People are always asking me, “What’s your favorite wine?”, to which I invariably reply, “The one I’m drinking now.” If they press me, I’ll say Champagne (or sparkling wine). If they really want to get down with me, I’ll tell them Pinot Noir.
I decided some years ago I liked California Pinot Noir even more than Cabernet Sauvignon, but I was never entirely sure about it. Whenever I tasted a great Pinot Noir, I’d be thrilled not only with the wine itself, but with an appreciation of how far, how fast this variety has come in California. It would have been inconceivable in the 1990s for me to have preferred Pinot over Cabernet, and I think the same could be said for most of the working critics of that time. However by the late 1990s, certainly by the early 2000s, if someone knowledgeable had said they thought Pinot had overtaken Cabernet, at least nobody would have suggested a forced trip to the psycho ward.
As much as I’ve liked Pinot, the reason I wasn’t quite sure it was my favorite was because every time I did a great Cabernet flight, it would blow my mind and remind me once again that Cabernet had been my first love and, while I might have flirted a bit with this racy young upstart, Pinot Noir, I was destined always to return to Cabernet. Dance with the one that brought ya, the old saying goes, and it was Cabernet Sauvignon that had brought me to the ball.
So I went into the database today so see what my top wines have been so far this year, and, not surprisingly, Cabernet Sauvignon dominates the list. The top 5 are all Cabernet or Bordeaux blends. What is surprising, though, is that two of them are not from Napa Valley! Those would be Stonestreet’s 2007 Rockfall and Verité’s 2006 La Joie, both astounding wines. Of course, one could argue that both of them are from the west-facing slopes of the Mayacamas Mountains, separated only by an accident of geography from being in Napa County, instead of Sonoma County.
My #6 wine was Williams Selyem’s 2008 Litton Estate Pinot Noir, a wine I’ve loved ever since I first tasted it. (The name henceforth will be Estate, not Litton.) It’s a big Pinot Noir, not for the faint-hearted, and I guess you could criticize it for not being “Burgundian” enough, but that’s not a criticism I share. My #7 wine was a sweetie, Dolce 2006, and it should never be surprising to see Dolce appear on anyone’s top list. It’s consistently one of California’s great dessert wines. What perhaps is a little surprising is that my #8 wine is a sparkler: Schramsberg’s 2004 J. Schram Rosé, possibly the greatest California sparkling wine I’ve ever had the pleasure to review. After that, we revert back to Pinot Noir for the #9 wine, Joseph Swan’s 2007 Trenton Estate, which with its acids and tannins reflects its southern Russian River Valley roots. In tenth place, last but not least, is Qupe’s 2006 X Block “The Good Nacido” Syrah.
This list makes me happy and proud. It certainly wasn’t premeditated for me to have Cabernets, Pinots, a sweet wine, a sparkling wine and a Syrah in my Best of 2011 (so far) list. But there you are. What it tells me is how well California is doing in many different varieties, at least at the upper tier.
After that Qupe Syrah, #11 is another Syrah, Donelan’s 2008 Richards Vineyard, from Sonoma Valley. But get ready for this: #s 12-22 are all Cabernet Sauvignon or Bordeaux blends. I don’t see another Pinot Noir until #27, the Babcock 2009 Microcosm. So I guess I’d have to say, if you make me put my hand on a Bible in a court of law and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth concerning my favorite wine, I’d say, “Based on the evidence, it would be Cabernet Sauvignon.” But in my heart of hearts, I wouldn’t really believe it.
Besides the fact that the wine menu at Chez Panisse’s famous upstairs café has no sparkling wines from California — what’s up with that, Ms. locovore Alice Waters? –my sparkling wine lunch with Joy Sterling, Hugh Davies and Xavier Barlier was, well, sparkling.
Ms. Sterling (Iron Horse), Mr. Davies (Schramberg) and Mr. Barlier (Roederer Estate) represent the trifecta of sparkling wine in California. The trio had once previously gotten together (at Celadon, in Napa) to talk shop, which in their case was the state of tête de cuvée sparkling wine in California, and, as Xavier emailed me afterward, “One seat was empty. We thought: ‘Who would be the perfect 4th whose company is always a treat?'”
