I wasn’t going to write about this study when I first read about it 2 weeks ago. My first impression was that it was really stupid, and didn’t seem worth writing about. But it’s gained a lot of traction, not just in wine blogs but the national media and overseas as well. So it’s time to add my two cents.

To summarize the study: “Wine experts’ recommendations are of no use to most drinkers because their [i.e. 'most drinkers'] palates are not sophisticated enough to appreciate the subtle flavours,” as the subhead of The Telegraph [London] put it. “The fundamental taste ability of an expert is different,” explained one of the study’s authors, John Hayes, which surely is incontrovertible. But then he extrapolated from that a statement that is wildly misleading, and fails to grasp the essential truth of why people listen to experts in the first place: “And, if an expert’s ability to taste is different from the rest of us, should we be listening to their recommendations?”

Hayes may be a college professor, but he doesn’t understand the role of experts in a complex consumer culture. The consumer is overwhelmed with choice. Want bread? A hundred brands. A car? Scores of manufacturers and models. A DVD player? Smart phone? Even salt now comes in a range of colors and salinity. Going to the movies this Saturday night? There’s probably 50 different flicks playing within ten miles of my house. And don’t even get me started about wine. Thousands of bonded wineries in the U.S. alone, not to mention imports, and most of those wineries produce a whole bunch of different wines, sometimes even of the same variety.

This is where experts come in. Experts are modern-day America’s gurus, shamans and soothsayers. We read the entrails of the slain beast and interpret them. This isn’t in a religious or spiritual sense, obviously; but the first humans “invented” priests because they needed somebody to interpret the vast, confusing world around them and help guide them through it. Religion evolved from that.

If the world of our primitive ancestors was confusing, ours is beyond confusing. So we too have “priests” to help us get through without falling or failing or getting hurt or (in this case) spending money on junk. We read or listen to film critics we trust because we don’t want to shell out ten bucks on a piece of crap. (At least, I don’t.) We trust restaurant critics because if we’re going to eat out, we want to be as assured as we can be in advance that we’re going to like the place. And, Mr. Hayes, people listen to wine critics because they want and need all the help they can get in making that selection.

The reason we trust critics, be they film, restaurant or wine, is precisely because “their fundamental ability is different.” Duh! If an expert’s ability in his or her field isn’t different and better than everybody else’s, he wouldn’t be much of an expert, would he? And nobody would listen to him. So to say that “We shouldn’t be listening to a wine critic’s recommendations because his ability is different from ours” not only misses the entire point, it’s beyond dumb.

I like smart people and unlike some politicians these days I don’t think it’s snobby to go to college. But I do think that some of the “studies” I hear coming out of our institutions of higher education are pretty weird. There’s also a phenomenon in the news business where, if you put out a study, chances are it’s going to get a lot of articles written about it. News organizations have an insatiable appetite for content. I’m sure Professor Hayes knew his study would be spread around the English-speaking world for 15 minutes or so. Fine, but I would hate to think that anyone is going to take home the implied message that “A study proves that the evaluations of experts are meaningless and their word is no better than yours or anyone else’s.” That’s true in the strict moral sense (you’re entitled to your beliefs) but it’s not true if you think that a non-expert’s evaluation of a wine is as good as an expert’s. It’s not. We do live in a culture that increasingly questions the concept of “expert” as elitist, and to some extent I share that view. But when it comes to things like movies, cars, restaurants and electronic toys, I want and need guidance when I spend my hard-earned cash. I know I’m not an expert in those things and I respect the opinions of people who are. And the public should trust the opinions of people who write about wine. Well, some wine writers, anyway; not all.

As I write this (early Monday morning Cali time), we’re all still on edge from a very sharp, violent earthquake that hit at 5:34 a.m. this morning. No apparent damage, but reports are still sketchy.

Anyhow, here are some random notes from a fabulously successful WOPN 2012 event:

What’s up with all these Santa Rita Hills producers making sparkling wine? Sea Smoke’s “Sea Spray,” Clos Pepe, Brewer-Clifton?

