“It takes a lot more than good cooking to make a restaurant a success,” said the president of Emeril Lagasse’s corporation, in this Associated Press profile of the celebrity chef, who was basically bought out by Martha Stewart and now works for her Omnimedia empire (no disrespect intended. Everybody has a buyout price).

If any two people in the wine and food world understand the concept of branding, it’s Lagasse,TV’s most famous chef (what, you think it’s Rachel Ray?), and Stewart, the grande dame of lifestyle mavens. They’ve entered the pantheon of celebrities whose first names alone are instantly recognized by millions.

However cheesy you may think Emeril and Martha are, there’s no denying that both have been fabulously successful in their chosen careers. They have lessons to teach to two populations in particular whose thoughts tend to wander toward questions of branding: bloggers and wineries.

What Emeril and Martha understand — Steve Jobs, too — is that America is a brand-oriented consumer culture. People want and need to buy stuff, but they’re fundamentally insecure (especially in this awful economy), so they look for proven names they trust. That’s what famous brands depend on: America’s trust.

But trust isn’t forever, as Toyota is learning the hard way. If it was, Radio Shack would still make the most popular computers. Especially in turbulent times such as these, with the economy reshaping itself into who knows what, and the Internet shaking everything up, there are opportunities for wineries that are not yet brand names but would like to be. Every generation presents such chances, as Robert Mondavi understood in his bones. So what lessons do Martha and Emeril have to teach wannabe brands?

The first is that, in our American meritocracy, anyone can become branded. That doesn’t mean everyone can, or will. But if Emeril and Martha — two basically weird people — could, you can, too. They did it with a combination of chutzpah, talent in their skills (Martha personality, Emeril cooking), organizational talent and an innate understanding of P.R. that’s reflected in relentless self-promotion.

I started this post with the quote “It takes a lot more than good cooking to make a restaurant a success” for a reason. Lots of chefs cook well, but their restaurants will never be successes. And lots of people make good wine, but they will fail in the long run or even the medium-short. What then makes for success?

There’s also luck. Most people who have made it will tell you they were in the right place at the right time. But since luck is incapable of being managed, we can eliminate it from our playbook. Let’s look at this from a winery point of view. First of all, they have to be good at what they do, i.e. making wine. You’ll never build a successful winery if you’re turning out crap. This implies that you have to know the difference between “good” and “crap,” which isn’t so easy, to judge from what I taste out there.

It also helps to put a face on the winery. That’s another thing Robert Mondavi understood. Randall Grahm, too. Most successful wineries have a front man. It can be the winemaker (e.g., Bob Cabral at Williams Selyem) or the owner (Jess Jackson). The public likes faces; Kentucky Fried Chicken wouldn’t have made it without Colonel Sanders.

And the face needs to connect with the public. That’s a mysterious alchemy. Not everyone can connect. Hollywood directors can tell the difference between a face the camera loves, and one it doesn’t. Consumers can tell the difference between a face who cares about them, and one that’s just going through the motions. Colonel Sanders connects.

I mentioned Bob Cabral. He’s a great face for his winery. He’s interesting and friendly and funny. He connects in a human way. Granted, Williams Selyem was famous before Bob came onboard, which made his job easier; but he’s still a role model for itinerant winemakers who go on the road. Nothing cheesy or tacky about Bob Cabral. He can warm up an audience like a seasoned pol, and make them feel like he’s speaking personally to each and every one of them, heart to heart and mind to mind. Bloggers need this quality, too. The public will read blogs if they feel a face coming through, a real spirit behind the words. In the chaos and uncertainty that seem to be descending on American culture, people more than ever long for a personal connection with their leaders, and with the products they buy. Sarah Palin, too, understands this, even if it’s just about the only truth she does get.

The Napa Vintners asked me to be part of a panel discussion called “I’m Green, You’re Green–So What…or Is It Too Easy Being Green?” They explained that the event was for “communications and PR professionals” at [mostly] Napa wineries, and that in addition to me (as the “respected wine writer”), the panel would include “a well respected retailer” and “a researcher.” In particular, the invitation to me explained, “We are interested in generating a discussion among panel members and vintners about the importance of employing green practices and marketing them to consumers, how it helps market a brand (or not) and what the future ‘green’ trends will be.”

My initial reaction was that it’s a little weird for them to invite me to speak on this topic, since anyone familiar with my views over the years knows that I’m not particularly keen on green. So there’s the irony. It’s sort of the same kind of irony as when I’m asked to speak on matters concerning social media, of which I have never claimed to be an expert (beyond the fact that I have this blog). In fact, in some respects, I’m a skeptic, or at least a debunker of inflated claims, and there are certainly plenty of people who know vastly more than I do about the structure and nature of social media. Yet I get the invitations anyway.

