Here in California, Pinot Noir has one (World of Pinot Noir). Zinfandel has one (ZAP). The Rhône varieties have one (Hospice du Rhône). Sauvignon Blanc has one (International Symposium on Sauvignon Blanc). Petite Sirah has one (Petite Sirah Symposium). Maybe other varieties do too. I don’t think Cabernet Sauvignon does, but then, can you imagine a Cabernet Symposium? Too politically bizarre to contemplate.

Anyhow, now Chardonnay — America’s favorite white wine — is about to have its very own public event. The Chardonnay Symposium. About time.

What took so long? “We went through this ABC [anything but Chardonnay] period. Chardonnay people were looking at Pinot Gris, Pinot Blanc, Sauvignon Blanc,” i.e. almost anything other than Chardonnay, says one of the Symposium’s sponsors, Nicholas Miller, of Bien Nacido Vineyard. But “a renewed interest in Chardonnay,” he adds, prompted him and his colleagues to start the symposium now.

The one-day event is slated for Sat. July 31, in the Santa Maria Valley of Santa Barbara County, with tastings, seminars, food pairings and of course a great big lunch. The various venues are at Bien Nacido, Cambria Winery, Byron Winery and Tres Hermanas Winery.

I would have loved to go, and they invited me, but alas, something more important conflicts with the date: our annual Summer Editorial Meeting at Wine Enthusiast. If it weren’t for that, I’d be high-tailing it south to hear such esteemed Chardonnay producers as the Symposium will present. Not to single out or exclude anyone, but they include people with last names such as Pisoni, Ullom, Hyde, Talley, Volk, Sanford, Tolmach and Clendenen.

Chardonnay is my favorite California white wine (excluding sparking) and it’s about time somebody devoted a big event to it. True, the geographic focus is mainly the Central Coast, with most of the speakers and participating wineries hailing from there; but then, this is the event’s first year, and you have to start someplace. When World of Pinot Noir began, what– 10 years ago? — I was there (Wine Enthusiast has been a sponsor from day one), and it was almost totally a Central Coast affair. The organizers tried to reach out to the North Coast, but it was hard. Wineries have so many opportunities to participate in so many events that they have to be selective. You not only have to pay to play, you have to open a lot of expensive bottles. And then there are travel and lodging costs, not to mention time away from your real job in the winery. It took some years for WOPN to attract a critical mass of North Coast wineries, not to mention vintners from overseas. Now, WOPN is a huge success.

Nicholas Miller envisions similar growth for the Chardonnay Symposium. “My hope is that, as people see what we’re doing, it will become like a Hospice du Rhône or a WOPN. They’ll see the success of it in future years, and we’ll get more interest from the North Coast.” So [this is Steve to North Coast producers]: keep your eyes on this one.

One tactical drawback I can see for the Chardonnay Symposium is that there’s a near total absence of nice places to stay in the Santa Maria Valley. At WOPN, most people stay at The Cliffs or at nearby resorts. It’s all very convenient. You never have to drive anywhere for the entire three days, and it’s nice to be able to duck away from a grand tasting or inbetween seminars and go to your room to freshen up or rest. By contrast, guests at the Chardonnay Symposium will be on the road all day, at the mercy of shuttle buses. They’ll also be mostly outdoors, which is always risky. It won’t rain at that time of the year, of course, but it could be cold and foggy. Or there could be a heat wave. It’s summer along the California coast; you never know. But then, the Chardonnay Symposium is beginning only as a one-day event.

Here’s what I hope some of the panels focus on.

- the role of oak. How much is too much? Can we wean the public away from their addiction to thick, clumsy oak, which they often think is the actual smell and taste of Chardonnay?

- malolactic fermentation. When is it justified? Are California vintners moving away from it? Why did they become so reliant on it to begin with?

- unoaked Chardonnay. Need it always be only a simple, inexpensive wine? Is it possible to craft an unoaked Chardonnay of great nuance and style?

I’m sure there are lots of other issues, but those are three good ones to address.

You’ll find information on the Chardonnay Symposium here.