John Haeger’s annual Friday morning seminar a sellout. Among his interesting remarks [paraphrased]: “Pinot Noir in California would have taken longer to happen if not for the burst of French Champagne houses that invested here in the 1970s-1980s.” And “The push to cool areas wasn’t so much because winemakers were seeking the coastal influence but because you could make sparkling wine even if the grapes weren’t ripe.” Think of Anderson Valley’s Deep End [Roederer] or the cooler parts of Arroyo Grande Valley [Maison Deutz, now Laetitia].

My hunt for under-14% Cali Pinots was an abject failure, there were so few. But in a year, and definitely by the 2014 WOPN, they’ll be all over the place, I predict.

Winemakers on the 2011 vintage [if they’re honest, which not all are]: very difficult. Lots of mold.

Huge shoutout from me to the somms and other volunteers, without whom there would be no WOPN!

I went to the “media room,” where they have duplicate bottles of all the wines poured at the public event. It was very uncrowded so I got into a conversation with the somm who was managing it. He poured me a Pinot, blind, and asked what I thought. Terrible, I said: soft and sugary sweet, like a glutinous candy. Exactly he said, grinning. Then he explained that, earlier, the room had been crowded with writers, including a FWC [Famous Wine Critic]. They were talking about that wine, and the lesser luminaries didn’t want to speak up because they were unsure of themselves. Then the FWC said he thought it was great, and suddenly everybody else was, like, “Yeah, great wine!” The herd instinct is alive and well in wine criticism.

On Saturday morning, while others hiked and golfed [yawnnnn] I went to Allen Meadows’ Burgundy From the Ground Up seminar. Only Meadows [Burghound] could bring the Druids into a discussion of Burgundy. [By the way, the winemaker sitting next to me drank Diet Coke and munched on Danish throughout Allen’s tasting! But then again, he’s from Oregon...]. Allen’s two-hour master class alone was worth the price of admission to WOPN [not that I paid : >]… He’s forgotten more about Burgundy than the rest of us will ever learn. Except that he hasn’t forgotten… I’ve been to a gazillion wine seminars, most of which I forgot about 2 minutes later, but Allen always makes people think. If you think it’s easy keeping several hundred hungover, sleep-deprived winos captivated, on the edge of their seats, early on a weekend morning, you’ve never tried it. A real tour de force.

For me, the standouts of Allen’s tasting [all 2008s] were: Benjamin Leroux Volnay Premier Cru Clos de la Cave des Ducs; Comte Armand Pommard Premier Cru Clos des Epeneaux; Bruno Clair Vosne-Romanee Champs Perdix; and Bruno Clair Gevrey-Chambertin Premier Cru Cazetiers. After that magnificent tasting, the California Pinots under the tent seemed almost too much…but that lasted only for a minute or two until their sexy, plump opulence got to me. A standout: Failla 2010 Keefer Ranch (Russian River Valley), poured by Ehren Jordan himself. I haven’t yet formally reviewed that wine, so I won’t here, but my oh my, how great it is. For older wines, Rick Longoria poured his 2002 Fe Ciega, a wine I did review, eight years ago. I gave it 91 points, gave it an Editor’s Choice designation, and called it “serious Pinot Noir.” I should have added “and ageable.”

By the way, the Burghound gave me a long, fascinating interview. I’ll have a multi-part Q&A with him starting tomorrow.

Bill Foley came onto my radar years ago, when his winery empire still was small and centered in Santa Barbara County (through Lincourt and Foley Estates, both of them very good wineries). I followed his career as he bought Sebastiani, Chalk Hill, Kuleto, Firestone and others, including overseas properties I don’t review. On my recommendation, Bill was Wine Enthusiast’s Man of the Year in 2010, at our Wine Star Awards.

I admired, and still do, this businessman’s tenacity and unerring eye for picking up bargains. The Recession has been Bill’s Happy Hunting Ground. Bloomberg News, which wrote about Bill last week, marveled at Bill’s ability as a turnaround artist, Mitt Romney-style, “gambling he can become a commercial force in a wine industry that is struggling with stagnant sales” by buying “Debt-laden producers…at deep discounts.” The main example in the wine industry has been Bill’s purchase of Chalk Hill “for an undisclosed price well below its peak valuation,” which was estimated by Bloomberg, perhaps generously, to have been $100 million.

You can’t help but admire an astute businessman, but what I’ve wondered about is what Bill Foley really wants. There are only three purposes, in theory, to buy a winery: (1) to keep things exactly as they are, (2) to raise quality or (3) to milk it for all it’s worth before selling it to somebody else.