I’m sure my company is not always a treat, but Joy’s, Hugh’s and Xavier’s is, for me, and as Chez Panisse (where parking is impossible; both Hugh and Xavier got parking tickets afterward) is only a couple subway stops away, I eagerly assented. Joy proposed, as a matter of logistics, that we structure the first part of the conversation this way: each person would explain why he or she was at the luncheon. That was fine with me, but I did ask to be allowed to go fourth (without multiplying), since it was no doubt clearer to them why they were there than it was to me, other than that I’d been invited.
After hearing them out, I intuited the following. Each was aware of his winery’s position and reputation in the hierarchy. Each was proud of its tête de cuvée (which means, if my high school French is correct, head of the class, i.e., the top wine the winery is capable of producing). And each, in his or her own way, came thiiiiissss close to admitting that selling an expensive wine, especially an expensive sparkling wine, isn’t the easiest thing to do these days.
They were concerned that such French wines as Dom Perignon and Cristal were grabbing market share for prestige bubbly in the U.S., even though (in their opinions) these wines are mass-produced and not particularly distinctive. (Xavier shared a case production figure for the former that, literally, blew my mind, but I can’t repeat it without risking a lawsuit.) I told them they must fight, fight, fight against the slanders that perpetually are hurled against California wine. When some Europhile puts it down, call him out. Expose the lies. (I’m afraid I got a little worked up at this point, but I think Hugh liked it.)
Finally it was my turn. They were asking me for advice. I gave it. “First, you can’t just sell tête de cuvée. You have to sell the entire category of sparkling wine, in order to persuade Americans it’s not just for holidays and weddings. Sparkling wine is the most versatile food wine in the world. If you can convince people to buy more, they will naturally buy it at whatever dollar level they’re prepared to invest. A rising tide lifts all boats.”
I’m not certain that argument worked. At least one of what Joy dubbed The Three Mousseketeers seemed dubious. After all, they wanted to advance the cause of their têtes de cuvées, not of some $8 bulk process “Champagne” manufactured in the tens or hundreds of thousands of cases.
I continued. “And you must get the tastemakers on your side, the writers, bloggers, sommeliers who have influence.” They agreed, but Joy pointed out that somms are less influential these days because people aren’t going out to expensive restaurants. All right, that left writers. That raised the question, which writers do you reach out to? And in what format? Here were the three of them, focusing in on one writer (me), which, I pointed out, was a time-consuming and expensive way to influence the Fourth Estate. Wouldn’t it be better to travel to a few important cities and host tastings with an invited audience of 10 or 12 influential local writers, instead of doing dozens of one-on-ones?
That’s when the discussion got interesting. One point of view was that no format is as successful as a one-on-one. Another, opposing viewpoint was that these collective group tastings are irresistible to writers, providing the venue is well-chosen and the wines are alluring. After much back and forth, Joy put forward a suggestion. What if I, Steve, hosted a tête de cuvée tasting in San Francisco? We could decide whom to invite (not just locals, but New York, L.A., etc.). We could expand the California presence from the three têtes de cuvées they represented to all wineries with a tête de cuvée (e.g. Chandon’s Etoile, Gloria Ferrer’s Carneros Cuvée, and so on). We could throw in some number of real Champagne têtes de cuvées, including Dom and Cristal. We would do the tasting blind. I asked the three of them, “Wouldn’t that be risky for you? I mean, if your wines came in last and the Champagnes came in first?” They all smiled knowingly. Joy said, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
We’d all had our share of sparking wine by then, some of us more than the others; and maybe this happytalk of a big blind tasting was just a bunch of bubbles, fizzing and evaporating into Chez Panisse’s rarified atmosphere. But I have a hunch it will happen. I’ll keep you posted.
A sparkling wine house recently sent me a bunch of their new non-vintage sparkling wines for review, but they didn’t include the varietal composition or case production numbers, so I emailed back their P.R. manager to inquire.
