On New Year’s Eve I opened a bottle I’d had in my little wine storage unit for some years years: Anthill 2005 Demuth Vineyard Pinot Noir, from the Anderson Valley.
I studied the wine, in a Riedel glass, as I walked Gus, on a mild, early winter night in Oakland. It was all right–dry, tart and with some good cherry and cranberry fruit. But it was evident that there were problems, chief among which was a pruny or raisiny finish, along with accompanying heat.
The wine, in short, had not aged well.
I went to Wine Enthusiast’s database and looked up my original review, from July, 2007. I gave the wine 90 points and described it this way: “There are suggestions of wintergreen mint and tart rhubarb, but the cherries save the day, giving enough richness to make the wine interesting. Despite the high acidity and dryness, I don’t think it’s an ager, but it’s a beautifully complex, food-friendly Pinot.”
It’s always gratifying to see that I made a good call (although I can already hear some sourpusses whining that I’m promoting myself). I’ll be the first to concede that I don’t always get things right, especially in the matter of predicting ageabiity. So how do I come up with ageability estimates?
First of all, you can age any wine you want. All that means is putting the bottle someplace for as many years as you want. (Obviously, that place should have proper storage conditions: still, cool and dark, and a little moist.) Most wines, probably 99.9% of them, will not benefit at all from aging; they’re meant to drink as soon as you purchase them.
What of that other .01%? They will age–but what does this mean? We’ve all tasted older Burgundies, Bordeaux, Barolos, Champagnes and the like, and so we know what they can do. In my experience, aging California wine is considerably “iffier.” To take, as examples, the best Cabernets, in the ideal situation they lose their fresh, primary fruit, starting at about eight years, and then begin to dry out, showing “secondary” fruit character and bottle “bouquet.” As the tannins precipitate out, the wine becomes clearer, more translucent, silkier in body (which is perhaps the best thing about aging it).
But aged wine is an acquired taste. I try to keep that in mind when I review a wine. If it’s superbly balanced, rich and tannic (we’re mainly talking reds here), it’s much more likely to age well than a wine that has the slightest imperfection, because that imperfection will only grow increasingly obvious with bottle age. In the case of the Anthill 2005 Demuth, if I recall correctly, my impression that “it’s not an ager” was due to certain imperfections, mainly a touch of raisining in the finish. It does take an experienced palate to discern those slight irregularities that prohibit the wine from aging well. I’m not saying I have a great palate, but it’s an adequate one, and you do learn a few things when you’ve tasted as many wines as I have for so long.
I’d love to have the time and opportunity to taste more old California wine, to see how my predictions panned out. Since we’re on the subject of 2005 red wines, here are some from that vintage that I tasted when they were first released, and to which I gave a “Cellar Selection” designation, meaning that I recommended the wine be aged. I haven’t had any of these wines since, and, since they’re now a little more than eight years old, all should be at that exciting, interesting transition point of losing primary fruit and picking up secondary notes. If any of the proprietors wishes to afford me the pleasure of sending me a bottle, I promise to share the results here in the blog–for better or worse.
Trefethen 2005 Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon
Colgin 2005 IX Estate
Flora Springs 2005 Rennie Reserve
Goldschmidt 2005 Game Ranch Single Vineyard Selection Cabernet Sauvignon
Nickel & Nickel 2005 John C. Sullenger Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon
Far Niente 2005 Estate Cabernet Sauvignon
Kendall-Jackson 2005 Highlands Estate Napa Mountain Cabernet Sauvignon
Hanzell 2005 Chardonnay
Chardonnay? Yes, every once in a while a California Chardonnay is worth aging. Which brings up an interesting point. How do I know Hanzell Chardonnay is ageable? Because I’ve had old ones, up to 20 years in age, and they can be remarkable. Does that knowledge influence my appraisal of the wine? Absolutely. Why would it not? On the other hand, I’ve also given Cellar Selection designations to Chardonnays that I’ve never had the opportunity to taste when they’d been properly aged: Joseph Phelps 2011 Freestone Chardonnay, for example. While I’ve only had that wine as a new release, I’d bet my bottom dollar it’s good for at least eight years–and I wouldn’t mind trying it in 2023, when it will be 12 years old. And then, there’s Hartford Court 2005 Stone Côte Vineyard Chardonay. That wine is now eight years old; I sure would like to see if my Cellar Selection call was right on, or an unmitigated disaster.
