There’s a movement afoot in corporate America that doesn’t get enough attention but is gaining traction and could be a game changer. This movement is about inculcating social, environmental and health concerns into the sale of goods and services: call it Capitaltruism, where traditional capitalism meets idealistic altruism. And nowhere is it being embraced more heartily than by Millennials, who may feel that—since neither the government nor corporate America by itself is tackling important issues—it’s up to them.
Two recent developments illustrate this movement. The first is reflected by the rise of the “B Corporation.” The “B” stands for “beneficial.” A B Corporation is “a for-profit company committed to social or environmental goals in addition to its financial obligations.” That’s according to this article in the San Francisco Chronicle that describes how such corporations try “to benefit not [just their] shareholders, but also society.”
Millennials in particular are “drawn to firms that do good.” B Corps are certified by a third party, B Corporation, that claims to have registered 1,247 companies in 38 countries, across 121 industries, including wine. A Brookings Institution study found that the “desire on the part of Millennials for their daily work to reflect and be a part of their social concerns” is a chief factor in their choice of careers—and in their purchasing decisions.
The second development, reported courtesy of the Wall Street Journal, is of two California restaurateurs, Daniel Patterson (of Michelon-starred Coi in San Francisco but also of Plum Bar in Oakland) and Roy Choi, who got his start with L.A. food trucks. The pair have started up a company, Loco’l, whose aim is to replace the dismal diet of unhealthy fast food that now dominates less affluent neighborhoods with what Patterson calls a “natural, cooked-with-integrity alternative.” The first two Loco’ls will open in San Francisco’s Tenderloin and in Los Angeles’ Watts district. The foods will cost between 99 cents and $6 and will include things like a “Burg”: a beef-grain-garum [fish sauce] patty with Awesome Sauce, Jack cheese, grilled scallion and lime relish, on a Tartine Bakery bun. Sounds good, doesn’t it?
What do these two initiatives have in common? For one thing, both the Loco’l people and the B Corp people want to make money. But they want to do so in a way that addresses serious social concerns that, frankly, are not yet being addressed adequately. Both ventures are fueled by idealism and creativity, and both fill an important niche in a consumer market that’s been waiting for somebody to give them something worth spending their money on. What a fabulous idea!
Have a great weekend!
Both cities have come a long way over the last ten or fifteen years. When I began visiting Napa Valley, in the 1970s, Napa city was (let’s face it) kind of a drag from a tourist point of view, although it did have that All-American City cleanliness. Downtown was a heap of mattress stores and “antique” parlors that were little more than flea markets. As for Calistoga, it was the redneck side of the valley. My roommate Eugene’s parents lived up there, in a trailer park. Nobody I ever heard of went to the mud baths, except Eugene himself, for his arthritis.
Napa city was first to change. New restaurants began to go in. They developed that Riverfront area, and built all the flood control projects to keep downtown from its periodic inundations. COPIA brought in some travelers, but even its closure didn’t seem to put a dent into Napa’s attractiveness as a destination.
Calistoga by contrast seemed content during the first decade of the 2000s to glide by on sleepy feet. A few good, new restaurants went in, but otherwise, Calistoga remained more or less a backwater. When Solage opened, I took notice, but it seemed more of a standalone luxury resort than a reflection of any underlying change in the town of Calistoga; it wasn’t even within walking distance of the town center, but a schlep down the Silverado Trail.
Now, however, the Santa Rosa Press Democrat is reporting that Calistoga is “shifting to more emphasis on the high-end, luxury tourists,” to quote its city manager. New “luxury resorts,” priced at “$300 to $1,200 a night,” are going in, financed by the likes of the Four Seasons and Hong Kong billionaires. That this will change the character of Calistoga is granted by everyone. The Press Democrat article correctly surmises that the changes will bring more traffic and will result in much more water use; critics of the development managed to put initiatives limiting it on the local ballot, but these were defeated by the voters, who evidently felt that Calistoga’s chronic budget shortfalls, which impacted such local services as police and fire, would be made up for by increased tax revenues and tourist spending.
It’s not for any of us to judge whether Calistoga’s new ambitions are a good or bad thing. It’s for the people of Calistoga to decide, and they already have. What’s certain is that Napa Valley, from Yountville north through St. Helena to Calistoga, now has become a luxe destination for upscale travelers from all over the world—whether they’re into wine or not. Outside of San Francisco, Napa Valley is the culinary capitol of Northern California (The Restaurant at Meadowood and French Laundry alone would suggest that). It’s also the golf capital and the spa capital. And all in all, the politicians and city fathers and mothers who manage Napa Valley’s growth have done a good job of managing development and keeping its too-ugly side from creeping in.
