Carlos Danger didn’t show up, but that was probably a good thing, for we could concentrate on the task at hand: tasting wine, at this trade and media “Wines of Danger” tasting, held Monday at San Francisco’s tony, modernistic Press Club.
Why they called it “Wines of Danger,” I couldn’t say, except that it seems like every event needs a catchy moniker these days. At any rate, I took BART into the City, for there were (a) a few winemakers I already know and wanted to see, and (b) quite a number of wineries I’d never heard of and wanted to discover.
Part of my job for Wine Enthusiast is to make sure that “not a single sparrow can fall to the ground” [Matthew 10:29] without me knowing it. I obviously can’t taste everything in my region of California (the coast), but I can try and be aware of new wineries. So here are a few of my discoveries. I am not assigning numerical ratings, as I do at Wine Enthusiast, although, if I did, all these wines would score highly. While these are not formal reviews, I do hope the winemakers will add me to their samples lists.
Paro. The owner/winemaker, Patrick Ridder, works at Fieldstone for his day job; Paro is his own baby.
2010 Sonoma Mountain Pinot Noir ($30). Nice, Burgundian touch of earth and mushrooms to the cherry pie and cola. New oak not yet integrated; needs time.
2011 Russian River Valley Pinot Noir ($30). From the Laguna area, deep, dark aromas and flavors of cola, rhubarb, black cherries, highlighted with brisk acidity. Classic Laguna, but needs 8-10 years.
2011 Tudor House Russian River Valley Pinot Noir ($30). So different from the others. Softer, almost sweet, but complex and fruity. The alcohol is fairly hefty.
2012 Jasper Vineyard Russian River Valley Chardonnay ($30). Just bottled. Tight, but very rich, a full-blown Burgundian Chard, barrel fermented and 100% malolactic fermentation. I would buy this.
People’s Wine Revolution. One of the owner/winemakers is Matt Reid, who makes the wine at Ballentine. The brand name refers, not to politics, but to Matt’s desire to make wine affordable.
2008 Bea’s Knees Petite Sirah, El Dorado County ($15). Rich and full-bodied, with sweet blackberry, licorice and cedar. Give it a breather.
2011 Massa Ranch Syrah, Yountville ($18). After a bit of swirling opened to reveal bacon, black pepper, mulberry and cedar. Needs a few years. Good price.
2012 The People’s Viognier, Salem Ranch, Yountville ($15). Classic varietal, with tropical fruits, peaches, limes. Crisp, acidic and rich.
Site. Owner/winemaker Jeremy Weintraub makes the wines at Adelaida; this was his first showing ever of his own brand.
2012 Roussanne, Santa Ynez Valley ($40). Huge amounts of tropical fruits, honey, buttered toast, but balanced with acids. This is a blend of the Stolpman and Larner vineyards.
2012 Larner Vineyard Viognier, Santa Ynez Valley ($25). Almost blowsy, with sweet tropical fruit, citrus, white flower (honeysuckle), but saved at the last moment by acidity and minerality.
2012 Bien Nacido Vineyard Syrah, Santa Maria Valley ($50). Very tight and youthful, rich in acids, blackberry jam and coffee notes. Not ready. Better towards 2020.
2012 Larner Vineyard Syrah, Santa Ynez Valley ($50). Gorgeous aromatics. Black pepper, blackberry jam, dark chocolate, roasted meat. A sensation. Drinkable now despite the tannins, but will age.
2012 Larner Vineyard Grenache, Santa Ynez Valley ($50). Extraordinarily rich, with raspberry, mocha and cedar flavors. Almost sweet, but pulls back into dryness at the finish. Give it 4-5 years.
My Tasting Director at Wine Enthusiast, Lauren Buzzeo, who has a hard job but carries it off with aplomb, sent us reviewers a link to this article yesterday. It’s a defense of tasting notes by a Washington State guy who runs the wine department in a grocery store.