(As in “Anything But Chardonnay”)

A friend of mine recently expressed a certain, shall we say, disdain for California Chardonnay. He used terms like “fruit bomb” and “over-oaked,” the implication being that, despite all the Burgundian bells and whistles, Cali Chard doesn’t come close to an authentic bottle of the real French stuff.

I grew emotional, as I tend to do when California wine is attacked, and wanted to leap to my state’s defense. But, in the heat of the moment, I couldn’t frame the words quite the way I wanted. As a writer, not a speechifier, I remained reticent. Now that a couple days have gone by, let me try.

As in all things aesthetic, reasonable people can disagree. You say “po-tay-to” and I say “po-tah-to”. But let me get in my two cents on why I love California Chardonnay and why I think — no, make that know that it’s the state’s greatest white wine.

We know that California can grow great Chardonnay grapes, thanks to the stainless steel, unwooded style produced by wineries such as Iron Horse, Sebastiani, Toad Hollow, Silver, Pellegrini, Valley of the Moon and others. They’ve shown us how rich and flavorful the wine can be when it’s never seen a splinter of oak. With flavors running the gamut from grapes, fresh green apples and peaches to pears, pineapples and tropical fruits, what’s not to like?

Which brings us to oak.

Okay, I’m first to admit that playing with oak is like playing with matches in a gasoline refinery. It’s dangerous. There’s a definite line between a wine that’s over-oaked and one where the oak is just right. It’s hard to define, and, like I said above, different people will come to different conclusions. For me, oak has these characteristic aromas and flavors: buttered toast, vanilla and caramel. (Usually, barrel-fermented, barrel-aged Chardonnay also will have lees influence, and that plays into the picture. And Chardonnays often are put through the malolactic fermentation, which can make them buttery and creamy. But the oak notes are as I described above.)

If the wine starts off with an over-dominating smell of buttered toast, vanilla and caramel, chances are it’s over-oaked and out of balance. That doesn’t mean it has a lot of new wood or a lot of high-char wood. All it means it that the underlying Chardonnay is unable to support the weight of the wood. (This can also be because the source of the “oak” is some ersatz cheap stuff with oak-like smells.) By the same token, a massive, ripe Chardonnay can easily sustain 100 percent new oak.

The best way to put this visually is this:

Tammy Faye Bakker, rest her soul, was and forever will be the poster child for excessive makeup. (Of course, this is no reflection on her character. I liked her, or, at least, I liked the person who came through the TV screen.) But she sure did pile on the mascara, lipstick and false eyelashes, so there was something freakishly garish about her. This is how an over-oaked and, yes, fruit-bomby California Chardonnay (and there are plenty of them) tastes to me.

Then there’s a different type of look, one I think we all can agree is beautiful and classy.

Since I happen to think that buttered toast, vanilla and caramel are pretty nice flavors, I don’t mind finding them in my Chardonnays. And when you couple those with the  fruit of a properly grown Chardonnay, you’re looking at a pretty special wine. A great, oaky California Chardonnay is Sandra Bullock in a glass.

I often use the words “flamboyant” or “hedonistic” to describe Chardonnays I like. But I think I’m always careful to add something like “balanced with crisp acidity” or “with a streak of minerals” to suggest structure and firmness. Flamboyance without structure is, well, Tammy Faye. All flash, no substance. It’s a matter of taste and style. You either have it, or you don’t.

If you concede that California is capable of great Chardonnay (not everyone will, I know), then you have to admit that the greatest is going to be a ripe, oaky Chardonnay, not an unoaked one. Is that a controversial statement? I don’t think so, although I could imagine a situation wherein a very great Chardonnay is unoaked. Greg Brewer and Marimar Torres play in that sandbox. But my feeling is that, for Chardonnay to rise to its greatest heights, it needs oak.

No wine type divides wine lovers more than California Chardonnay. It’s the healthcare bill of varieties: you either love it or hate it. Nobody’s indifferent, everyone has an opinion. If you’re an ABCer, I’ll never convince you to like ripe, oaky California Chardonnay. But if it’s not California’s greatest white wine, what is?

Yesterday, the sixth and final day of my road trip south, primarily consisted of a blind tasting of 60 Chardonnays. The tasting was held in a small meeting cottage at the Santa Ynez Inn, and was kindly set up by my friend Sao Anash, who assists many writers when they visit Santa Barbara County.