I was starting to feel like the only person on Earth who had concerns about the 2011 vintage, until I read this post from Jim Laube’s blog, in which he describes “a high presence of musty and even moldy flavors” in too many of the wines.
I’ve been telling Wine Enthusiast’s Tasting Department for the better part of a year the same thing. Of course, one is loathe to say, of any given wine, that it’s “moldy” because, unless you actually test it for, say, botrytis, you don’t actually know; that loaded word can kill the wine’s sales. But “musty” and “moldy” aromas and accompanying bad flavors are exactly what plagues so many 2011s. That, and a generalized unripeness across the board.
The vintage was the coldest ever–well, in living memory, anyway. It was the year that summer never came. Brutal for people and grapes alike. This problem wasn’t limited just to the coolest regions: it was coastal-wide, extending into Paso Robles. I’m not going to identify any particular bottlings, but here are some Moldy Hall of Fame 2011 wines; maybe you can figure out what they are.
There was a single-vineyard Pinot Noir from the Santa Lucia Highlands that was filled with fungus. A Paso Robles red Rhône-blend that reeked of mushrooms, not in a good way. An expensive Russian River Valley Pinot whose asparagus smell reminded me of the Monterey veggies of long ago, as did one from Carneros. Another Pinot, with a Santa Barbara County appellation, smelled like green beans and tomatoes.
As I look over my notes, I see that the variety that was most susceptible to these defects was Pinot Noir, although I also found it in some Zinfandels, Sauvignon Blancs, Chardonnays, Viogniers, Syrahs and Cabernet Sauvignon/Bordeaux blends, including some expensive ones. I guess Pinot was most affected because of its transparency: the very thing that lets us taste the most finely-tuned aspects of Pinot’s terroir also magnifies the slightest problem.
The thing about mold, unripeness and vegetal notes is that they don’t go away. You can’t blow them off with decanting. And they won’t age out. On Wine Enthusiast’s Vintage Chart for 2011 Pinot Noir, I gave Carneros my lowest score in many years. Ditto for Sonoma Coast, Russian River Valley and Santa Barbara, including Sta. Rita Hills and Santa Maria Valley. Having said that, the thing to realize is that 2011 was far from being a “bad” vintage. Yes, there were a lot of mediocre wines, more than usual; but there were also some fabulous one. The problem of moldy berries is easily addressed by the winery: If their viticulture can’t prevent it (and often it can’t, because botrytis moves in really fast), then the sorting table is where bad grapes are plucked out, before they go into the fermenter. Problem is, sorting is expensive. Not every winery can afford the equipment or the staff. It must be a terrible moral quandary for a winemaker to allow moldy grapes to pass into the wine–but what can she do? It’s economics.
Here are some wineries that obviously did have the means and will power to produce magnificent 2011 Pinot Noirs: Williams Selyem, Merry Edwards, Paul Hobbs, Rochioli, Lynmar, Dutton-Goldfield, Joseph Phelps, Failla, Thomas Fogarty, Flowers, Testarossa, Tantara, Freeman, Sojourn, Siduri and Foxen. The usual suspects, you say? Exactly. The reason they’re the usual suspects is because these wine companies do what has to be done to produce great wine.
Actually, the problems of 2011 (and, to an almost equal extent, 2010) underscore two important things to keep in mind: One, not every year in California is the same! And two, just wait until the 2012s start coming out. They will be superb.
You know those “Where are they now?” articles that appear this time of year? I thought it would be fun to write a version of that for wine, so I went into Wine Enthusiast’s database and did a search of the top wines I reviewed in the early 2000s, to see how many of them are still around and, if they are, are they still performing well or have they stumbled.
