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Tasting old whites from Stony Hill, plus a new red

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The conversation of whether California Chardonnays or Rieslings age or don’t age rarely happens, and for good reason: few do, and most people don’t care about aging white wines the way they do with reds. Of course, it all depends on what you mean by “age.” Most any wine will last for a while before becoming utterly undrinkable, whatever that means. By “aging” we mean to indicate several qualities about a wine: that it becomes better (again, whatever that means) – that it becomes more interesting (but this is in the eye of the beholder) – that the connoisseur will appreciate it whereas a novice might not (but we have to be careful with such descriptors) – that it is worthy of respect to still be clean and drinkable at a great age – that it has transcended its fruity origins (primary) and achieved secondary or tertiary characteristics.

That long opening paragraph is meant to indicate some of the problems or issues involving older wines. Tasting an old wine that is, by some sort of common critical consensus, “properly aged” is not a simple matter, cut-and-dried, like determining whether or not milk is fresh or spoiled.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I can tell you about a tasting yesterday at RN74 in San Francisco of some wines from the famous Stony Hill Vineyard. In case you don’t know, Stony Hill is one of California’s and certainly one of Napa Valley’s oldest, continually-operated wineries, run by the founding family–in this case, the McCreas. Fred and Eleanor bought their property high up on Spring Mountain in 1943, and nine years later, in 1952, they produced their first vintage of Chardonnay. Riesling subsequently followed, and, in 2009, they made their first-ever Cabernet Sauvignon, released just a month or so ago.

(Trivia segue: Only three wineries in Napa Valley that were in business in 1952 are still owned and operated by the same families today: Stony Hill, Charles Krug [by the Peter Mondavi family] and–who’s the third? Guess. The answer is at the end of this post. First to get it right gets a free lifetime subscription to steveheimoff.com.)

Anyway, here are my notes. I’m not scoring the wines because in my judgment it’s harder to rate old white wines like these than younger ones since the perception of them is so varied. Besides, I obviously tasted them openly and that is not my usual tasting procedure.

2010 Chardonnay: Classic Stony Hill style, dry, minerally and citrusy, with little apparent oak. (The alcohol on all the Chardonnays is in the 13% range, give or take a little.)

2006 Chardonnay: Shy at first, then lemon verbena and mineral notes. Drying out a little. Somewhere between fresh and aged, indeterminate. Something mushroomy suggests wild mushroom risotto.

2001 Chardonnay: Spectacular. Roasted honey, dried lime, minerals, salt. Fruit fading into the background. Interesting and nuanced.

1997 Chardonnay: So clean and inviting. Really stands out. Honey, sweet cream, Meyer lemons, vanilla. Obviously no longer young, but fresh, tangy, vibrant.

1994 Chardonnay: Clearly an old Chard, but no trace of corruption. Nuts, sherry-like oxidation, dried fruits and honey. So dry, with mouthwatering acidity.

1982 Chardonnay: Botrytis shows in the sweetness. Impressive for 30 years in the bottle, but for me the sweetness is off-putting.

1978 Chardonnay: A touch of corkiness? Or just getting old? Whatever, it’s dry, creamy and nutty, with Meyer lemons, minerals and pears. Perfectly fine and complex. 38  years old and still kicking!

1992 White Riesling: At 20 years, such a wonderful wine. Off-dry, honeyed, brilliantly crisp, offering ripe orange blossom, green apple and mango flavors. Has at least 10 more years ahead.

1988 White Riesling: Has picked up an old gold color. Very pure aromas. Old, filled with tertiary notes, not for everyone. Dry, delicate, brittle, sweet toffee, grapefruit, lemon zest, salty. Some oxidation, like a manzanilla sherry.

2009 Cabernet Sauvignon: Their first Cab ever. Made in an old style: 13.5% alcohol, tight, tannic, bone dry, earthy, with sour red cherry and red currant fruit. Fans of ripe, opulent, high alcohol Cabs might not like it. Will age for many decades. I would love to taste this wine in 2029 and maybe I will.

Answer to trivia segue: Nichelini.


Today’s post is all about wine!

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A reader griped the other day that I was writing  too much about social media and not enough about wine. So here goes!

These are my 5 top-scoring wines from three popular varieties over the past several months. (All reviews and scores have been published, either in Wine Enthusiast’s print Buying Guide, online, or both. I’ve scored other wines higher, but they haven’t been published yet.) Within each variety, I consider the commonalities that made the wines so great, to me.

