What are California’s grand cru vineyards? Somebody at work asked me this question, for a project they’re working on, so it got me to thinking.
Some years ago, I wrote an article for Wine Enthusiast (which I no longer have available, alas) on California’s five greatest vineyards. Before I could make that determination, I had to define what I meant by “greatest.” There’s no objective definition; it’s purely subjective. Besides, there are so many fantastic, famous vineyards, you really have to cull the field to make your article manageable. So I decided on the following parameters:
- The vineyard must have a long, consistent history of producing great wines. (“Long,” by California standards.)
- Following #1, the vineyard probably will be known for Pinot Noir and Chardonnay (on the one hand) and Cabernet Sauvignon, on the other. (Sorry, other varieties, you lost out on that one.)
- The vineyard must not be the exclusive monopole of a single winery. Although it may primarily be associated with a single winery, it must also sell some of its fruit to other wineries. In this way, the vineyard’s name and fame are spread, and a fairer assessment can be made.
This last rule was a little controversial, I must admit. It excluded vineyards including Harlan’s Estate, or Screaming Eagle. But it left enough room for Beckstoffer-Tokalon, Pisoni, Sanford & Benedict, Bien Nacido and Rochioli to make the list. They all sell fruit to other wineries, they’ve all been around long enough to have established track records, and surely nobody would quibble about any of them.
Today, ten years later, I have mixed feelings about this sort of thing. The historian in me reveres the notion of great vineyards, Grands Crus, First Growths and the like. If you’re a wine geek with a penchant for reading about the history of wine, you know that certain vineyards always have been considered the greatest, from time immemorial.
On the other hand, part of me–the democratist–realizes that “grands crus” are not as rare as may once have been thought! In other words, they’re not exactly unicorns. With modern advances in viticulture and enology, vineyard managers are now able to deliver far more distinguished fruit, from far more sources, than ever before. Indeed, if we look to Mother France for a clue, we see a near-constant reshuffling of reputations in Bordeaux, for example: Second- and Third Growths now said to rival Firsts. In Burgundy, in Champagne, in many places, the traditional hierarchies are falling, as tastes change and opportunities arise for garagistes or for long-established wineries that are cleaning up their acts. I also know, as a media maven, that the reputation of the so-called top (or cult) vineyards often is based, not on objective quality, but on the decision of wine writers to include them on their “best” lists! With all due respect, Screaming Eagle is not the best Cabernet in Napa Valley. It’s one of dozens that are “the best.” There is no “best,” nor can there be, unless you are absolutely ideological about it and don’t care about fairness. So I’m somewhat loathe to say “These are California’s great vineyards,” because that implies that the rest of them—the 99 percent—are not great.
Still, I think there’s a useful purpose in trying to identify the top vineyards, although this has to be based on clearly spelling out your parameters, with all the caveats that this imprecise effort involves. It’s also fun: we all like reading about this stuff, don’t we? And so, dear readers, what are your nominations, and why?
Some years ago, around 2011 or 2012, Jo Diaz, the winery publicist, set up an event at U.C. Davis that featured a showdown, of sorts, between me and Paul Mabray, who had created VinTank in 2009. VinTank has been described in this article as “the wine industry’s most powerful social media monitoring and data distribution platform…designed to help revolutionize the wine industry through monitoring and analyzing blogs, social media, and tasting note platforms and distributing that information to those in the wine and restaurant industries.” The idea behind Vintank, I gathered, was Paul’s strongly-held belief that social media was becoming, or already had become, a very important tool for wineries to sell wine, something VinTank could help them achieve, and that wineries had better hop onboard—at the risk of missing the boat.
By that time, I had acquired the reputation, mainly through this blog, of being something of a social media skeptic, although those who portrayed me as such tended to exaggerate the degree of my skepticism. I myself always took the position that social media’s ability to sell wine was limited. As I looked around, I saw an entrepreneurial explosion of social media consulting firms, all making inordinate claims about social media’s power, backing those claims up with Powerpoint-illustrated statistics, and, of course—so far as I could tell—hoping to be hired for the expertise they said they could bring to their clients, who all too often were hopelessly befuddled as to what they should do with this new-fangled gimmickry.
I never said social media was worthless. Far from it: I was a player myself, active not only on my blog but also on Facebook and, to a lesser extent, Twitter. In fact I advised every proprietor I talked to that they should practice social media to the extent of their ability to do so. At the same time, I said that social media was not, and could not be, the be-all and end-all for wineries: that it was but one tool in the toolbox, and wineries had best not forget the other tools, namely, good sales and marketing done the traditional way (not to mention making high-quality wine!).
Well, you know the media loves a good story of heroes and villains, so I got portrayed as this social media hater, and that was the point of Jo’s event at Davis. Jo thoughtful person she is, knew I didn’t hate social media. She knows me as well as anyone in the industry. At the same time, she thought it would make for good P.R. to present Steve vs. Paul as a gunfight, and I agreed to go along.