The biggest change between then and now is that my reviewing portfolio has changed. Back then, I did quite a few Australian wines: Penfolds, Jim Barry, St. Hallett and Benjamin among others. Nowadays I no longer review the wines of Australia. Back then I also showed some high scores for some Mendocino wines, including a fabulous 1999 Fife “Old Yokayo Ranch” Syrah (95 points). I don’t do Mendocino anymore (I miss Anderson Valley!)–that’s my lovely colleague, Virginie Boone–nor do I do Temecula, which was the source of another 95 point wine then, Stuart’s 1998 Zinfandel. Virginie reviews that part of California, too, as she does the Sierra Foothills. I particularly miss doing the wines of Domaine de la Terre Rouge, for which I always had a fondness. But California is just too big for me to do alone, and Virginie is such a fine reviewer and reporter.
I also miss reviewing Champagne [the real French bubbly], but I’m happy to leave that pleasant task to Roger Voss, who does Champagne for the magazine.
In my coastal regions of California, most of the wineries I gave high scores to back then are still getting them: Robert Young, Shafer, Stag’s Leap, Robert Mondavi, Gainey, Lail, Silverado, Beringer, Pride Mountain, Vine Cliff, Mount Eden, Clos Pegase, Frank Family, Venge, Merry Edwards, Rochioli, Testarossa, Hanzell, PlumpJack, Sequoia Grove, Freemark Abbey, Dutton Goldfield, Deerfield Ranch, Novy, Corison, Hendry, Peju, Clos du Val, Ridge, De Loach and Acacia. All these wines, among others, scored 93 points or more; their names have become the Classified Growths of California, and isn’t that good.
Notable on my list of high-scoring wines from the early 2000s are a few wineries I’ve lost track of, for one reason or another. I gave a very high score, 96 points, to the Carlisle 2000 “Two Acres,” which if I recall correctly I tasted at the old Hospice du Rhône, poured for me by none other than Mike Officer himself; that wine blew my mind. I also wrote about Mike at some length in my book, A Wine Journey along the Russian River.
But for some reason, Mike stopped reaching out to me years ago, and I regret it. I also used to give good scores to IO, which made Rhône-style wines from Santa Barbara County. The brand was part of the Robert Mondavi portfolio, but I haven’t seen any bottles of it for a long time, and I’m unsure of its status.
It’s awfully hard keeping track of all the wineries in California, especially over a multi-year period. One can only do so much. Beyond what I can accomplish myself in keeping open the lines of communication, I depend on the wineries to keep me in the loop. There are reasons why they don’t. Some wineries are addicted to only 1 or 2 publications, which is their right, of course; they may feel that as long as those magazines are giving them high scores, why throw the dice and risk a low score from someone else. This is however a dangerous gamble: That publication may destroy you if the critic bends that way. In other cases, changes in employees result in sample mailings falling into the cracks, as databases are not kept up. In general, I don’t like asking wineries to send me wine, because it seems importunate, which is not my style, nor do I need the bottles as I’m already maxed out most of the time. But that’s my job, reviewing coastal California, so I sometimes have to to remind people that I haven’t heard from them in a while. In 100% of the cases, they understand, and apologize. I, too, apologize, if I have to ask you to send me stuff.
Everybody else is making their top list, so why not me? I’ve never done it before, so here goes. And not just one, but two. All reviews have been published in Wine Enthusiast, with the identical score. In this post, I’ve shortened the descriptions a little.
First, the top wines: ageable and classic.
Williams Selyem 2010 30th Anniversary Cuvée Estate Vineyard Pinot Noir. 97 points, 25 cases produced, 13.8% alcohol, $125. If you think great Pinot Noir has to come from a single vineyard, this wine will set you straight. It’s a blend of Bob Cabral’s various vineyards, and he has access to some of the greatest in the Russian River Valley.
W.H. Smith 2010 Hellenthal Vineyard Pinot Noir. 96 points, 241 cases, 14.2%, $48. The vineyard is way out there in the Fort Ross-Seaview section of the Far Sonoma Coast, in the neighborhood of Hirsch, Flowers and Failla. The wine is classic coastal, and at this price, a great bargain, and quite cellar-worthy.
Terra Valentine 2010 K-Block Estate Grown Cabernet Sauvignon. 95 points, 106 cases, 14.9%, $65. I like Terra Valentine. They always make great wine and their prices have remained modest, by Napa standards. This is not just a lovely Cab, it’s ageable too.