Except for the traffic. It’s very bad now, and bound to get much, much worse. I know of no plans in place to expand or allieviate automobile access into and out of the valley, on either the Silverado Trail side or the Highway 29 side. (They certainly can’t add new lanes to 29 between St. Helena and Oakville, can they?) Napa Valley seems to have accepted the conventional wisdom that gridlock is the inevitable cost of development. It’s too bad, but what are you gonna do?
You’ve probably read about it: According to Fox News, a new study out of Spain has been widely reported to “prove” that “People think weaker wine tastes better.”
But, in fact, the study doesn’t show that at all; and much of the second-hand reporting on the study actually shows how lazy journalists can be.
For example, the Fox account of the study claims that “people think wine with a lower alcohol content tastes [better] because it allows them to focus on the diverse flavor profiles of the beverage.”
That’s a pretty sweeping statement. If you’ve been deep into the alcohol-level tall weeds, as I’ve been, you might think, “Wow, that gives credence to the In Pursuit of Balance argument.” But, in fact, if you read through the entire Fox report, you won’t find a single wine variety mentioned. You will find the implication that wine with 12 percent alcohol “induce[s] a greater…exploration of sensory attributes” than wines in the 14-15 percent range, or higher.
Well, let’s think about that for a minute. Do you really want to drink a 12 percent Zinfandel? A 12 percent Petite Sirah? A 12 percent Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Sauvignon Blanc or Viognier? In fact, let’s be even more generous and raise the alcohol level on those six varieties to 13 percent. What do you think they’d taste like in California?
Not very good. They wouldn’t be ripe—nowhere near ripe. They’d be all sour in acidity, with chlorophyll flavors and tart green fruit. This is why California vintners allow those varieties to get ripe enough to yield wines above 14 percent and usually above 14.5 percent. In the case of Zinfandel and Viognier, sometimes the alcohol level is 15 percent or higher.
When we’re talking about Pinot Noir (and sometimes Chardonnay), the story is, of course, different. California can indeed produce splendid Pinots below 14 percent in a good vintage, as the recent I.P.O.B. tasting showed. But to use the Spanish study to “prove” that consumers don’t like any wine over 14 percent is completely misleading.
Let’s look at the study itself, not just Fox’s reporting. Its key finding—the one seized upon by so much of the media—is, “significantly greater activation [of the brain’s flavor-processing regions] was found for low-alcohol than for high-alcohol content wines…”. It is this assertion that led to such headlines as:
“Does weak wine taste BETTER?” (Daily Mail)
and “Taste Perception Higher With Lower Alcohol Wines” (The Drinks Business)
But, again, the actual study did not identify specific grape varieties that were given to the subjects. (Does anyone really think that a low- alcohol Zinfandel from Amador County or an unripe Viognier from Russian River is “more appealing” than a ripe one?) All the study says is that the wines tasted “were red Spanish [varieties] coming from Rioja, Navarra, and Cataluña),” of unidentified grape varieties (although we can presume they were old varieties like Garnacha, Tempranillo and Monastrell; there may have been some Cabernet and/or Merlot blended into them to make them richer). All of the 26 subject tasters were Spanish. From this, we can infer that the subjects all had palates geared towards Spanish (not California) wines. We also can infer that, in all probability, they are not familiar with our California wines that routinely clock in higher than 14.5 percent alcohol. And so, it seems to me, the study has very little application to an assessment of ripeness and alcohol levels in California wines.
Discover Magazine also reported on the Spanish study and also read into it things that are not supported by the facts. They wrote: “people tend to pay more attention to the flavor when the alcohol content is low.” Well, I would wager that if you give a big, tasty California Zinfandel, Petite Sirah, Cabernet, Viognier, etc. to anyone, even Europeans, they would not and could not indict it for lacking in flavor! Some of them might not care for that particular wine—but they’d pay attention. And that’s what makes the world go ‘round: Different strokes for different folks. That doesn’t bother me at all—but sloppy reporting does. The Spanish study simply doesn’t support the “low alcohol wines are better” headlines.
Doesn’t it seem to you like these stories lately about microbes in soil affecting wine are making the concept of terroir even more complicated than we thought it was? We used to think terroir was a matter of the physical structure of the soil and the climate, or meso-climate, of the vineyard. John Winthrop Haeger, in his encyclopedic “North American Pinot Noir,” interpreted the soil part to include “orientation and aspect,” and possibly the “chemical composition.” But he said nothing about microbes.
Emile Peynaud, the great French enologist, in “The Taste of Wine” similarly referred to terroir’s “combination of site and soil,” and while he differentiated between “surface soil [and] subsoil and its water content,” he, like Haegar, has nothing to say about microbes. (For the record, as I’ve pointed out before, Peynaud takes note of the hand of man in crafting wine’s qualities in introducing the word “cru” to denote the combination of terroir and human intervention.) Even as hardcore a scientist as Clark Smith, in “Postmodern Winemaking,” refers to no fewer than “sixty five data dimensions” in soil analysis, but they have to do with structure, chemical composition and water content—not microbes.