He begins by postulating that “Most of the stuff I have read lately suggests that tasting notes are a complete waste of time, and most people do not even pay attention to them.” He then proceeds, logically and patiently, to demolish this theory. Then, based on his own experiences with his customers, he concludes that “Tasting notes have an important place in the wine world. They give the consumer some insight into what they are to expect out of a wine.”
I’ve written endlessly about this topic on steveheimoff.com. As the Washington State writer noted, the issue of whether or not tasting notes are irrelevant “seems to be the hottest debate on most of the wine blogs or wine related blogs and websites these days.” As I’ve repeatedly pointed out, the fact is, quite obviously, that consumers do like to read tasting notes. As the writer stated, his customers love them–and by extension, that means that customers around the country feel a need and desire for expert tasting notes, for why would Washington State wine consumers be any different from those elsewhere?
But that’s not the point I want to make…again. Instead, I want to answer this question the Washington State guy posed: “Why are so many wine writers taking a negative stance towards tasting notes?” He himself posited a few possible reasons: (1) these critics don’t actually sell wine, so they don’t get the kind of positive feedback about tasting notes that he does; (2) the critics simply aren’t very good at writing tasting notes, so they prefer to just sit back and make fun of them instead of trying to do it themselves.
Both of these are completely true, but I’d like to offer a third reason for the continual bashing of reviews by certain writers: Jealousy. They can’t stand the idea that some wine writers actually make a living at writing wine reviews. If you look at who the review-bashers are, they’re mostly bloggers, and you know what that means: They’d love for somebody to pay them to be professional wine writers, but no one will, so their only outlet is their blog. I sometimes think the fierce attack we published critics come under is also motivated by the hope by these bloggers that somehow their criticisms will tarnish us so much that we’ll eventually fall, and guess who would take our places? The bloggers!
So I’d like to propose an end to this silly non-debate about whether or not tasting notes are useless or irrelevant. It is the biggest non-issue in the wine industry today. The only reason it gets any play at all is because the Internet is free and immediate, so anyone can make any idiotic claim they want, and launch it around the world with the push of a button. I will end simply by quoting the Washington State guy: “I write [tasting notes] for the consumer. I could care less what another columnist thinks about my notes and I certainly don’t agree with their criticism of the notes themselves.”
Got an email from a wine director at a restaurant yesterday. She wrote:
Yesterday I was tasting through my wines by the glass to make new notes after going through some recent vintage changes when I smelled the 2012 ___ Sauvignon Blanc. I was so overwhelmed by the smell of rotten green pepper and shocked by the complete lack of the usual ripe grapefruit notes. I generally get excited when I come upon a wine with a flaw as I look at it as a learning experience I can share with my staff. But to my shock, most of my staff did not smell the same thing I did and no one smelled it to the extent that I did. I opened several bottles then went on to a new case but they all smelled the same to me. I was convinced there was a flaw but questioned myself that no one smelled the horrible things I did. I pulled the wine right away. So, my question is, is this strong smell considered a flaw or is it just bad judgment on the part of the winemaker and producer to release a wine like this?
(The wine director identified a specific New Zealand Sauv Blanc but there’s no point in revealing it here.) There are two points she made that leaped out to me, both of which are interesting enough to warrant a little chat.
The first was “most of my staff did not smell the same thing I did.” This points out the subjectivity of wine tasting. Whatever caused the green pepper smell that the wine director picked up on (and I couldn’t say that it was pyrazine because I haven’t tasted that wine), it seems that she was more sensitive to it than the rest of her staff. I myself am very sensitive to pyrazine, and I don’t much care for it if it exceeds a certain tipping point in a Sauvignon Blanc. But on the other hand, I’ve met people who are far more sensitive than I am to TCA and brett.
The second point is contained in the wine director’s question and is in some ways the more interesting one. “Is this strong smell considered a flaw or is it just bad judgment on the part of the winemaker?”