Stonestreet 2010 Rockfall Cabernet Sauvignon. 95 points, 2331 cases, 14.5%, $100. Just to prove that Napa Valley doesn’t have the lock on ageable Cabernet. Of course, the winery’s Alexander Valley appellation hides the fact that the high mountain vineyard is actually just on the Sonoma side of the Mayacamas Mountains, giving the wine something of a Spring or Diamond Mountain tannic intensity.
Merry Edwards 2010 Meredith Estate Pinot Noir. 95 points, 1450 cases, 14.2%, $57. Year in and year out, Merry Edwards rocks. The cool vintage shows in the tangy acidity, which makes this wine so racy and pure.
Clendenen 2005 Bricco Buon Natale Nebbiolo. 95 points, 418 cases, 13.5%, $50. You can count successful California Nebbs on one hand. This is surely among the best the state ever has produced. I believe the grapes are from Bien Nacido. The wine is luscious and spectacular and, at eight years of age, still has a long future.
Testarossa 2010 Rincon Vineyard Chardonnay. 95 points, 229 cases, 14.4%, $39. Talley’s version of Rincon Chard is more famous, but now the peripatetic Testarossa, always on the lookout for a great vineyard, gets to dip into this Arroyo Grande property. Mmmmmmm good, so tart and fruity.
Robert Mondavi 2011 Fumé Blanc. 95 points, 1975 cases, 14.5%, $32. The appellation is Oakville, and I suspect that a good portion of the grapes come from To Kalon. What style and class you have here. I just wish all California Sauvignon Blancs were this dry and racy.
Nickel & Nickel 2010 Harris Vineyard Merlot. 95 points, 1639 cases, 14.3%, $53. I’m not the biggest Merlot fan ever, but you have to give credit to this single-vineyard, Oakville-grown wine. It’s intense, tannic and almost sweet in liqueur and oak notes, yet the finish is dry and complex.
Sanguis 2011 Incandescent Proprietary White Wine. 94 points, 275 cases, 14.3%, $50. The iconoclastic Matthias Pippig likes to shatter expectations with weird blends that shouldn’t work, but do. This one’s Roussanne, Chardonnay and Viognier, grown in Santa Barbara County. It scores high on the Wow! factor.
Next, ten Best Buys of 2013.
Kendall-Jackson 2011 Avant Chardonnay. 90 points, 84,000 cases, 13.5%, $15. It’s not quite sweet, not quite dry, but somewhere in the middle. Another inexpensive success story from K-J.
Firestone 2010 Gewurztraminer. 90 points, 1474 cases, 13.5%, $14. This Gewurz has all the spicy power you want in the variety. It’s from the Santa Ynez Valley.
Chalone 2011 Pinot Noir. 90 points, 40,000 cases, 13.5%, $15. Lord knows, there aren’t many decent Pinots at this price point. But Chalone knows from Pinot Noir. This is a good one, from Monterey County.
Vina Robles 2012 Sauvignon Blanc. 90 points, 2583 cases, 14.3%, $14. So tangy, clean and citrusy, it doesn’t need oak to succeed, which it does. Brilliantly.
Luli 2012 Rosé. 90 points, 610 cases, 14%, $15. The appellation is Central Coast, and the blend is Grenache and Pinot Noir. I’m a big critic of sweet, flaccid California rosés, but this is just the opposite. Dry, crisp and delicate.
Bogle 2010 Old Vine Zinfandel. 89 points, 240,000 cases, 14.5%, $11. Bogle knows exactly how to make good Zin at large case production numbers. I suspect the fruit, or most of it, comes from the valley or the Delta. Whatever, this is a sure-fire bargain.
Bailiwick 2012 Vermentino. 90 points, 325 cases, 13.5%, $15. California needs more wines like this. Dry, crisp, minerally and fruity, the perfect antidote to oaky Chardonnay or sweet Sauvignon Blanc.
Marilyn 2011 Norma Jean Merlot. 88 points, 4000 cases, 12.5%, $12. Enjoy this polished, supple, fruity Merlot, then keep the bottle as a souvenir. Marilyn Monroe remains as beautiful and mysterious as she was fifty years ago.