I had never done a standalone tasting of Santa Barbara Chards. (There were two from San Luis Obispo.) I was interested to see if I could discern differences between the county’s various appellations. Most of the Chardonnays were from either Santa Rita Hills or Santa Maria Valley, with some marked simply “Santa Barbara County.” These latter were either from Santa Maria or Santa Rita (so far as I could tell) but preferred to keep the better-known countywide appellation on the label, or they were from an interesting region around Los Alamos, which is more or less inbetween Santa Rita Hills and Santa Maria Valley, but does not yet have its own AVA but should. There are fewer and fewer Chardonnays from the Santa Ynez Valley these days, which is as it should be, as it’s too warm there, although SYV is great Sauvignon Blanc county.

I’m sure there are people who would conclusively state that there are vast differences between Santa Rita Hills and Santa Maria Valley Chards, but I’m not one of them. Clonal and barrel differences are at least as important in imparting character as a few miles of separation. Both regions have more reasons to be similar than not. In fact, I think of them as basically the same, separated only by the accident of the 101 Freeway. They’re both west-east running valleys (unlike any others in California), thus allowing chilly Pacific air (and believe me, the ocean is cold out there) to funnel in, given the westerly or northwesterly breezes that characterize the California coast most of the time. That makes them cool-climate regions. You don’t want to grow Cabernet in Santa Maria or Santa Rita Hills. Pinot Noir and Chardonnay are the grapes of choice, although Syrah does just fine, and the occasional other white grape (Pinot Gris, Pinot Blanc) can excel. Not much Sauvignon Blanc works here: too green. Gewurztraminer would probably succeed; Riesling, too, but nobody would buy them, so it’s not worth it for vintners to grow.

Soil-wise, I can’t tell. They’re a jumble down here, now clay, now chalky, sometimes sandy, sometimes stony. As near as I can figure, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re well-drained. Of course, you need superb viticulture, which all the Chardonnays in my tasting had. One vineyard in particular, Bien Nacido, stood out. But then, it had more entries than any other source.

Santa Barbara County is one of California’s great Chardonnay areas and a case can be made that it is the greatest. Certainly there’s a consistency of style. The wines always are acidic; that goes without saying. Acidity is one of the touchstones of a great wine, especially a white one, and super-especially when the fruit is as ripe as it tends to get in Santa Barbara. The reason the fruit gets so ripe is because the growing season is incredibly long. Budbreak begins earlier than in the North Coast, and harvest can extend as long and leisurely as the grower wants. It doesn’t rain much down here, and such rains as do fall usually wait until November. That means the grapes can hang, hang, hang until they rid themselves of all green flavors and develop marvelously fruity ones. To my palate the fruits tend toward pineapples, Meyer lemons and limes, but that’s over-simplifying. The pineapples often have a grilled quality, as if they’d been on a skewer barbecued over hot red oak. The Meyer lemons have an intense, pie-filling quality, while the limes likewise have a pastry taste, like the Key lime pies I used to bring home with me when my parents lived in Florida. Of course, part of that pie and pastry quality is oak, toasty and smoky and slightly sweet. These Santa Barbara Chardonnays can handle new oak as easily as Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, for the same reason: they’re rich, voluminous wines, broad and impressive in body. Flamboyant in themselves (just try Cambria’s 2007 “Unwooded” from Santa Maria Valley if you want to see what unoaked Chard can do), they adapt to oak the way a Hollywood actress on the red carpet shows off haute couture. Beauty clad in beauty equals dazzle.

Santa Barbara whites also have a minerality. We can argue all day what that means and where it comes from. Locals insist its from the white chalky limestone that’s exposed on outcroppings. Maybe. The acidity certainly helps inspire a tangy, cold metal-like taste. Whatever the source, this minerality is bracing. So that becomes another factor in Santa Barbara Chardonnay. They have a nervy, electric quality without which the fruit would be merely ripe. Edna Valley Chardonnay has this electric quality. But it seldom has the depth and interest of Santa Barbara Chardonnay.