The question is, which of these three options represents Bill Foley’s innermost desire?

Let’s take a closer look at his California properties in hopes of discerning the answer. The dates in brackets are the reported years Foley bought the property.

Firestone [2007]: I always thought Firestone promised more than it delivered. It was a pioneer in the Santa Ynez Valley but never soared to the top, the way, say, Foxen, Zaca Mesa or Fess Parker did. At least prices never were high. They still aren’t. With large vineyard holdings and (I assume) a good distribution network, Firestone would seem to be a good brand for Foley to pump wines out in large numbers, if he can keep those prices modest (below $20) and maintain scores in, say, the 85-89 range. I cannot see Firestone rising to the level of desirabilty.

Sebastiani [2008]: This venerable company, founded in 1889, had its ups and downs for many years before falling into the Foley portfolio. In recent decades, its wines haven’t been particularly good or bad, just average; there was no compelling narrative, no driving reason for the consumer to seek out a Sebastiani wine, except for availability and value. A wine like the 2009 Pinot Noir is a good buy for $18 and 90 points; the 2008 Cherryblock [$95, 91 points] presents consumers with a more difficult choice. The jury remains out on where Foley takes Sebastiani. I, personally, would like to see Sebastiani get serious about being great. If there’s a brand better situated to move upscale and take advantage of residual good will, it’s Sebastiani.

Kuleto [2009]: I had mixed feelings about Kuleto from its inception. (I first began reviewing its wines with the 2001 vintage.) I thought it was merely a vanity project from a celebrated restaurateur. Many of the initial wines were overpriced, although a trio of 2006 Cabs, all $80, got high scores. But a Zinfandel and Chardonnay I tasted last year were average, and expensive for what you got. I’m not sure I have a good feeling about Kuleto, but Bill can elevate this brand, if he really wants to.

Chalk Hill [2010]: I was a big fan of Chalk Hill for years before Foley bought it. Everything the winery did seemed right: Chardonnay, sweet Semillon, Sauvignon Blanc, the red Bordeaux blend, Syrah, Merlot. I would have called it the perfect Chalk Hill [the appellation] winery, except that would have been a back-handed compliment, since it was practically the only Chalk Hill winery. In re-examining my scores since the Foley purchase, it’s very difficult to discern any trends; the wines seem to be as good as ever, although Foley’s fingerprints won’t really be felt until future releases. Chalk Hill is a gem; Fred Furth probably hated to have to give it up. I hope Bill Foley will keep the gleam on this property.

I seldom name names on this blog; my readers know that. There’s very little point in antagonizing people who already have their knickers in a twist. So I won’t identify the name of the winery whose P.R. people complained about something I wrote that they claimed was incorrect. Fact is, I was right, they were wrong, end of story.

The particular issue was concerning what were the winery’s first releases, when they opened many decades ago. I had said one thing, basing my information on extensive published reporting as well as content on the winery’s own website. The P.R. people made a counter claim. Now, in the long scheme of things, it’s not the most vital thing in the world, but the P.R. people were pretty upset. They complained to my editor, who forwarded me their email for reply. So I hit the books, did my research and proved conclusively that what I had initially written was correct.

It’s not that I don’t get things wrong. Every reporter does. That’s why they invented the “corrections” section of major magazines and newspapers. There’s usually no shame in getting something wrong, although there obviously is a spectrum of mistakes. Misspelling somebody’s name is very minor. Getting somebody’s birth date wrong is minor. Misstating the name of a company that purchased the winery is a fairly major boo-boo [that’s not what I did, I’m just using it as an example]. Still, no reporter likes to get anything wrong, no matter how minor, which is why we research our facts until we’re pretty darned sure we’ve got them right. Then, and only then, do we hit the “send” button.

But the question in this case is, how could the P.R. people not have gotten it right? After all, they work at the winery. They should know what the facts are. Here’s my theory–and this most recent instance isn’t the only time this has happened. It is not infrequent.