HandCraft 2011 Cabernet Sauvignon. 88 points, 7500 cases, 12.5%, $13. When I blogged the other day about how high-scoring wines aren’t always best for food, this is the kind of Cab I had in mind. From the Indelicato family.
Pepi 2012 Pinot Grigio. 87 points, 15,000 cases, 13%, $10. Just what an everyday PG should be: honeyed yet dry, crisp and utterly drinkable. Bring on the Thai food.
My first thought after going to the big Grands Crus Classés Saint-Emilion tasting yesterday in San Francisco was: Wow, someone secretly put California wines into bottles with St.-Emilion labels.
No one had, of course. But many of the wines were so ripe and fruity, so extracted and oaky, and so high in alcohol, they might have come from Paso Robles, Napa Valley or Sonoma Valley.
Nothing wrong with such wines, of course. I give them good scores all the time. But I was hoping for something different and distinctly non-Californian. I didn’t find it, for the most part.
I know that St.-Emilion traditionally makes two kinds of wines. Michael Broadbent decades ago described these as a “Côtes” style of “deepish but quick-maturing wines, loose-knit, sweeter on the bouquet and palate,” and a “Graves” style “with hint[s] of iron/earth.” Almost everything I tasted seemed more like that Côtes style.
The Merlot is king in St.-Emilion, which accounts perhaps for the wines’ approachability. Jancis Robinson and Hugh Johnson, in their new The World Atlas Of Wine, praise “the solid tastiness of St.-Emilion,” wines that “grow almost sweet as they mature.”
Still, the wines were much more Californian than I had thought they’d be. And I wasn’t the only one with that impression. All the friends I talked to–other critics, merchants, marketers–felt the same way. I heard the word “approachable” over and over; also, a more troubling term: “almost overripe.” The vintage I tasted was 2009, which has an outstanding reputation; my Wine Enthusiast colleague in Bordeaux, Roger Voss, rated it 96 points. But I have to say I was, not exactly disappointed, but surprised.
How to account for this ultra-ripe style? Three factors: (1) the Parker influence, with his penchant for ripe, big wines, (2) global warming, which seems to be impacting Bordeaux more than California, and (3) the influence of a cadre of flying consultants, who are bringing about an international style all over the world. An example of this is the 2009 Chateau Fleur Cardinale, whose alcohol level is 15%. “Californian,” I immediately wrote in my notes. “Rich, lush and forward.” It might have been from Rutherford.
Don’t get me wrong, these California-style St.-Emilions still are very good wines. I gave most of them scores in the 88-91 range. But, like I said, I found their internationalism troubling.
Here, however, were my top-scoring wines. They seemed to have been made in a more old-fashioned way. (All are 2009s.) Chateau La Commanderie struck me for its fine, distinguished mouthfeel and dryness. It is a significant wine that needs many years. So does the Chateau Fonroque, so fleshy and meaty and dry. Chateau Jean Faure was based on Cabernet Franc rather than Merlot, and its small percentage of Malbec gave it a firm structure. The two wines of the tasting for me were Chateau La Dominique, firm, dry and tannic yet packed with fruit, and a gorgeous La Tour Figeac. I wish I had a case of each for my cellar.
Incidentally, I walked to the tasting, which was on Harrison Street, all the way down First Street from Market, and have never seen so much construction going on in San Francisco in the 35 years I’ve lived here. The city is in the boom of its life, and everybody seems to be a 28-year old tech worker. I’ve seen San Francisco go through several iterations over the years. This has to be the most interesting yet, but it’s coming at a price: S.F. now is the most expensive city in America in which to rent an apartment. I think all those young techies are living four to the room.
I suppose I can see the logic (if that’s the right word) of charging many hundreds of dollars for a wine of known provenance (Lafite, for instance). But when a new brand, right out of the gate, releases itself at triple-digit prices, some sense of justice in me is aroused to the point of disgust.
I wrote “releases itself” but that is, of course, an intransitive verb structure, the kind we writers recoil from, because nothing in this world occurs intransitively. So let me rephrase it: When a new brand is released by its owners at triple-digit prices, something in me is disgusted.