The overall quality of the wines I tasted was extraordinary. Sao came in two or three times during the nearly five hours (!!) I took, just to see how I was doing, and I swear, every time she did I told her in marveled and ecstatic terms how thrilling this tasting was. Wine after wine, so pure and intense, so visionary and translucent, it was hard to pick winners from losers. And in truth, there were no losers. But the wine critic must rank order. That is his job.

How do you determine preferences between wines of such quality? There’s only one way: balance. Balance is the exquisite tension between ripeness of fruit (so easy to achieve) and all the other moving parts: Acidity. Oak. Tannins. Length. Finish. Lees influence. Minerality. Richness. Dryness. Malolactic fermetation. Creaminess. Utlimately, balance is impossible to define. It’s like former Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s definition of pornography: “I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.”

Well, I know balance when I encounter it in wine. Here are some of the great Santa Barbara Chardonnays I tasted yesterday. All should be current in the market. My full reviews and scores will appear in upcoming issues of Wine Enthusiast Magazine.

Alma Rosa 2008 (Santa Barbara County)
Byron 2007 Wente Clone (Santa Maria Valley)
Fontes & Phillips 2008 (Santa Barbara County)
Cambria 2007 Clone 95 (Santa Maria Valley)
Fess Parker 20008 Ashley’s (Santa Rita Hills)
Longoria 2008 Cuvee Diana (Santa Rita Hills)
Melville 2008 Estate (Santa Rita Hills)
Ojai 2007 Clos Pepe Vineyard (Santa Rita Hills)
Rusack 2008 Reserve (Santa Maria Valley)
Vino 2007 Solomon Hills Vineyard (Santa Maria Valley)
Testarossa 2008 Bien Nacido Vineyard (Santa Maria Valley)
Au Bon Climat 2007 Los Alamos Vineyard (Santa Barbara County)

These are awesome Chardonnays that prove there is a “Chardonnay zone” of climate that snakes its way through the county’s western canyons and up onto the foothills. They show, also, that both 2007 and 2008 were very great years for Chardonnay in Santa Barbara County.

Richard Sanford and I spent the morning tasting and talking about the Santa Rita Hills and his fabled career. Lest you know him only for his Alma Rosa Pinot Noirs, particularly from his La Encantada Vineyard, his twin white Pinots — Gris and Blanc — with their natural crispness — are worthy of your attention. The latter is rich, the former sleek as a Brancusi swirl of steel. More on Richard at another time.

From there my friend Sao Anash whisked me up to Bien Nacido where four fabulous chefs — Matt and Jeff Nichols, Frank Ostini and Rick Manson — prepared a Santa Maria-style barbecue to put all previous barbecues I’ve even seen to utter shame. Bien Nacido’s Miller family were my hosts, and my gladness was diminished only by the absence of Nicholas, the “face” of Bien Nacido Vineyard and someone whose joy in life is infectious. After lunch it was back down to Los Olivos for a visit and tasting with a winery I’ve followed for a long time, owned by one of the premier wine families of the Santa Ynez Valley, Gainey. It is about this tasting I want to concentrate in today’s blog.

I’ve given quite high scores for many years to Gainey’s wines, and the barrel samples they offered me certainly didn’t disappoint and in fact raised the bar higher. We went through various samples of block-sourced 2009 Chardonnays that did and did not go through the malolactic fermentation. If you’ve never had that exercise, do so. Here’s a non-ML that’s so crisp and savory in fruit it makes your mouth water. Then there’s the ML version and, as I said, almost apologetically, “I know we’re not supposed to say the word ‘buttered popcorn’ but…”. They smiled. A touch of that movie theater treat is great; too much would be a disaster. But Gainey has seldom if ever been guilty of “too much” of anything, or “too little” either.

It was the 2009 Pinot Noir clonal tasting that excited me and, to be blunt, challenged me. Usually I grill winemakers. This time it was the other way around, courtesy of one of Gainey’s longtime winemakers, and a person I decided I liked way back when I first met him, Kirby Anderson. The four clones we went through were Pommard, Swan, 667 and 114. (Well, I guess technically the first two would be called “selections,” not clones.) Kirby made me explain my impressions of each. My spiel went something like this:
“From left to right [i.e., Pommard to 114], we went from fruitier and lighter to denser, more full-bodied and weightier.”