I like the fact that the organizers of the Napa green panel (which is on Thursday, April 29, at Spring Mountain Vineyard) included “So what…” in the title. It indicates that they, at least, don’t approach the whole green-sustainable-organic-biodynamic thing with the kind of breathless hero worship of a tea partier at a Sarah Palin rally. Leave it to PR professionals to be the first to understand that any cause celebre can be used for marketing purposes, no matter how lofty and noble it might inherently be (actually, the loftier, the better).

When I say I’m not keen on green, I don’t mean that I don’t support green practices, in the vineyard and in the winery. I do. How could I not? It would be like being against motherhood. What I mean is that, ever since this organic thing arose in the 1990s and gathered momentum heading into the 2000s, I saw it being equal parts passionate personal belief, on the one hand, and a marketing tool, on the other. I don’t think that’s cynicism. It’s cold, hard reality. When I wrote my second book, New Classic Winemakers of California, I included a chapter on Javier Tapia Meza, the winemaker at Ceago Vinegarden, precisely because I wanted to understand the mindset of people who were completely devoted to biodynamic. Javier and his boss, Jim Fetzer, approach farming with an almost religious tenacity, which I respect; but I still think that some vintners — not necessarily them, but others — believe that if green is good for the environment, it’s also good for business.

I actually don’t think it is. I don’t think very many people make buying decisions based on green. Maybe a small number of Whole Foods types does, but most people buy wine based on other factors: price, label, scores and recommendations, variety type, food compatability, etc. Last December, there was a Green Wine Summit, in Santa Rosa, and while many of the speakers touted the consumer value of green, to me the most salient fact (via Neilsen tracking) was that “’Green wine’ and related topics represents about .5% of all Wine buzz,” buzz being defined by tracking Twitter and other online portals. There’s lots of online discussion of “organic,” “natural wine” and so on, but it’s disconnected with actual buying decisions. In fact, Nielsen found, consumers care about sulfites not because they are or aren’t organic, but because they think sulfites give them headaches; low or no sulfites is the “purchase trigger,” not green in and of itself.

I realize this is a very complicated topic, and one in which emotions and core beliefs are intertwined with fact. But I stand by my own belief that, however true or effective green practices are, from a wine marketing point of view the “So what?” factor currently dominates.

Had a call from a guy working on his WSET. He’s doing a paper on rising alcohol levels over the last 20 years and wanted my viewpoint.

He began by listing 6 reasons that, in his judgment, account for higher alcohol: later harvest time, climate change, locale (planting in warmer areas, is what I think he meant), viticultural practices, vinification techniques and consumer demand. Then he asked if I thought any of them was more important than the others.

Here’s what I said. “Obviously, one of them is driving the rest.” He knew I was going to say “consumer demand.” The others (excluding climate change, which I’m not sure has a place in this discussion) are manipulatable — they can go any way the owner wants. An owner or winemaker can pick earlier or later, farm the way he wants, make the wine any way he wants. The one uncontrolled factor — the only thing he can’t manipulate — is consumer demand. Which is what matters: a winery is a business, not a charity. Therefore, consumer demand drives all else.

So we have to ask, why is the consumer demanding these high alcohol wines? Well, they’re not demanding high alcohol in itself, they’re demanding lots of fruit. And the way to achieve lots of fruit is extreme ripeness, i.e. high alcohol. It’s an unintended consequences type thing, like energy consumption. Consumers don’t consume gasoline (with all the political, financial and environmental problems it causes) because they like gas. They buy it because they need gas to drive.

Winemakers don’t want to make high alcohol wines; it’s the price they pay for ripeness. Which is why the holy grail is to achieve physiological ripeness at lower brix levels. If there was an easy way to do it, everybody would know, but there’s not. You have to try lots of different things, over many years, and even then, it’s not entirely in your hands. There’s no formula.

The WSET guy wanted to know if the high alcohol trend is reversible. I said that, while cooler vintages in California may be helping, and there’s a critical backlash against high alcohol, in general the answer is, no. We’re not going back to 11.5-12 percent alcohol.