It usually starts with a major figure in the winery [owner, GM, head of communications] who reads something he or she doesn’t like. That person then instructs the P.R. person to complain. The P.R. person, who more likely than not is young and inexperienced, dashes off a “correction” to the writer or the writer’s editor. The P.R. person doesn’t research the issue herself, or ask the owner if he or she is absolutely, positively true that the offending statement is untrue. Instead, the P.R. person does what most people do who want to protect their job and CYA: they complain to the writer or editor.

I once had a P.R. person complain to my editor that, in describing the wines of a particular region as “relatively expensive,” I had done that region a disservice–had, in fact, distorted the truth and insulted it. The letter was very angry. My editor demanded a reply. It took me hours of researching my database to determine that, on average, the region in question was expensive, just as I’d thought–not as dear as Napa Valley, but more on average than any other region in California. (The quality of the wines on average was also better.) So a whole lot of angst was raised, and time wasted, over something that never should have been an issue in the first place. (By the way, when that P.R. person eventually left his/her job, he/she confessed to me how guilty they felt [I know “they” is wrong in this case, but I’m getting tired of the “he/she” thing].)

The point is that sometimes P.R. people write and say dumb things. If it’s because they don’t know any better, then they’re in over their heads. If they do know better, but are afraid to stand up to their boss, then they’re bad hires. Part of P.R. is to speak truth to power, even when that power signs your paycheck.

Wineries, your P.R. people are your public face. It’s vital that you give them independence of thought and action. Your veracity is only as good as their public statements. And in this day and age, veracity–transparency–believability–call it what you will–counts more than ever.

While I was in New York, I had chats with several people who are going for their Master Sommelier and/or Master of Wine certifications. Being curious about what is entailed in these endeavors (neither of which I would ever attempt, nor do I desire to do so), I asked them about how they go about it. One of them said he’s drilled heavily by the M.S. examiners on the legal or technical aspects of wine, such as what percentage of [whatever] varieties are required to label a wine, in every wine country on earth, by an appellation of origin. I’m pretty good at that here in the U.S., but Greece? South Africa? Switzerland? Croatia? Wow. “What is the main variety of Amyndaio and what percent of it is required for the appellation?” (Answers: Xynómavro, 100%). The guy told he he studies off flash cards every chance he gets (even when he’s driving. Memo to self: Stay off the roads when this cat is out there!). I am incredibly impressed by, and respectful of, such prodigious feats of memory as are required to earn these high honors. I couldn’t do it. I have the memory of a doorknob. Going through security yesterday morning at JFK, I left my carry-on bag at the X-ray machine. Just put on my shoes and started walking away, when my companion reminded me, telling me I would have ended up with TSA shutting down the terminal if I didn’t retrieve it. In my defense, my companion was a beautiful woman and I was temporarily mesmerized…but I digress. The point is that my memory isn’t what it used to be, and if an M.S. can memorize megabits of information, I take my hat off to him or her. But I found my mind wandering back to my favorite wine writers, the likes of H. Warner Allen, Professor Saintsbury, even more modern types like Michael Broadbent and Gerald Asher, and I thought, “I don’t know if any of them could have told you the technical details of Hermitage, how many liters per hectare or whatever the metric equivalents are, how long Chianti Classico has to be aged, or even, in the case of a late 19th century or early 20th century writer, what the grape varieties were in Cheval Blanc, but what they wrote was classic and beautiful and wonderful.” Their words live forever, not in some flash book that’s here today and gone tomorrow, and their descriptions get the essence of the wines across more eloquently than anything I would imagine an M.S. or M.W. could ever write. There are exceptions, of course, but an M.S. or M.W., however impressive an achievement it is, is essentially a career move, like an M.B.A., rather than an amateur pursuit of knowledge. Amateur: from Latin via Old French: a person attached to a particular pursuit, study, or science, without pay and often without formal training.