Kirby: “Right. What fruits did you find in the 114?”

Steve: “No fruit, in fact. I wrote: ‘tannic, beetroot, dry, sassafras.’”

Kirby: “Very good. The 114 is earthy.”

Steve: “That’s what I meant by ‘beetroot.’”

Kirby: “What else?”

Steve: “The Pommard was all cranberry-cherry. Also very spicy. The Swan reminds me of Russian River: cherries, cola, raspberry. The 667 is deeper black cherries, with greater structure.”

Kirby: “And overall?”

Steve: “None of them is complete in itself.”

Kirby: “Mix the Pommard with the 114.”

I did so, and said, “A more complete wine. Fuller, richer. But still, something missing.”

Kirby: “Add a splash of Swan.”

I did, and said, “The most complete wine yet. Very nice. But still, something missing.”

Kirby: “What’s missing?”

I thought. The middle was a little hollow, and the wine, good as it was, trailed off to a quick finish. I said so, and Kirby said, “Good. So what is it missing? How would you fix that?”

I thought. What’s he driving at? Does he mean it needs a splash of Swan? Or some other clone? My mind went blank. In such circumstances, with others around the table watching the wine critic suddenly being critiqued, there was dead silence. Of course, all you can do is be honest — transparent, in our current vernacular — and admit bafflement.

“I don’t know, Kirby,” I said. “You’re the winemaker. You tell me.”

“Oak!” Kirby beamed, triumphantly. He’s got great twinkly eyes and a dazzling smile but now his eyes were twinklier, his smile more dazzling than ever.

I had thought he was asking me how to fatten and length the barrel sample through the addition of other samples, but of course he was entirely right. The wine needs the 8 or 10 months of partially new oak barrel aging that will complete it. I just hadn’t been thinking “outside the envelope” or, as it were, beyond the table. I asked Kirby to tell me 4 things that oak barrel aging does to Pinot Noir to make it better. Kirby gave me five:

- texture
- richness
- structure
- weight
- length

I’ll say one more thing about the Gainey tasting. They know that, with rare exceptions, I have never liked Santa Barbara Cabernet Sauvignon from anyone (although I’ve been praising Gainey’s Merlot since the 1990s; Merlot doesn’t need as warm a temperature to ripen as Cabernet). But this time they had a bunch of barrel samples of Cab and they also had assembled their entire Cab team around the table: John Engelskirger (the longtime Napa vet who consults for them), viticulturalist Jeff Newton, and their Cabernet winemaker, young Jeff Lebard. And, of course, Dan Gainey was there. Hmm, I thought, this could be ugly. If I have to complain about the Santa Barbara veggies, it will be embarrassing to everybody.

Well, I didn’t. The clone 337 and clone 15 Cabernets were very fruity and rich, not a trace of veg. Then they gave me a barrel sample of a blend of ‘09 Cab and Petite Verdot. I swirled, sniffed, tasted, repeated, repeated a third time, and looked up. All eyes were upon me.

“This is, quite simply, the best Santa Barbara Bordeaux-style red wine I’ve ever had,” I said. They told me it will be even better when they’re finished with it, after probably adding Merlot (a no-brainer) and maybe some Cabernet Franc, then aging it for 16-18 months in 50% new oak.

Lots of things can happen between cup and lip, so we’ll see. But the 2009 Gainey, which will probably have a proprietary name, is a wine I hope I’m going to be able to review someday.

But then it was on to dinner, another barbecue, this time up at Fess Parker with two of my favorite Santa Barbara people, Eli and Ashley Parker, who had another trio of chefs — Joanne and Eddie Plemmons and Kevin Hyland — pile on an incredible, amazing, unbelievable table of grilled chicken, tri-tip, you name it. I’ll be writing all about Santa Maria-style barbecue in an upcoming issue of Wine Enthusiast.

Now that Wine Enthusiast’s Top 100 wines of 2009 list has been published and absorbed, I want to talk a little about some of the California wines I reviewed which made the list. Some people have asked me how and why particular wines are chosen while others aren’t. Understand, these are group decisions and others involved will offer different perspectives. Here, though, as the reviewer/scorer, are mine.