Things did get testy that day. I remember thinking that Paul’s claims for social media’s effectiveness were hyperbole, or at least unproven, and his comments about me went beyond objectivity towards the personal. Perhaps he felt the same way about me. At any rate, we parted in a friendly way, and, more importantly, gave the U.C. Davis V&E students “a good show,” which is always what these things are all about.
I largely lost track of VinTank after that. I knew that last year it was acquired by something called the W2O Group, when Paul told Forbes that, with the acquisition, “We can truly catalyze the industry into meaningful and healthy change in how they understand and relate to their customers.” But, like I said, I didn’t follow VinTank or W2), until yesterday, when Wine Industry Insight reported on developments with the headline, “Vintank dead? Vin65 customers left in lurch. Signs point to quiet euthanasia by private equity.” (VinTanke and Vin65 had previously partnered in 2013.) The article went on to quote from the Vin65 website that VinTank, “recently rebranded as TMRW Engine, will cease operations as VinTank…” and…”will no longer be supporting clients in the wine industry effective July 31, 2016.”
The actual details of VinTank’s complicated deals of recent years are hard to follow, and it’s not clear to me, at this time, if VinTank will continue to operate in one form or another, or what Paul’s role will be. (I reached out to him via Twitter, but didn’t hear back.) However, I think we can agree that social media has not turned out to be the savior of wineries, particularly smaller ones, who might have looked towards it for its supposedly miraculous abilities. If it’s true, as Wine Business Insight, reported, that VinTank is tanking, I feel bad for Paul, but I haven’t changed my position in nearly nine years. Social media is fun, it can be helpful for wineries, they should do it if they can, but it’s simply not as vital as some people initially portrayed it.
ED. NOTE: This version has been slightly edited from an earlier version.
Driving back from Oregon to California, I was really struck by how abruptly the climate changes in a relatively short distance.
I had stayed the night in Medford, in the interior section of Oregon, right on I-5. The daytime temperatures were very hot, well into the 90s. Then you climb into all the mountains—the Siskyous, the Klamaths, Mt. Shasta—where the temperature is still pretty warm, but this is also a very wet climate: hence the thickly-forested stands of fir (and so many ugly scars from clear-cutting).
Then, when you hit California and get into the top of the Sacramento Valley around Redding, how quickly things change! Suddenly the thick stands of trees are gone, and so is the greenery, replaced by mile after mile of the sere, golden hills that give California its nickname, The Golden State. Where there are trees they are drought-resistant eucalyptus. Otherwise, in this barren, droughty part of the state, nothing grows, except where it is irrigated. All this, within a few hundred miles.
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I read in the news that the Petaluma Gap AVA petitioners still are waiting for TTB to approve their application (or not). I wrote about the effort in Nov. 2014, stating that I was “heartily in favor” of it, and that TTB would probably approve it “sooner rather than later.” Well, here we are, 20 months later, and still no approval! I don’t know if that qualifies as “later,” but it is what it is, and I still think the feds will allow it, although one of the petitioners was quoted in the article as saying, “It’s possible it could all be done this year,” which would definitely be “later” than I’d thought.
Here’s a list of all the other pending AVAs waiting for TTB action. As you can see, three of the nine are in California (although four of the nine are mere “expansions” rather than brand-new appellations). One of the pending ones is the Van Duzer Corridor, up in the Willamette Valley of Oregon. That’s where I’ve been spending time: the “Corridor” is a gap in the coastal hills, similar to the Petaluma Gap, that allows cool maritime air and wind to funnel in from the coast. Jackson Family’s Maple Grove vineyard is a little too far south to be influenced by the Van Duzer Corridor, so it wouldn’t be included, which is why we’re looking into an appellation for our area.
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I’m sorry, but I still think “orange wine” is a flash in the pan. Just because pre-scientific winemakers made this kind of dirty stuff thousands of years ago doesn’t make it romantic if it tastes weird. It just means we humans have learned how to make clean wine.
…no matter how many articles like this one you read that tell you to ignore them.
Now, the first thing I’m going to tell you is that the author of the article, MJ Skegg—a good writer–got all nine of his bullet points correct! MJ is the wine writer for the Portland, Oregon, Mercury, and yes, he’s right, for the most part, when he makes his accusations against scores:
- It’s all subjective
- Wine critics are human
- The wines start to look the same
- Experts are inconsistent
- They ignore context
- They inflate prices
- The scores keep getting bigger
- The system is (allegedly) corrupt
- They’re prescriptive
I might dispute some of his points a little, and I will in a second; but by and large he’s correct (although he’s not really breaking any new ground. Other writers and bloggers have made the same points for years). So how come I say that, for all the correctitude of his points, they still are not (as the lawyers say) dispositive?
Because you could say the same things about any system of wine reviewing! Go down the list and substitute any system you want; each of them is capable of being critiqued for all nine of MJ’s reasons. So that means no system is better or worse than any other. You might as well pick and choose the one that works for you. That any system of judgment created by humans is fallible is obvious; that doesn’t mean we should throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Besides, we all know that, of all the reviewing systems in the world, the 100-point system is the most popular. Like the old saying goes, fifty million Frenchmen can’t be wrong. Therefore, if you’re using it (and I do, when I’m looking for a wine), you shouldn’t feel guilty.
