Draper was a consummate gentleman should not be overlooked. Nor should it be forgotten that he was a tireless worker and representative of Ridge, if not as indefatigable as Robert Mondavi, then at least in the same mold. Men like these—giants—are aware that they have a responsibility to the aura of legend others have built up around them; and they rise to that responsibility with, yes, grace.

So, to Mr. Draper I say, enjoy your retirement! Well done, sir, well done.


A blind tasting of Mt. Veeder

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I gave 100 points in yesterday’s blind tasting of Mt. Veeder Cabernets and Bordeaux blends to the 2012 Freemark Abbey. I was pretty sure it was the 2012 Lokoya, a wine I’ve had on several occasions and have been dazzled by—and one, by the way, Parker gave 100 points to. I was wrong, but not by much: The Freemark Abbey grapes came from the same vineyard, Veeder Creek, as the Lokoya, although it was made by Ted Edwards, not Chris Carpenter. As for my score of the Lokoya, it was 96+. What does that + sign mean? That if I’d thought more about the wine and it had more time to breathe in the glass, I could easily have gone higher; but, as with all tastings, there is a time limit, so at some point you have to cut bait, or whatever the saying is.

At any rate, what a tasting this was! We’ve had a lot of these regional blind tastings where I pit Jackson Family wines against the most highly regarded wines from other wineries, but this Veeder tasting was a sensation. And why not? Mt. Veeder is one of Napa’s greatest appellations. It’s a cooler place, the southernmost of Napa’s western mountains, and benefits from a Carneros influence, although as you go from the cooler southern aspect to the more northerly aspect on the mountain, the climate warms up. I think of Veeder as the opposite of, say, Pritchard Hill, which is quite warm and gives lusher, softer, denser wines, although no less complex and delicious.

The complete lineup of Mt. Veeder wines:

Freemark Abbey 2012 Cabernet Sauvignon, 100 points. Alc. 15.0%. The wine is for club members and I don’t know the price. I went back to it over and over during the course of the tasting and conversation. It’s easy to second-guess yourself during the subsequent discussion, when you are exposed to other, respected views. But sometimes you have to stick with what you know, or thought you knew. What made the wine so special was not only the fruit—all these Veeder wines have spectacular fruit—and not only the distinguished tannins, but a blood tang, the ionic intensity of iron, which must come from the soil. Just really a stupendous glass of red wine, beautiful, forceful and delicious. One of my fellow tasters called it “melodic.” Nice word. It is 100% Cabernet Sauvignon.

Edge Hall 2010 “Abel 1833”, 97 points. Alc. 14.6%. This is owned by Leslie Rudd and costs $110. I called it “sappy and resinous” but wrote that “it easily needs at least a dozen years.” It is huge, thick and fruity, with a subtle herbaceousness, an almost Shiraz-like Cabernet worthy of respect.

Lampyridae 2012 Communications Block Cabernet Sauvignon. Score: 93 points. Alc. 16.6% !!! Price: $100. The aromatics blew me away: cocoa powder, blackberry jam, blood, toast, spices. But the first thing I wrote was “Heat from alcohol.” I noticed it when I lifted it to take a sip and inhaled through my mouth: It had that vapory, stinging heat of rubbing alcohol. This was very persistent and it made me lower my score: It would easily have been mid- to high 90s otherwise. The winemaker is the celebrated Aaron Pott; proceeds from its sale go to a fine charity, Napa Valley Kids.

Lokoya 2012, 96+ points. Alc. 14.5%. The price is $350. I wrote “feminine charm in a masculine appellation,” which prompted an interesting discussion of the use of gender terms in winetasting—a topic I will not explore right now. Masses of sweet cherry pie, licorice, toasty oak, with such a soft, supple mouthfeel. I would drink it now and over the next dozen years. 100% Cabernet Sauvignon aged in 99% new French oak for 20 months.

Mount Veeder 2012, 92 points. Alc. 14.5%. Price: $90. I called it “interesting” rather than awesome. A good, solid Cabernet, blended with Merlot, Malbec and Petit Verdot. Wine Enthusiast’s Virginie Boone gave it the same score as did I.

Beringer 2012 Lampyridae Vineyard. 96 points. Alc. 14.9%. The price is $110. A very great success for the winery. Clearly the Lampyridae Vineyard is one of the best on Mt. Veeder.

Mt. Brave 2012. 93 points. Alc. 14.5%. The price is $75. This wine got a pair of 92s from Parker and Spectator. Incidentally, I wrote “Blend” in my notes because the wine had more red fruit, herb and sweet tea notes than I’d expect from a 100% Cabernet. Indeed, it contains 5% Merlot, 4% Cabernet Franc and 3% Malbec.