Cabernet Sauvignon:
98 Goldschmidt 2006 PLUS Game Ranch Cabernet Sauvignon (Oakville); $150
97 Shafer 2007 Hillside Select Cabernet Sauvignon (Stags Leap); $225
97 Cardinale 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon (Napa Valley); $250
97 Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars 2008 Cask 23 Cabernet Sauvignon (Napa Valley); $195
97 Yao Ming 2009 Family Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon (Napa Valley); $625

Commonalities:
1. expensive
2. from Napa Valley or its sub-appellations
3. relatively high in alcohol [minimum: 14.5%]
4. relatively low production
5. ageworthy
6. quality factors: richness, full-bodied, ripe, oaky, dense, appearance of sweetness, complexity

Pinot Noir:
98 Merry Edwards 2009 Klopp Ranch Pinot Noir (Russian River Valley); $57
97 Donum Estate 2009 West Slope Estate Pinot Noir (Carneros); $100
96 Rochioli 2010 West Block Pinot Noir (Russian River Valley); $100
96 Marimar Estate 2008 La Masia Don Miguel Vinyard Pinot Noir (Russian River Valley); $39
96 De Loach 2009 Pennacchio Vineyard Pinot Noir (Russian River Valley); $45

Commonalities:
1. All from Russian River Valley except Donum, which is on the Sonoma side of Carneros
2. alcohols within a narrow range [14.4-14.7]
3. production relatively low [maximum: Marimar Estate, 3,300 cases]
4. all show oak, but balanced
5. quality factors: juicy in acidity, medium-bodied [not too light or too heavy], rich in fruits [generally red stone and berry], dry, spicy, silky, elegant, approachable

Chardonnay:
99 Failla 2010 Estate Chardonnay (Sonoma Coast); $44
96 Lynmar 2010 Susanna’s Vineyard Chardonnay (Russian River Valley); $50
96 Roar 2010 Sierra Mar Vineyard (Snta Lucia Highlands); $45
94 Sandhi 2010 Rita’s Crown Chardonnay (Sta. Rita HIlls); $55
94 Matanzas Creek 2010 Journey Chardonnay (Sonoma County); $75

Commonalities:
1. Geographically diverse, so no common origin
2. alcohol levels diverse, ranging from Sandhi (13.0%) to Matanzas Creek (14.6%)
3. all show well-integrated oak
4 quality factors: all made in the popular style: oaky, creamy, rich, flashy fruit, spicy, good balancing acidity

General discussion:

In Cabernet Sauvignon the address remains Napa Valley, most often the hills but not necessarily. And you get what you pay for. Also, great Cabernet can come from any vintage, regardless of its challenges.

In Pinot Noir, quality is considerably less tied to price: put another way, there are more bargains and also more overpriced ripoffs. Nor is geography as simple as with Cabernet: any of the coastal appellations can shine.

In Chardonnay, the same is true: great Chardonnay comes from the same areas as great Pinot Noir, with the single exception of Napa Valley, where very little reliably good Pinot Noir is produced. But then, I can remember a time when Napa Valley did produce interesting Pinot Noirs. The vines have all since been ripped out or budded over, victims of a critical mindset that determined Napa Valley cannot produce good Pinot Noir.


The Chardonnay Symposium: a photo essay

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The Symposium was last Saturday in the Santa Maria Valley of Santa Barbara County. I hope you like these pictures.

The red house at Bien Nacido Vineyards, where I often stay in Santa Maria Valley

Bien Nacido on a sunny afternoon

Bien Nacido, fog blowing in

Gus outside the red house. He loves to run free on the ranch

My panel at the Symposium, which was at Byron Winery

Byron Winery, vineyards

Dieter Conje (Presqu’ile) and Josh Klapper (La Fenetre)

Jonathan Nagy (Byron)

Eric Murphy (Talley)

Bob Cabral (Williams Selyem)

James Hall (Patz & Hall)

Gus, back at the red house, after a long day!

 

 


The Chardonnay Symposium: afterthoughts

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At the age of 3 years, The Chardonnay Symposium, held last Saturday at Byron Winery in the beautiful Santa Maria Valley, was the best, biggest, most successful yet. It was completely sold out–not a space left for my panel. In fact, the conversation among organizers now is, where does TCS go from here? It’s no lie to say it’s the most important Chardonnay public event in California. If you think about it, it’s downright bizarre that there hasn’t been an event celebrating Chardonnay before now. After all, Chard is the most popular wine in America.