I will admit, as I have before, that MJ’s point (e), “scores ignore context,” is true. It’s hard to pack context into a number! However, every point score I’ve ever seen, including my own, also had a text review attached, which is where you’ll find the context. Granted, a 40-word text review isn’t very capacious, and I always found myself wishing I could write 100 words, or even more, for my reviews; one could write a book on some wines. But you have to draw the line someplace. In one of his articles, MJ’s reviews sound just like they came from Wine Enthusiast, only without the number! Not much context there. I also don’t quite “get” the accusation that scores inflate prices. Not sure how that works. Wine prices have been going up (like prices for everything else) since, like, forever. Take a peek at Eddie Penning-Rowsell’s “The Wines of Bordeaux” to track classified growth Bordeaux prices over centuries. Robert Parker did not create the demand for the First Growths; it’s been there since before America was a country.
So I would tell consumers, Hell, yeah, MJ’s brief concerning scores is spot-on. But rather than undermining scores, he actually makes the case for them, and for the wine critics who use them. Critics are human, just as MJ points out. They are fallible; they have their foibles; neither are they consistent. But don’t you want a human giving you their take? They, like you, me and MJ, are just out there, doing their jobs. If you find a critic you can relate to, at least you know whom you’re dealing with, as opposed to crowd-sourced-type reviewing platforms, which are a mobocracy. If Steve Tanzer or Paul Gregutt floats your boat—if you know them (or feel as if you do) through their writings—if you trust them—if you understand that, as MJ implies, point scores are figurative rather than literal, and you know how to use them as part (but not the whole part) of your buying decision—if you feel that you can use all the help you can get in making that buying decision (and don’t we all?)—then go right ahead, use point scores. Like I said, when I’m exploring a wine or region I’m not that familiar with, I always turn to my trusted bevy of 100 point-based critics, and I’ve not often been disappointed.
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Sorry for not posting yesterday. I’m in Oregon. These travel days don’t leave a lot of extra time for creative writing, and I don’t want to put up crap.
In the next five years, when you call customer service or technical support for help with your checking account, internet connection or credit card, you’re likely to speak—not to a real human being—but to a robot.
“Hello,” it might say, in its weird, Stephen Hawking-like drone, “my name is Robbie, and I’m here to assist you.”
In fact, “Robots already are starting to displace some humans from low-end tasks,” reports the Wall Street Journal, and “within five years” they’ll be “smart enough to replace the human phone operators who do jobs like fielding calls from bank clients or helping people reset their modems.”
Given Moore’s law and the advances in artificial intelligence, it’s only a matter of time before human wine critics are also replaced by machines. It’s not hard to imagine how this might work. Say you’re in the wine aisle at the supermarket wondering which wine to buy. You’ll take your smart phone, ask Siri about it, and be connected instantly to a cloud-based “wine taster” who will tell you everything you want to know about the wine. This wine taster will be as human as anyone “real” you could talk to. It will ask you questions to establish your personal preferences (which, of course, it will remember, the way iTunes does), and will be able to tell you if you can find a better deal down the street. Eventually, it will even have an emotional component, possessing the ability to get excited about certain wines and, if you wish, to rate them on a numerical basis. It will be tireless, able to review thousands of wines a day, and its reviews will be utterly consistent—unlike those of human tasters, who are subject to frailty and fallibility. And there never will be any suspicion of ulterior motives (such as advertising) in a robotic review. Like the Mentats in Dune, robot reviewers will be objective and truthful to a fault.
Looking out even further, it’s entirely possible that your smart device will be able to let you actually taste a wine you’re interested in. There’s already talk of “food-focused virtual reality”; meanwhile, Fast Company reports on a “simulate[d]…sensation of taste digitally,” whereby “a new methodology” can “deliver and control primary taste sensations electronically on the human tongue” that “trick” taste sensors “into thinking they are experiencing food-related sensations…”. Throw in a virtual reality headset, and you have what Britain’s Sky News calls an “immersive [wine] tasting experience.”
Looked at from this perspective, what we now call “wine critics” will someday be as antiquated as streetlamp lighters or rotary phone operators.
But wait a minute, could there be a fly in the ointment? There could indeed. Who will pay for all this gimmickry? It won’t happen for free. Moreover, how would you prevent a nefarious influence from hacking into the system? At the first sign of untoward activity, the system’s credibility would be compromised, as Yelp’s has been. There will still be millions of people who will believe in their robot wine reviews, but eventually a small cadre of wine lovers who think of themselves as special will revolt against the machine. They will find their own gurus—human, not automated—and anoint them to exalted status. This is precisely what happened in the 1970s and 1980s with the rise of Parker, Wine Spectator and the others. It seems likely to have been a process that will replicate itself.
I’m off to Oregon tomorrow and will try to blog from there. Salud, and stay safe.