I don’t think it was a flaw, technically speaking, but it depends on how you define “flaw.” Generally, flaws in wine are considered to be egregious violations of the basic sanitary and chemistry things you learn in winemaking school. For example, a young white wine that is brown in color and smells old may have been oxidized; that is a flaw, but on the other hand, you want a degree of oxidation in some white wines (Sherry, for example). Aromas that are rancid also are considered flaws, but in some older wines (Priorats, for example), a little rancidity is considered desirable. And consider brett itself. Technically, it’s a flaw, but some winemakers (and wine drinkers) like a touch of it in their wines.
If we assume the cause of pyrazine smell is unripe grapes, can we call that a flaw? In one sense, maybe: I mean, you wouldn’t make a wine out of grapes that were 13% brix, would you? But if pyrazine’s a flaw, it’s not on the scale of letting a white wine get oxidized to the point of brown stinkiness. Pyrazine could be and usually is a vintage problem (and you can’t accuse Mother Nature of committing flaws). But it could be a marketing decision to bottle and sell a pyraziney wine (one that the winemaker may not want to put out there, but has to be sold anyway, for economic reasons).
Is it bad judgment to sell a wine that some people will think is flawed, like that New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc? Well, not necessarily. The wine director who emailed me thought it was flawed, but no one else on her staff did. It’s conceivable that, even had the winemaker known the wine was high in pyrazines, he would have green-lighted it anyway (assuming he had that power, rather than a sales director or owner), knowing that it wasn’t so excessive that critics all over the world would condemn it as cat pee.
So this question of what constitutes a flaw, and what doesn’t, is more complicated than you might think.
As I prepare to moderate the panel this week at The Chardonnay Symposium, I find myself thinking about this white wine, its phenomenal rise in popularity since the 1960s, and the fierce attack it’s come under, especially from the 1990s up to this day.
Forty years ago, there was very little Chardonnay planted in California, but today it’s grown virtually everywhere, from the Sierra Foothills, across the vast central Valley to the warmer inland valleys of the coast, all the way out to within sight of the Pacific Ocean. It is an easy plant to cultivate and a high producer, which is why wineries like to grow it. And, of course, Chardonnay is the #1 wine in America, meaning that its high production is almost automatically absorbed into the distribution system, and from there into the stomachs of wine drinkers.
Last year, there were 93,153 acres of Chardonnay planted in California, making it the most widely grown of any variety in the state, red or white; and those acres accounted for more than half of all white varieties (the runner-up, alas, being French Columbard; and I wonder how many varietally-labeled “Chardonnays” contain up to 24% of that inferior variety).
Where in the state is most of this Chardonnay grown? Fortunately, the majority is along the coast, in the counties of Napa (presumably mostly in the Carneros), Sonoma, , Monterey, San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara. A good deal also can be found in the Central Valley counties of San Joaquin, Stanislaus, Fresno and Merced, but again, the presumption must be that most of that goes into inexpensive California-appellated Chardonnays, many of them in jugs and boxes.
Of this latter group, of course a lot is plonk. The vines are made to yield very high tonnages of grapes; the resulting wines are thin, but have enough Chardonnay taste (peaches, pears) to get by, and of course the wineries then slather oak, or oak-like, substances upon them, to give the buttered toast and caramel aromas and flavors consumers think come from the grape.
It is often these wines that have been responsible for giving Chardonnay its bad reputation, but that is an irresponsible position to take. It’s as bad as if you defined white Burgundy only by the lesser, often mass-produced Chardonnays from the most basic Bourgogne, Macon-Villages and Chablis appellations.
To step up in quality in Burgundy you have to turn to the smaller prestige appellations: the Montrachets (Chassagne, Batard and Puligny), Corton-Charlemagne, Grand Cru Chablis, Meursault and the like. And even there, the producer is key, with names like Leflaive (Domaine and Olivier), Louis Jadot and Vincent Girardin often guaranteeing the highest Chardonnay character.