Then he asked if high alcohol leads to homogenization. I said it does, because it leads to similar flavors in all varieties. I’ve said this before, but everytime I do, somebody — usually Charlie Olken — smacks me upside the head. But I do think fruit flavors are all pretty similar across varieties in California. (Do we really need an argument that one area is red cherries and another is black cherries? I don’t think so.) Flavor isn’t hard to achieve: I could grow grapes and get them really flavorful. Just don’t pick until they’re super ripe! But what I couldn’t achieve in wine is structure. And structure requires 3 things: money, talent and good taste (that’s assuming a good vineyard). Even if a winemaker has the first two, that doesn’t mean he has good taste. You’d be surprised at how much bad taste is out there. I constantly am.

So does high alcohol mask terroir? I said I don’t think so. The wines of Saxum have terroir. I know that vineyard. It’s a very special, unique place. It also happens to be in a hot area. Justin Smith’s wines routinely approach and sometimes exceed16%. And yet they’re delicious and compelling. So high alcohol in itself does not mask terroir. (And low alcohol doesn’t necessarily guarantee it.) I told the guy, “If you want to talk to someone who’s on an anti-high alcohol crusade, find Dan Berger. High alcohol doesn’t bother me, if it’s balanced.”

In the end, it all comes down to the consumer. Justin Smith caters his small production to his admirers. So does everybody else. And until the broad mass of consumers says “We’re sick of high alcohol and we won’t take it anymore,” high alcohol isn’t going anywhere.

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One of the best books I ever read (and I’m a lifelong reader) was “Confessions of an Advertising Man.” It was written in 1963 by one of the original Mad Men, David Ogilvy, who started his firm (now Ogilvy & Mather in London, and OgilvyOne in New York) back in the 1950s. The reason his little book was such a good read was because it was very inspirational. Ogilvy told of how he started with nothing but a dream and built up one of the greatest advertising agencies in the world.

Ogilvy, who died in 1999, was a natural born salesman. His spirit still infuses the company, which just announced a worldwide contest, open to anyone over the age of 18: to create a short YouTube video in which you sell a red brick.

Yes, a red brick. “If you can sell a red brick, maybe you can sell anything,” a company executive was quoted in the N.Y. Times.

The winner gets a three-month job at OgilvyOne, and will help write a guide to selling in the 21st century. (The Times article mentioned that “The contest will also use other social media like Facebook and Twitter,” although it didn’t explain precisely how.)

When I read this, I was instantly reminded of A Really Goode Job [2009] and, before that, of the Rockaway deal with bloggers [2008]. (Most readers here know all about those.) Both were, of course, instances of wineries experimenting with how to use social media and engage a new generation of consumers, the former through a contest. It made me wonder if the Ogilvy people knew about them.

What’s interesting to me isn’t the fact that yet another company is having a contest to bring attention to their social media efforts. We’re used to that by now. It’s that Ogilvy decided to have the contestants sell a red brick. Why such a prosaic item and not something cool and contemporary? As a company exec explained, “the iPad does not need ‘the world’s greatest salesperson.’”

In other words, the contestants are going to have to sell the sizzle, not the steak, since, in this case, there is no steak. They will get to display sheer artistry and talent. This brings up all kinds of ideas about marketing wine. Some wines sell themselves: they get great scores, collectors lust after them, there’s a waiting list for the mailing list, and they’re home free. Other wines have to be sold. We’re seeing a lot of attempts to sell now, but wineries seem to be scrambling to find the right message, the right price point, the right strategy.

Which is why there continues to be so much interest in social media. Ogilvy execs were quoted in the Times as saying things like “the consumer [is] in control” and “the salesperson needs to get invited in.” And selling is “less about intrusion and repetition and more about engagement and evangelizing.” (Although you wouldn’t necessarily know that if you watch TV, where commercials are more intrusive and repetitive than ever.)

So everybody is jumping into social media. Think about it. When the reformists in the streets of Tehran want to talk to the world, they tweet. That’s the same reason the old regime in China wants to censor searches: so their people can’t interact with the outside world, or even each other. That’s the big picture. What about the smaller world of wine in which we live? Wineries are on notice they have to sell harder than ever before. For some, that means they actually have to learn to sell in the first place.

David Ogilvy famously said, “No sale, no commission. No commission, no eat.” It’s the old law of the jungle, and social media — no matter how revolutionary it turns out to be — isn’t going to change it.

We had a lot of wine at the old groaning board on Christmas Day: Zinfandel, Gewurztraminer, sparkling, Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc. But no Syrah. I know, because I brought all the wine, and there was no Syrah.

Of all the major varieties grown in California, Syrah’s the poor cousin. Nobody wants it. Winemakers tell me what a problem sell it is. Distributors grimace when they have to peddle it. It’s a fairly easy grape to grow, not fussy like Pinot Noir. Syrah throws a good crop, although it responds well to limiting yields, and it doesn’t seem to mind being grown in both cooler and warmer climates.