So if this new report on the “wine grapevine’s microbiome,” published by the American Society for Microbiology and widely reported in scientific media, is true, we’re looking at a vastly more complex explanation of terroir than anyone has envisioned up to now. The study looked at “how different bacteria colonize these plants [i.e. grapevines] and also how those microbes might ultimately contribute to the wine’s sensory properties.” The study found a very close connection—almost an identity—between the “bacterial species found in the plant [and] the soil it was growing in.”
While one of the scientists who conducted the study, Jack Gilbert, conceded that “We don’t have evidence that bacteria are specifically contributing to terroir,” he firmly concluded that “those bacteria are affecting the chemistry of the plant,” which seems to pretty conclusively state that the microbes are, in fact, impacting terroir, since the chemistry of the plant obviously plays a large part in the qualities of the wine made from it.
The thing that puzzles me is this statement from Gilbert, which really requires more explanation than I’ve been able to find. “No matter where you are in the world, the types of bacteria growing on or in Merlot grapes are quite similar.” Gilbert looked at Merlot grapes or wine from Long Island, Bordeaux and California and found “similar bacteria species” in them all. Several things are unclear. Were the Merlot microbes also found in lab specimens of other grape varieties and wines? Were the Merlot bacteria substantially different from the bacteria associated with other varieties? Why should plants growing as far apart as California and France all possess similar bacteria? Does this suggest that Merlot itself can only thrive in the presence of certain bacteria?
I hope the scientists do a lot of followup work in these areas. This entire conversation about terroir has been stuck in a ditch for decades, and important new discoveries in the vine’s microbiome may help to push it forward. It will certainly give wine writers a whole new area to write about.
If, as Bob told The Drinks Business (and who would know better?), Bordeaux en primeur futures are “largely dead,” then good riddance, says I. I never did care for this futures stuff.
I mean, what purpose did they serve? Maybe once upon a time wine lovers could get a “bargain” by buying en primeur, but those days are long gone. I’m not entirely sure what killed them off, but surely the Internet had something to do with it. eBay? I don’t know for sure, but I bet much, if not most, en primeur Bordeaux is bought strictly for flipping. Something drove prices up so drastically that, as Parker himself points out, “[producers] started raising the prices [on futures] higher and higher, so you were being asked to pay prices for unbottled wines two years before you received them for prices that will essentially be the same as when they came out…”.
That doesn’t make much sense—to tie your money up like that, in essence lending it to the chateau interest-free.
It’s funny how powerful is Parker’s influence. Even though people say his day is over, he’s still the 800-pound gorilla in the room, especially in Bordeaux. Decanter just wrote an article, How to buy en primeur, in which they said that, while the system can be complicated (involving not only the chateaux but negociants and merchants), “there seems to be little sign of change in the offing, and the system does work.” Well, not according to Parker, it doesn’t. And I believe Parker.
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Meanwhile, speaking of Bordeaux, how long will they continue to hype their vintages? As long as there are enough gullible people around to believe it. Here’s the latest on the 2014s, “a ‘great, miracle’ vintage that is close in style and quality to the exceptional 2010s,” according to a Bordeaux winery general manager. (There’s objectivity for you!)
How many times have we heard of a “vintage of the century” or “the greatest vintage since [fill in the blank]”? And it’s not just Bordeaux, it happens in every great wine-producing region. P.T. Barnum would be pleased to learn that his admonition about suckers is truer than ever when it comes to selling wine.
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Finally—to reprise both Bordeaux and Bob Parker—his stepping down from reviewing en primeur—which he announced after giving The Drinks Business his gloomy prognostication on Bordeaux futures—is not the earth-shattering asteroid crash some writers have made it out to be. It was time for him to move on, a decision only he could make, and one into which not too much should be read, except this: as many have pointed out, no critic will ever have Bob’s influence. On balance, that influence has been a very healthy one for the wine industry. Bob was responsible—not entirely, but largely—for wine’s explosion in popularity in the 1980s and 1990s, when media all over the world trumpeted his achievements. More than anyone else, he made wine important. He glamorized it—the way an Oscar elevates a movie. We here in California ought to thank him, too, for he was/is the ultimate non-snob. He said that California wine could be as good as French at a time when many people didn’t want to hear it (and still don’t). I, personally, never begrudged him, as did some critics. In fact I’d venture to say that if it hadn’t been for Bob, there might not have been a Wine Spectator or Wine Enthusiast—and even if there had been, they wouldn’t have become as influential as they did, because he blazed the trail. He cleared the way. He set the style—and will, even after he retires. Bob Parker was the Sinatra of wine critics: The chairman of the board.