The situation in California is exactly the same. Ninety percent of California Chardonnays may well be boring or mediocre, or may pall after a sip or two, but that’s always the way it is in big appellations the world over. You have to head for the coast for the good stuff. In general, the further you get towards the Pacific, the more the wines turn steely, acidic and minerally–more “Chablisian” if you will. And the more the grapes come from the warmer inland valleys–the southern part of the Alexander Valley is a great example–the riper and more opulent the wines become. Vintage, too, plays a key role: Chilly vintages may favor the inland valleys, warmer ones the coast: but so much depends on the elevation, orientation and physical characteristics of the vineyard and diligence of viticulture. In general, you can think of the twenty or so miles from the beaches (or close to them) inland as the oscillating sweet spot for California Chardonnay, which despite the ABCers must be counted among the world’s greatest white wines.
It’s funny that I never really thought about it until recently, when I was browsing through my reviews in Wine Enthusiast’s database and realized that I had chosen the special designation of “Cellar Selection” for about 80% of my highest scoring wines.
If you’d asked me what parameters form the basis of a high score (let’s say anything above 95 points), I would have referred you to the magazine’s guidelines. They say things like “truly superb,” “great complexity,” “memorable,” “pinnacle of expression,” “complete harmony and balance,” “absolute best,” but the guidelines are silent on the question of ageability.
Had you pressed me to more fully explain a high score, I suppose at some point the “A” word would have arisen. But in and of itself, “ageability” does not equal great wine. Many wines will age, some for a long time, yet are not particularly complex or beautiful, either in youth or in old age.
And yet, my highest scoring wines, from this year alone, include Williams Selyem 2010 30th Anniversary Pinot Noir, Rochioli 2011 West Block Pinot Noir, Freemark Abbey 2009 Sycamore Vineyard Cabernet, Flora Springs 2010 Hillside Reserve Cabernet, Tantara 2010 Gwendolyn Pinot Noir, Matanzas Creek 2010 Journey, Terra Valentine 2010 K-Block Cabernet, Stonestreet 2010 Rockfall Cabernet, B Cellars 2009 Beckstoffer Dr. Crane Cabernet, Jarvis 2007 Estate Cabernet, Von Strasser 2010 Sori Bricco Cabernet, Sodaro 2009 Doti-Sodaro Blocks 2 and 6 Cabernet, and, another Beckstoffer coup, Janzen 2010 Beckstoffer Missouri Hopper Vineyard Cabernet. All 95 points or higher, all Cellar Selections.
What I look for in predicting ageability are two things, or three, depending on how you define them. First is an immediate reaction (from the nose/palate via the brain) of stunned impressionability. It’s a simple “Wow!” factor, although of course there’s nothing simple about it. Now, any wine can possess the “Wow!” factor without being ageable. A lot of it has to do with what Dr. Leary called “set and setting,” i.e. where you are (the external circumstances) and your mindset (subjective factors). A silky Beaujolais, like the one I had the other night, achieved the “Wow!” factor, because it was a warm evening, I had slightly chilled the bottle, and with it I enjoyed a soy-glazed tuna burger (homemade) and the company of someone special to me. But that Beaujolais was not an ageable wine, and if I were scoring it, I would have given it around 90.
The next thing I look for, in determining ageability, is an immature quality that makes the wine, good as it is, undrinkable, this latter word used in the old British sense of “too young to enjoy now” (although I’m always careful to point out that even a California wine that’s “too young to enjoy now” is, of course, enjoyable now, if you like it that way. The Cellar Police will not slap you into Guantanamo). What makes a wine “too young now,” for me, are, usually, dense tannins that numb the palate, but this is not so great a problem as it used to be (in California or in France) because modern tannin management regimes render even the hardest tannins more mellifluous (the adjective “mellifluous” being a good example of its own definition). A greater problem is what I call the unintegrated quality of a young wine’s parts. Those parts include oak, fruit, alcohol, acidity and tannins, and if they feel (in the mouth) like a herd of cats, each going its own way, resistant to corralling, then the wine is unintegrated. A subset of this is that California fruit can be overwhelming in youth, a detonation of jam that makes them too obvious–“Tammy Faye Bakker,” in the words of a Frenchman I know who crafts wines (or seeks to) of greater finesse and control.