It should sell well because it’s got a pretty, easy-to-pronounce, French-sounding name, which Americans love. Merlot’s pretty, too, but Syrah is even sexier. It sounds like somebody whispering something in your ear. Ssssyyyrr-rarrrhhh. So what’s the problem?

For one, Americans have a fairly limited imagination when it comes to wine. Everybody’s heard of Cabernet Sauvignon. It’s the go-to red wine if you want something dry and fancy. Merlot’s probably #2. With Pinot Noir, of course, we in the industry have clubbed the consumer over the head like baby seals so many times since “Sideways” that there’s probably no one conscious who hasn’t heard favorable things about it. Zinfandel? Everybody knows something about it, too. But that’s when the brain starts getting pretty crowded with grape names. It’s about as easy trying to wedge Syrah in there as it is stuffing an overcoat into your already-full suitcase.

I looked up my highest scoring Syrahs in Wine Enthusiast over the last two years. Highest is a Qupe 2005 Bien Nacido, followed by a clutch of Faillas, a Chateau Potelle (are they still in business?), then a Rubicon, an Ojai (also from Bien Nacido), a pair of Zaca Mesas (gosh, their Black Bear Block is good) and a Heintz, which I believe (correct me if I’m wrong) comes from not too far from Ehren Jordan’s Failla. So these are all from relatively cool places.

They’re all rich, elaborate wines that deserve their high scores, and one of these days, you never know, a 100-point Syrah might come along (and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was from one of the wineries mentioned above). At its best, Syrah is slightly soft, with velvety, ultra-refined tannins and a chocolate-biscuit taste to the berry fruit flavors, which can range from red cherries and currants through blueberries and blackberries, all the way into cassis. There is also often that savory hint of black pepper that only a cool climate can coax out.

I like a good California Syrah but when it comes to pitting it against its nearest neighbor in the noble, full-bodied red wine sweepstakes, I’ll take a great Cabernet Sauvignon every time. As lush as Syrah can be it never seems to have the structural depth of Cabernet. It’s like (pardon the analogy) the Anna Nicole Smith of red wine (may she rest in peace), beautiful, fascinating, exotic, opulent, curvaceous, eye candy (or in Syrah’s case, mouth candy), but somehow missing something essential. The greatest Cabernets are not missing anything, which is why they are so great.

I doubt if this “missing” quality, however, is why more Americans don’t buy Syrah. The masses wouldn’t know that, nor would they know that very few critics ever give perfect scores to Syrah, as opposed to Cabernet and Pinot Noir. So it remains a mystery why Syrah isn’t more popular. Someone once suggested to me that Syrah has been hurt by Aussie Shiraz’s cheap image, which may be partly true, but that assumes people know that Shiraz is Syrah. There was an article last summer, in winebusiness.com, which implied a certain indecisiveness on the part of American consumers, who seem not to know exactly what Syrah is, or what it ought to taste like, or how much a good bottle should cost, or why precisely they ought to buy it when they’re not quite sure they should (which is a violation of the First Law of Marketing: Convince the consumer he must buy the product, or suffer irreparable loss). There also is the implication that selling Syrah is a bit like trench warfare: each sommelier or merchant has got to hand-sell it to each customer, in a never-ending scrim that occurs on the one-yard line where getting past the cash register, not the goal post, is the goal.

Then there are Syrah’s weaknesses, which are greater than Cabernet’s. The worst you can say about a minor Cabernet is that it’s overcropped. That leaves plenty of room for them to score in the 83-85 point range, which isn’t bad. There are millions of glasses of such Cabernet Sauvignon sold every day at the nation’s Denny’s, Popeye’s, Red Lobsters, Longhorn Steakhouses and Tony Roma’s. A poor Syrah on the other hand is a truly dreadful wine. High alcohol can burn the finish, excessive sweetness make it insipid, and if you include green flavors with high alcohol and residual sugar you have something not even fit for vinegar. There are many such Syrahs and they come, surprisingly enough, not just from hot climates (Paso Robles, Livermore, Lodi) but cool ones (Edna Valley), although the truth is you’re more likely to get a bad Syrah from a hot climate than a cool one.

I don’t know what the answer is for selling more Syrah. Maybe that orphan variety needs a trade and promotion event, like ZAP or the Rhône Rangers or the World of Pinot Noir. Something that would raise Syrah’s profile in the consumer’s mind would be a good thing.