I told the guy [a kid, really, just 24] I’d like to send him my copy of Notes on a Cellar-book, a third edition and one of the pride and joys of my wine library. (I made him promise not to spill coffee or wine on it!] I honestly don’t know if he’ll read it or, if he does, like it. It is not scintillating reading, if you’re into John Grisham. It was for me: when I first read in, in the 1980s, it was breathlessly. I knew who Professor Saintsbury was, but I also was familiar with his milieu [Oxford 1865, university don, highly educated, not aristocratic but of the intellectual English aristocracy], a time I could have related to.  He was a hedonist and a gourmand, and aside and apart from his expertise in French and English literature [with particular expertise in Dryden and Balzac], he turned to wine every chance he got. When I say “turned to” I mean it was with a passion and adoration most of us can only wonder at. Professor Saintsbury was not wealthy, but was lucky enough to live at time when claret, Port, Champagne, Hermitage and Burgundy didn’t cost an arm and a leg; and besides, he was an amusing conversationalist who frequently was invited to dine with wealthier men than he, who gladly pulled out 40 year old Lafite, 60 year old Yquem and 70 year old Vougeot. We should all be so lucky! (Memo to young bloggers: learn the gentle art of conversation, please. Ask others about themselves, instead of telling them about you.)

At any rate, my young M.S.-studying friend said to please send him the book, so I will, and I hope he enjoys it. More than that, I hope he reads it and goes “Wow.” Books and the well sculpted word can have a mystical impact on readers and can change attitudes forever. I hope my friend gets his M.S. and that his career path takes him where he wants to go and, maybe if he’s really lucky, to places he didn’t even know existed. But more than that, I hope he finds instilled in himself an aspiration for writing something far beyond “The Onomasía Proléfseos Anotéras Piótitos appellation is in Ioánnina Prefecture, its main wine is Zítsa, and 100% Debîna is required, with a maximum yield of 1,000 kilograms per stremma.”

It must drive wineries crazy to read stuff like Joe Roberts’ post today at 1WineDude.

Winery owners are doing everything they can to keep afloat in this dour economy. Most of them are tinkering with social media to some extent; some of them even have dedicated employees for it, if they can afford it. Inbetween buying corks and capsules, hoping the bottling line doesn’t break down, filling out employee forms, patching up hoses, worrying about drought or swamps in the vineyard, pruning, staking, riding the mule around the vineyard, topping off, racking, tinkering with valves and dials and switches, deciding on blends, driving to the hardware store, going on the road to sell wine, meeting with distributors and wholesalers, having staff meetings, and, oh, trying to find an hour to spend with the wife and kiddies, here’s Joe telling them they need to “just start using that time on social media to connect with customers already.”

What time? You mean those few hours between midnight and dawn when everyone’s entitled to a little sleep?

I pity these poor vintners. Everybody’s telling them to do social media, “to reach younger wine consumers” through the Twitter machine, to check their Facebook feed every three minutes, to blog, to make YouTubes and put them up on Oinga-Boinga or Diddly-Squat or whatever the hot new social platform is that’s about to go public. And those vintners are just sitting there, like, What? What are you talking about? It’s easy for someone who doesn’t have a real job to tell them to hang out on social media all day long, as that will magically solve all their problems. It’s also easy for that same blogger to tell winemakers “But if I were a small-production winery, I’d be worrying a hell of a lot more about how to reach, engage, and keep customers I had (as well as engaging new ones) than trying to get a crazy-good review with critics.” Why would a blogger tell winemakers not to be concerned with the critics? That’s crazy talk. And it must drive winemakers nuts (like I said) to think that they’re not doing enough to “engage and keep” their customers. When you accuse a hard-working vintner of being lazy when it comes to engaging customers, it’s like asking a guy when he stopped beating his wife. There is no answer that’ll get him off the hook. If he admits he’s not reaching out enough to potential customers, he subjects himself to feelings of guilt and suffering, because he knows that, no matter what he does, it can never be enough.

I agree that winemakers or owners should play around with social media, if they want to and like it. I spend a lot of time at it myself. But I don’t think it’s helpful to tell them that they’re bad if they’re not living online. When Joe (whom I like a lot, I really do and he knows it) says, “Honestly, I’ve got no idea what producers (especially smaller wine producers) are waiting for when it comes to outreach,” he’s really doing a disservice to the people he says he’s trying to help. How does he presume to know that producers are “waiting for” something? He doesn’t know the myriad ways that each producer is reaching out and engaging, whether it’s through a wine club, or working the tasting room, or hitting the road for a winemaker dinner, or writing thank you notes to valued colleagues, or visiting Wine Enthusiast’s headquarters in New York and tasting with the staff. Winery people work really hard, long hours. Telling them they have to put social media at the top of the list of things they’re already overwhelmed with is really no help at all.