The final aspect of determining ageability is the history and reputation of the winery. I make the previous two determinations blind, but this third factor weaves its way in when I take the bottle out of its covering bag. If I’ve already determined that the wine is ageable, that is going to appear in the review; but if I then see that it’s a wine I know for a fact ages well (say, a Williams Selyem Allen Vineyard Pinot Noir), that seals the deal, as they say. In general, I don’t like to stretch the window of ageability too far into an uncertain future (the way RMP does), but if I know the wine has a good history of hitting, say, 10 or 20 years, I’ll say so. (Corison Cabernets are a good example of this.) Which obviously makes it difficult when the wine is a new brand, without history, of which there are many, particularly in those bastions of ageability, Napa Valley Cabernet and cool-climate Pinot Noir. But, going through my highest-scoring wines, I see very few new brands among them. Mostly they are the older, traditional names, which is just as you’d expect.
It’s been so hot in California I don’t even want to think about red wines. So instead I’ll think about whites. Here are my 12 highest-scoring white wines of 2013 (so far):
Rochioli 2011 River Block Chardonnay
Lynmar 2011 Quail Hill Vineyard Chardonnay
Testarossa 2010 Rincon Vineyard Chardonnay
Lynmar 2011 Susanna’s Vineyard Chardonnay
Lynmar 2011 La Serenité Chardonnay
Gary Farrell 2010 Rochioli Vineyard Chardonnay
Paul Hobbs 2011 Chardonnay
Williams Selyem 2011 Olivet Lane Vineyard Chardonnay
Rochioli 2011 Sweetwater Chardonnay
Stonestreet 2011 Gravel Bench Chardonnay
Joseph Phelps 2011 Freestone Vineyards Chardonnay
Dutton Goldfield 2011 Walker Hill Vineyard Chardonnay
You’ll notice that all are Chardonnay. My highest-scoring white wine that wasn’t Chardonnay at least had Chardonnay blended into it, along with Roussanne and Viognier: That was the Sanguis 2011 “Incandescent.” My highest-scoring Sauvignon Blancs were Ehlers Estate 2012 (St. Helena), Ziata 2011 (Napa Valley), Brander 2011 Au Natural (Santa Ynez Valley), Robert Mondavi 2011 Reserve To Kalon (Oakville) and B Cellars 2012 (Napa Valley). Napa Valley really doesn’t get enough recognition for the quality of its Sauvignon Blancs. But why shouldn’t it? If it makes great Cabernet Sauvignon, it should make great Sauvignon Blanc which, after all, is one of Cabernet’s parents (along with Cabernet Franc).
You’ll notice, on my top Chardonnays, that all are from the Russian River Valley, with these exceptions: the Testarossa is Arroyo Grande Valley, the Stonestreet is Alexander Valley and the Joseph Phelps is Sonoma Coast. So does Russian River Valley make the best Chardonnay in California? Well, I have more scores, and higher scores, for RRV Chard than from other regions; but I also review far more RRV Chardonnays than from any other region, so the question is moot. What’s not in dispute is that RRV is a fabulous place for Chardonnay and even in the recent string of cool vintages a superior vineyard will shine.
I have encountered 2010 and 2011 Chardonnays that were leafy or moldy or vegetal, but not from top vineyards, where not only the viticulture is supreme, but the winery can afford the most scrutinized sorting regime, to weed out unfit berries. One word about that Stonestreet Gravel Bench Chardonnay: Yes it’s Alexander Valley but the vineyard is way the heck up in the Mayacamas. Some very famous wineries in the mountains prefer to put their Chardonnay at high elevations, sometimes even higher than their Cabernet vines. We don’t hear much about mountain Chardonnay but in general it shows the concentrated intensity of all mountain-grown fruit, red or white. These are Chardonnays whose underlying power easily accepts all those winemaker bells and whistles, from barrel fermentation and aging in new oak to malolactic fermentation and extended sur lie aging. Whenever I read some fancy pants critic complaining that California Chardonnay is too oaky etc. I always think “But they’re not tasting the good ones.” Because if they were, they wouldn’t say that.
P.S. Please offer a moment of grateful silence for the 19 fallen firefighter heroes in Arizona.