Mayacamas 2010. 90 points. Alc. 13.25%. Price: $90. This is the current release. It was a good wine but the least in the flight. I found it grapey and a little rustic. Of course, Charles Banks has purchased the winery and is replanting. We can hope for greater things from Mayacamas in the future.

Yates 2012 Alden Perry Reserve. Score: 91 points. Alc. 14.8%. Price: $70. I wish I could say more favorable things about it than “proper” and “accessible” but, in this flight, it did not keep up with the competition. Nice cherry pie and kirsch notes.

Paon 2012 Cabernet Sauvignon. Score: 98 points. Alc. 14.7%. Price: $103. I hadn’t heard of this winery before finding the bottle at Dean & DeLuca. In my notes I wrote “100% Cabernet?” and indeed it is. You could tell from the inky black color and the fantastic ooze of black currants. I also wrote “scads of new French oak,” but the website doesn’t give the details. Someone asked if these mountain Cabs can have too much oak. I suppose they can, but given their power, the danger would be too little oak, not too much. The winemaker worked at PlumpJack, CADE and Newton, so I guess he knows something about mountain fruit.

O’Shaugnessy 2012. Score: 93 points. Alc. 14.8%. Price: $135. I might have been a little harsh. The other tasters liked it more. Parker gave it 97 and Galloni gave it 96. For me, it was flashy, decadent and flamboyant, dripping with cocoa and black cherries, but a little lacking in subtlety.

Trinchero 2012 Cloud’s Nest Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon. Score: 94 points. Alc. 14.2%. Price is $85. When I was the California critic at Wine Enthusiast I always loved these Trinchero Cabs. This one is 100% Cabernet Sauvignon and was aged in 80% new French oak for 20 months. Wine Advocate gave it a score of 90-93 points.

It goes without saying that most of these wines will age for a very long time. We had a discussion of what that means and the answer is, if you like your Napa mountain Cabs young, then drink them young. If you like them old, drink them old. If you’re not sure, then 6-8 years after release is a good bet. There is no absolute rule and nobody should feel ashamed about liking any particular wine, no matter what everybody else says. (But you should be able to explain why.)

Mt. Veeder’s reputation as a singularly great place to grow Cabernets and blends is well deserved. There are also some great Syrahs on that mountain, although not as much Zinfandel as there used to be, which is too bad, given how good it was; but why would you grow Zinfandel for a $40 bottle when you can grow Cabernet for a $100 bottle?


Happy 40th Judgment of Paris! But you had a downside

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This year, 2016, marks the 40th anniversary of the Judgment of Paris, which was one of the most important events in the history of the wine industry.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’re tuned into history, so I will recapitulate only an abbreviated version. Before 1976 California wines were widely perceived as who-cares? After the Judgment, they were launched onto the world stage. That’s the kind of paradigm shift Thomas Kuhn would have loved.

The paradigm did not change overnight. Even by the early 1990s the French still were largely dismissive of California wine. They heard, or thought and feared they heard, footsteps coming up behind them that threatened their world supremecy in wine; but they told themselves, and everyone else who would listen, that, no, California was nothing to be feared, because (as the head of the INAO said in 1989 and I was there so I heard him) “Caifornia can steal our grape varieties. They can steal our techniques. But they cannot steal our terroir.”

California responded with, Hey, guess what? We don’t need your terroir, we got our own, thank you.

However great the Judgment of Paris was for California wine, it did have a downside: Americans learned, or thought they learned, that the only wines they ought to like were Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon. Those two varieties are of course immensely important and there’s a reason they’re both considered noble varieties; but they hardly exploit the entire range of varieties California could grow well. We can in fact grow anything well here. Without the Judgment of Paris, Sangiovese, Nebbiolo, Trebbiano, Chenin Blanc, Riesling, Tempranillo, and who knows what else might have had a tail wind that sent it soaring. Instead, everybody concentrated on Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon. The rise of Pinot Noir was an exception: but it received its own boost in the media, in the form of Sideways.

The Naples Daily News just ran a story about the Judgment of Paris, and asked, in their opening sentence, the interesting question, “What if there had never been a Judgment of Paris?” That’s the kind of conjectural thinking I like, so I read the article, but was enormously disappointed that the author never answered her own inquiry. Why ask it if you’re not going to have some fun speculating? My take is that other grape varieties would have had a greater opportunity to show what they could do. Instead, California went chocolate-and-vanilla (with, as I said, Pinot playing the spoiler of strawberry). Whether that’s good or bad, I’m not prepared to say. But if you’re playing the “what if” game, you have to wonder how things would have turned out if, say, the boutique wineries of the 1970s and 1980s had decided to turn their attentions to varieties other than Chard and Cab. Some tried: Sangiovese had its moment in the sun. But by then, the die was cast: Americans wanted only Cabernet and Chardonnay. The marketing and sales people took over; production had to listen to them, and we are where we are.

Have a great weekend!


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