I could choose from among any number of Napa Valley wines to illustrate my point, but since I have to live, and get along, with these people, it’s probably a better idea for me to turn abroad. To Australia, in this case, where the new Thousand Candles winery has released a Pinot Noir and a Shiraz, both at the price of $110 U.S.
The winemaker, William Downie, told Bloomberg News’ Elin McCoy about “the surprising backstory” (McCoy’s words) concerning the wines’ “true expression of the site” (we’ve heard that before). “I believe a great wine tells one story: Who am I?” Downie said. (Never mind that Thousand Candles’ owner is anonymous, and Downie didn’t disclose his/her identity; what kind of “story-telling” is that?)
Downie did admit to McCoy that “We have been accused of hubris,” referring to the controversy that gripped the Australian wine scene when the wines’ prices were revealed. Indeed, Qantas Airlines’ online web site said “No inaugural wine release was more controversial than that of Thousand Candles…”. (I should add that I have not tasted the wines, nor has anyone at Wine Enthusiast, yet.) Such reviews of them as I’ve found online have been mainly positive. Most emphasize the wines’ uniqueness, and that may well be true.
There are certainly arguments supportive of releasing some new brands at high prices. One is the pedigree of their creators; indeed, this is generally the most-used rationale. Such-and-such a famous viticulturalist and winemaker is involved; such-and-such great terroir: these usually are the prime justifications. In the case of Thousand Candles, there seems also to be a desire, on the part of the winemaker at any rate, to reassure the world that Australia, despite its well-publicized woes, is capable of producing top tier wines. Now this gets us into the through-the-looking glass world of perceptions: If a wine costs that much money, surely it must be good!
We know, from studies and through anecdotal evidence, that the tendency of the consumer to believe that price and quality are related is practically hard-wired into the brain. I don’t quite understand what the evolutionary value of such reasoning is; perhaps someone can explain it to me. But it’s a powerful driver; even if you intellectually understand that price and quality aren’t that tightly connected, a high price has an emotional impact on most people that’s makes it hard for them to reasonably dismiss it. Look at art: if it’s a scribbled daub on the bulletin board at a local school, it’s considered minor. Put it in a fancy frame, in a museum, and suddenly connoisseurs are willing to pay millions for it.
There’s something else going on with these super-expensive wines that also touches in on human psychology. It’s the feeling that, even if you taste the wine and don’t particularly care for it, there must be something in you that’s missing in action, not something in the wine. If you tasted a Two Buck Chuck and thought it was a thin disappointment, you wouldn’t give it a second thought: It’s just a cheap wine that doesn’t deserve to have you lavish time and energy trying to understand it.
But a $110 wine is somehow different. Consider this review of Thousand Candles, from the Wine Will Eat Itself blog. The writer, Jeremy Pringle, is trying very hard (it seems to me) to be fair and objective in his assessment, for which I give him credit. He doesn’t robotically fall into line worshiping the wine, just because it’s expensive. Instead, he revisits it, thinks about it (a lot), considers the opinions of its critics, doubts himself, and retastes–these all are admirable qualities for a wine critic to possess. In the end, he writes, while the wine may not immediately dazzle (“Those who criticize this wine based on some sense of objective value for money are probably spot on”), he concludes that “it is a cerebral wine…best shared with others and within the context of a discussion if not a debate.”
I understand where he’s going…kind of. But why would you give a wine so much power over you, if your first impression of it is “Meh”? I’ll tell you why. Because it’s expensive, because it has a “surprising backstory,” because the chattering classes are all mumbling about it, and because you, as a wine writer, don’t want people to think you’re not “up” on the latest important developments. So you give that wine extra consideration–extra time in the glass–extra thought. You want to find great stuff in there, so you look, and look, and look, and talk and talk about it, and suddenly, Voila! There it finally is: great stuff.
Well, this of course is precisely the reason to taste blind. But I am not ignorant of the fact that there’s a huge other side to this debate, and that is, as Pringle writes, “There are occasions when context matters a great deal.” Evidently, tasting Thousand Candles requires context. Does tasting Lafite require context? Does Harlan Estate require context? Does an Arrowood Cabernet require context? Does Two Buck Chuck require context? Where is the line? How does the critic determine which wines require context, and which can be summarily dismissed?
Good questions; no good answers.