My panel was awesome: Josh Klapper [La Fenetre, sitting in for Jenne Bonaccorsi, who had a death in the family), Bob Cabral (Williams Selyem), Dieter Cronje (Presqu'ile), James Hall (Patz & Hall), Eric Johnson (Talley), Heidi von der Mehden (Arrowood), Bill Wathan (Foxen) and Graham Weerts (Stonestreet). They really got to the root of the topic: How to preserve the terroir of a great Chardonnay vineyard while applying so many winemaker interventions, like oak.

One of the winemakers on my panel -- I think it was Dieter [LATER CORRECTION: IT WAS JOSH KLAPPER] — made this analogy: you can take Wonder Bread, white, bland, tasteless, and spread it with good butter, and you’ll get the taste of the butter, but very little else because the Wonder Bread has no flavor. On the other hand, you can take a really great homemade bread, filled with fabulous goodness and flavor, spread the same butter on it, and you’ll still get the butter but also so much more. Oak is like the butter: Put it on a bland wine, and all you get is oak. Put it on a great Chardonnay, and you get the deliciousness of the butter plus the complexity of the fruit. The resulting wine is all the better for the butter.

I think the conclusion was that things like barrel fermentation and the malolactic fermentation actually enhance terroir. At any rate, the wines spoke for themselves.

One of the topics of conversation between the event’s organizers, participating wineries and me that arose repeatedly was, Why is it that younger people seem not to accept Chardonnay, or don’t like it very much, or don’t seem to be buying it? I heard this from so many people that I assume it’s true (after all, they’re closer to the wholesale/retail market than I am). Here’s what I told them, which is just a theory, because I don’t have any survey results or anything like that. I think people from, say, 18-early 30s who do like to drink alcoholic beverages don’t want to drink their parents’ wine. They want to do their own thing, and they don’t want to feel or look old-fashioned or anachronistic. This helps to account for the explosion of all these fancy, infused (and often weird) cocktails lately as well as all these obscure wines from foreign countries. Dad didn’t drink those things, but he did drink Chardonnay. When you’re 27, you don’t want do what Dad did, you want to do something he didn’t.

I understand that. That’s part of being young and finding your own tastes in life. But here’s what I say to Gen X and Y: don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater! Chardonnay from France has been celebrated as one of the great white wines in the world for 400 or 500 years, maybe longer, in the form of white Burgundy, mainly from the Cotes de Beaune and Chablis. Multiple generations of humankind have declared Chardonnay’s greatness. So, to the extent that 27 year old says “I won’t drink Chardonnay because my mother likes it,” he’s cutting off his nose to spite his face–missing out on one of the most delicious white wines on earth, and certainly the richest dry table wine you can buy at affordable prices. When that 27 year old is 37, or 47, he’ll realize why the world has coveted this grape and wine for so long.


How to taste? Let me count the ways

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There are as many different ways to taste wine as there are to roast a chicken, and, like roasting a chicken, every taster will have his or her favorite approach.

And I’m not even talking about the single blind-double blind-open thing.  I’m talking about the specific wines you include in your flight. A “flight” is, of course, the wines to be tasted on that occasion. It can have any number of wines in it. I’m comfortable with a daily flight of fifteen, more or less.

I’ve said and written before that my preferred method of tasting is in peer groups of similar wines, but what does that mean? In theory, it could mean any of several things. A classic arrangement would be all the First Growth Bordeaux and their equivalents [let’s say eight in all], with some Super-Seconds.

A classic equivalent in California might be a flight of the top red wines of a region in Napa Valley such as Eastern Oakville or Pritchard Hill or even a larger area, like the Stags Leap District. That would be comparing apples to apples.

Another version of a classic flight might be tasting all of the 18 or so Pinot Noirs Bob Cabral makes every year at Williams Selyem. But he once told me he’d rather I review his wines by appellation, so that, for instance, I’d taste his Russian River Valley Pinots against other RRV Pinots not from Williams Selyem.

These are all examples of classic flights, but unfortunately, it’s not always possible to arrange a classic tasting due to functional realities. That means I might taste 15 Cabernets in a flight, but they might be from all over Napa Valley–maybe even one or two from Sonoma County, the Santa Cruz Mountains and even the Happy Canyon of Santa Barbara. That’s un-”classic,” but it does have the upside of directly comparing a Happy Canyon Cabernet to an Oakville Cabernet. Maybe it performs favorably. Yay for Happy Canyon!