I mentioned our #1 wine, the Cambria 2006 Julia’s Vineyard Pinot Noir, yesterday in this blog. I’m sure that wine would have made any critic’s best-of-year list, because it’s such a genuinely fine wine in itself, and the fact most people will find it below $20 makes it a great value, which, in this economy in particular but also in Wine Enthusiast’s constant philosophy, is important. The wine is from the Santa Maria Bench, where Bien Nacido Vineyard also is situated. This terroir is extraordinary for Pinot Noir (and other cool-climate varieties but not, alas, for Bordeaux grapes which require warmth). The area isn’t well known to wine tourists because the Santa Maria Valley is a barren, windswept place with few amenities, although there’s talk down there about developing an infrastructure. Anyway, the wine’s price-quality ratio was the driving factor in giving it our top slot.

Our #4 wine was 2005 The Matriarch, from BOND, which is of course a sister wine line (if you will) to Harlan, although made from contracted, not estate-grown, grapes. Where the single-vineyard BONDs (such as Vecina, St. Eden and Melbury) all have lately cost well north of $200 a bottle to club members, The Matriarch 2005, a blend of them all, is priced at a relatively modest $90, suggesting that the Harlan team views it as “lesser”; yet I rated it (98 points) higher than any of the vineyard designates (which suggests, perhaps, a certain penchant for accessibility on my part). I once told Bill Harlan, only semi-jokingly, that The Maiden, the “second” wine of Harlan Estate, was getting so good it might soon rival the first wine, and so it was in 2005 with The Matriarch and its single-vineyard siblings. How and why would a “second” wine be as good as a “first”? Keep in mind these decisions (of which barrels to bottle under which labels) are made by mere human beings, in the guise of Mr. Harlan, his winemaker Bob Levy, their consultant Michel Rolland, the general manager Don Weaver, and perhaps one or two others; and humans, being only such, are capable of doing surprising things. No doubt the Harlan team believes in their decisions, but it is far from clear, in a blind tasting, that Harlan Estate or the single-vineyard BONDs are superior to the “second” Maiden or Matriarch. And that is why The Matriarch 2005 is one of the top wines of the year.

We then move to the #10 wine, Testarossa’s 2007 Brosseau Vineyard Pinot Noir. It comes from the Chalone appellation and costs $39 the bottle. To tell the truth, any number of other Testarossa Pinots might have taken this slot, or even some from other producers. I think there were lots of Pinot Noirs in our list this year because Pinot is obviously the hot variety from California, the 2007 vintage was so spectacular (but wait for 2009), and Testarossa deserves a nod because they do such a good job, so consistently, from so many different vineyards. They practically invented the concept of non-vineyard-owning people obtaining grapes from famous vineyards and then crafting beautiful wines, and their prices are generally $10-$20 lower than they might be. Then there’s our #12 wine, the Sequana 2007 Sundawg Ridge Vineyard Pinot Noir, from the Green Valley ($50). It is clearly a fabulous wine from that cool district bordering on the Sonoma Coast, but what made it especially fun for me was that it’s a first-ever bottling from a new brand. Wine writers love new discoveries. The pedigree of the people behind the wine did not surprise me, when I eventually learned of it. The owner is Donald Hess, of Hess Collection. The winemaker is James MacPhail, of MacPhail Family. And although it may not really matter, the wine was made at Copain.

Immediately following the Sequana is Au Bon Climat’s 2006 Santa Barbara Historic Vineyards Collection Bien Nacido Vineyard Chardonnay. It retails for $35, which is cheap considering the wine’s vast, Clendenenesque dimensions, which clearly put it near the top of the pile for white Burgundian-style California Chardonnays. At #18 is another Pinot Noir, Melville’s 2007 Carrie’s ($52, from the Santa Rita Hills), an achievement of considerable proportions even in this historically great vintage; Melville (with winemaker Greg Brewer) obviously deserves recognition for their long and distinguished performance. Finally, at #21, yet another Pinot, this time Lynmar’s 2007 Hawk Hill Vineyard. At $70 it’s not inexpensive, but it defines the southwestern Russian River Valley’s terroir. This is a wine I would like to have many cases of.

I had many other wines on our Top 100 list and if the interest is there I can offer brief sketches of them in future blogs.