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I’m up in Sonoma Valley today, at Richard Arrowood’s Amapola Creek Winery, where he’s hosting a 40-year retrospective tasting of some of his wines. I respect and admire Richard so much. He was a big part of my first book, A Wine Journey along the Russian River. I’ll write about this historic tasting tomorrow.
I’ve been watching this burgeoning red blend trend for years. Although red blends have been around forever, I first learned that they were seriously on growers’ and producers’ radar about 5 or 6 years ago, when I spent a most delightful day with Joey Franzia, Fred’s son, of Bronco Wine Co.
We had driven down and back from Oakland to Paso Robles, and on the long haul we had a good conversation about all kinds of stuff. When I asked Joey what was new with Bronco, he mentioned two things in particular: the growing popular interest in Moscato and in red wine blends, both of which Bronco was planting furiously.
Well, when the scion of the fourth-biggest wine company in America (20 million cases annually) tells you about trends, let me tell you, your ears prick up. So from then on my brain was alerted to any news about the red blend trend. (Not so much about Moscato. I thought that trend had a short shelf life.)
The latest wine writer to opine on red blends is Lettie Teague, in the Wall Street Journal. She cites Nielsen as saying that “the domestic red-blend category…is one of the fastest-growing wine sales categories in the country.” The trend began, asserts Teague, with the 2001 release of The Prisoner, “the first American red-blend superstar.”
The Prisoner indeed is something of a pheenom, but it’s not as if it emerged parthenogentically from the mind of Zeus, or of Dave Phinney. It had historic and notable antecedents. For most of history wine was not labeled at all. Varietal labeling in America is a more or less modern occurrence, the brainchild of post-Prohibition purists, such as Frank Schoonmaker, who wished to distinguish our wine from its European brethren. (Yes, there was varietal labeling in California in the 1800s, but it was the minority.)
Even with the popularity of varietal labeling, though, there always has been a feeling among winemakers that they did not wish to have their hands tied by the government’s rules. If it took less than 75% of a named variety to produce a better wine, so be it. Hence Meritage and proprietary names. Then, too, the practice of “field blends” also came roaring back in the 1990s and 2000s, with the success of bottlings like Carlisle’s “Two Acres” blend of Mourvedre, Petite Sirah, Syrah, Carignane, Peloursin, Alicante Bouschet, Zinfandel and a white variety, Helena. Such old-vine blends can be really superlative.
The juxtaposition or intersection of winemaking style versus government winemaking rules is complicated and as old as time. Phillippe the Bold, the Duke of Burgundy, forbade “disloyal Gaamez” from growing in his realm in 1395, an early example in Europe of the intrusion of government (in this case Royal) into winegrowing affairs. The A.V.A. laws as drafted by our own Federal government in the late 1970s and early 1980s were merely a democratized version—one widely thought to be innovative and reformative then, but could just as easily be seen as nanny-state meddling now. There is no reason, and there never has been, why a varietally-labeled wine should necessarily be better than a blend.
Some producers will point out, accurately, that consumers are now used to varietal labeling; they (the producers) can’t be expected to pioneer radical marketing practices that will cost them business. This is true. But all things evolve, even in an industry as resistant to change as is wine. There is no reason to think that younger consumers today are as obsessed with varietal labeling as their parents and grandparents. If anything, there’s reason to think they’re moving in exactly the opposite direction.
Teague points this out, suggesting that many younger wine drinkers find red blends more “friendly” than varietals (and cheaper, too). The current (April 2015) issue of Wine Enthusiast has an article on “The Changing Face of Wine” (sorry, I can’t find it online to link to) that’s all about “a new generation of winemakers…the world over” who are creating wine labels that are “fun, bold [and] wildly creative”—and many of these wines are red blends that eschew identifying specific varieties and whose “coolness” appeals to younger drinkers.
I do think producers of these red blends are going to have to give consumers a little help regarding what the wines taste like. Consumers know that a Cabernet Sauvignon will be full-bodied, a Pinot Noir lighter and more elegant, a Zinfandel spicy and bold. But they have no idea what a fancifully-named blend tastes like or what kinds of foods to drink it with. This is where the back label comes in. I’m a big fan of back labels. They’re the producer’s opportunity to talk directly to consumers at the point of sale. I know there have been studies on the impact of front labels in off-premise sales. It would be interesting to study the effect of a well-produced back label. If I were looking at two bottles that were similar in every respect, except that one had nothing on the back label except the usual boring stuff, while the other gave me information about grape sourcing, wine style and food suggestions, I’d be much more likely to buy the latter.