Every once in a while I like to shake things up with a wacko flight. I’ll do, say, two Petite Sirahs, two Cabernets, a Merlot, a Petit Verdot, a Syrah, a Barbera, two Pinot Noirs, two Sangioveses, an off-beat blend of Tempranillo, Merlot and Petit Sirah from Paso Robles, and a Zinfandel. I can see some of you shaking your heads. WTF? But listen to me, this can be really cool.

For one thing, since it’s blind, you have the instructive pleasure of trying to determine what each wine is. You can’t do that if you know you’re tasting all Oakville Cabernets. In the wacko flight, you have to concentrate hard. Some of these California Pinots are big, dark, extracted wines, so peppery and meaty, they’re easy to confuse with Syrah or Grenache. Zinfandel or Cabernet? At 15.4%, it can be hard to tell the difference. But what I like best about the wacko approach is that, since you don’t even know what the variety is, you might award a wine a very good score even if it’s bizarrely atypical of its region and variety.

Still and all, I think the best way to go is with flights of peer groups.

I’m off to Santa Barbara now for The Chardonnay Symposium and my great panel on terroir.  I’m sure I’ll have plenty of good stuff to report on. Meanwhile, have a great weekend, no matter where you are.


The Chardonnay Symposium: 8 days and counting…

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There may still be time to get a ticket for my panel at next Saturday’s (June 30) Chardonnay Symposium.

Last year the topic was the role of oak in Chardonnay–which turned out to be more interesting than I initially thought it would be. This year, I chose the topic: how does the winemaker preserve “terroir” in a grape and wine that is usually so heavily manipulated? When you think of all the things winemakers do to Chardonnay–barrel fermenting it, stirring it on the lees, putting it through the malolactic fermentation, exposing it to varying degrees of oxidation, and on an on–what happens to all that terroir that was born in the grape?

A reporter for another magazine called me yesterday because she’s writing somethng up on the Symposium (now in its third year) and was shopping for quotes. She asked me if Chardonnay wine shows greater terroir than other varieties. “Good question!” I replied, which are two words a reporter loves to hear from an interviewee. Usually, people say that Pinot Noir, Riesling and Sangiovese reflect their terroir more purely or transparently than other varieties. Chardonnay is often referred to as a wine so neutral (i.e. non-terroir driven) that it needs winemaker bells and whistles in order to taste good.

Well, of course, that’s nonsense, as anyone who knows anything about Grand Cru Chablis or Montrachet understands. Here in California, we have our “grand cru” Chardonnays (you’ll pardon the expression), and I tried to round up panel members who work grand cru vineyards. They are:

Jenne Bonaccorsi – Bonaccorsi, Santa Rita Hills
Bob Cabral – Williams Selyem, Russian River Valley
Dieter Conje – Presqu’ile, Santa Maria Valley
James Hall – Patz & Hall, Carneros Valley
Eric Johnson – Talley, Arroyo Grande and Edna Valley
Heidi von der Mehden – Arrowood, Sonoma Valley
Bill Wathan – Foxen, Santa Maria Valley
Graham Weerts – Stonestreet, Alexander Valley

A pretty impressive crew, I think you’d agree. I told the reporter that there are certain noble grape varieties in the world, and when these grapes are grown to the highest standards and vinified accordingly, they all show terroir, including Chardonnay. Pinot Grigio is not a noble variety (at least, not in California) and thus you don’t expect to find “terroir” in a $15 PG. You expect freshness, crispness, cleanliness, fruit, etc., but not some eye-opening expression of the site where the grapes were grown.

Each of my winemakers will pour one wine, from a single vineyard, and tell us about the natural terroir, what he or she did in bringing up the wine, and then describe how the natural terroir still shines through. (Well, the one and only Dieter Conje is pouring two wines, but he has a very specific point he wants to make.) Perhaps some of the winemakers will say they believe they actually enhanced the expression of terroir through their interventions, the way, say, Professor Henry Higgins brought out the “real” Eliza Doolittle. Was Eliza more or less “Eliza” before the Professor taught her to speak correctly, dress and behave like a lady and be, well, more attractive to men? In some sense, she was more Eliza when she was an unkempt street urchin selling flowers from the gutter. Did she become “inauthentic” when she was transformed into “My Fair Lady”?

This is an idiotic question, one for metaphysicians to waste their time on. However, in the case of Chardonnay (and especially considering the question of oak), it is decidedly not idiotic; and to Chardonnay lovers, it’s the stuff of grand debate. I hope to see you at the Symposium.


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