I like to have this information so I can share it with readers, if I think it’s appropriate. For example, a reader might like to know if a wine should be easy to find (with a case production of, say, 10,000), or whether it might be very hard. Readers might also enjoy understanding what’s in a blend, aside and apart from the actual score and review.
The P.R. person (who gave me permission to use her name and that of the winery, even though I subsequently decided not to) quickly sent me the information I asked for. But she also emailed: “We do not normally give varietal percentages for sparkling wines as these are non-vintage products which include a percentage of reserve wines for consistency and complexity. I find that people looking for this information don’t readily understand that concept; they think of these percentages as they would for still wine blends.”
This puzzled me. On the one hand, I agreed that most people probably don’t understand the concept of how a non-vintage wine can be as good as a vintage wine, since all their lives they’ve been told by “experts” that “vintage” is the highest thing a wine can aspire to.
And I also understand that most people probably don’t know that a good non-vintage sparkling wine will have a certain percentage of expensive older “reserve” wines blended in, for richness and complexity.
However, I didn’t get the connection between that, and why the P.R. person didn’t like to reveal varietal percentages. So I emailed her again to ask.
This time, she called back, and we had a good conversation. She said, “With sparkling wine, what I believe is that the percentages aren’t as important as how much aged wine goes into the blend, and how much lees, and that, as a non-vintage product, it’s blended for consistency.” (She means “consistency of taste,” not consistency of varietal composition.)
I agreed with that, too. But as I thought about it, I replied, “What you say is true. But I think people want more information these days, not less, in the name of transparency. Of course, with all that extra information, that gives them a greater responsibility to understand it appropriately and in context. Which in turn gives us educators more responsibility to explain these things to people.”
The P.R. person explained that she was telling her sales people the same thing she told me: she discourages them from revealing the varietal composition in their sparkling wines, because she doesn’t want them leaning on such crutch phrases as “This wine has 40% Pinot Noir and 40% Chardonnay.” I can see how a harried sales person might fall back on an easy sell like that. After all, Pinot Noir and Chardonnay are prestigious names that practically sell themselves. And next year, if the wine contains only 35% Pinot Noir, the buyer might think it wasn’t as good.
Beyond that, few people have heard of Pinot Meunier, which goes into several of the winery’s bubblies. That might cause some buyers to wonder why a grape they never heard of, and which they might easily think is inferior, is going into a high-end sparkling wine. Of course, Pinot Meunier is widely used in the greatest French Champagnes, but most people don’t know that, and even if you tell them, they might not believe it. As they say in politics, as soon as you have to explain yourself, you’ve lost the argument.
I do completely understand the P.R. person’s point of view. Selling wine is very different from writing about it. When you’re a writer, you want as much information as you can get, in order to have the fullest palate (as in the artist’s palate) to paint your word-picture. It’s all about freedom of information, and the more, the merrier.
When you’re a sales person, you want to say the things that will persuade your customer to buy your wine. Sometimes, success depends on, not what you say, but what you don’t say.
Still, when all’s said and done, I’m on the side of complete information (although I’m not sure if I favor listing all wine’s ingredients on the label). If we — critics and wineries alike — don’t collaborate on educating consumers, who will? We can’t bemoan their ignorance, and then do nothing to correct it. I’ve made the same observation when it comes to wineries not putting the name of smaller appellations on their labels. This happens from Santa Ynez Valley to Arroyo Grande to Atlas Peak. “Nobody’s ever heard of Santa Ynez Valley,” people will tell me. “But everyone’s heard of Santa Barbara County.”
I ask them back, “How do you expect them to hear about Santa Ynez Valley when you won’t tell them about it?”
“That’s not our job, it’s yours,” they frequently reply.
Well, yes, it is my job, as a wine writer and educator, to let people know where a wine really comes from. But it’s also the producer’s job, isn’t it?
All I’m saying is that we’re in a new age. People want to know the facts. I think they can be trusted with the facts. They don’t want information selectively spoon fed to them in tiny amounts because somebody thinks they can’t handle the truth. And besides, a smarter wine consumer is more likely to spend more money than an ill-informed one. I don’t have any studies that prove that, but I’ll bet you anything it’s true.