This is at one of several large booths behind the Royal Festival Hall in London, along the Thames.
I don't know if they were serving Prosecco on tap--I suspect they were-- because the line was so long
(longer than the ones for cocktails or beer) that I couldn't get close enough to see!
Pinot Noir moves the needle in California
There’s something about Burgundy (and of
course I mean the red wine rather than the place
or its Chardonnay), something that brings out a kind of poetic, often ribald, ambiguously
affectionate response from people, something other kinds of wine will never get to. At a Burgundy
tasting years ago, we were asked to raise our hands if that wine had been our best experience;
most of us raised our hands. Then we were asked if it had been our worst, and most of us raised
our hands again, chagrined but smiling.
InHilaire Belloc ’s
famous poem, he forgets the girl’s name, but the wine is Burgundy;
Dumas said it should be drunk kneeling, and with your head bared. Musketeers saluted as they
marched past the vineyards. And, lately, in California, the similes have been extended. Winemaker
Paul Hobbs said making Pinot Noir was like coming home to the indifference of a cat as opposed to
the welcome of a happy, tail-wagging dog, while Karen McNeill said a tasting of it was like
waking up in a strange bed at 3 a.m.—you don’t know whether you’re about to have
a good time or a bad one.
Karen and the Wine Institute hosted a tasting/seminar of California Pinot Noir
at the Culinary Institute of America in the Napa Valley recently, which was entitled
“The Needle Has Moved.” The point was well made, though the needle still isn’t pointing toward
Burgundy.Karen and
her crew tasted 126 Pinots and chose what they thought were the best 18;
most of the wines cut were heavier, or tannic or over-extracted, the survivors chosen for power,
elegance, fruit and earthiness. Subjective, and certainly not definitive (I'd have included
the very elegant McMurray Ranch version and a solid, well-defined Schug "Carneros" we tried the day
before, and there are surely more worth trying), but most of the wines showed through beautifully
in those aspects, velvet with silk trim: 6 were from the Sonoma Coast, 4 from Santa Lucia Highlands,
2 from Santa Rita Hills, 2 from Arroyo Grande, and 1 each from Carneros and Santa Maria Highlands.
Terroir aside, the winemaking varied, some barrel-fermented, some aged on their lees; all were aged
in barrel; alcohol levels ranged from 13 to 15.2 percent.
I ranked half on my top level: Sanford Winery, Brewer-Clifton,Paul Hobbs , Kosta Browne ,
Peay Vineyards, Laetitia, Talley, McIntyre, and Siduri (the last three, incidentally, had the lowest
retail price, less than $42 a bottle.) One that got my attention, almost Burgundian, funky, edgy,
full—I wrote, “a flashback, loud, feral”—turned out to be, unsurprisingly, Au Bon Climat,
from the original Wild Boy, Jim Clendenen. It didn’t come tops for technical reasons, but it would be
the first one I’d want with dinner.
or its Chardonnay), something that brings out a kind of poetic, often ribald, ambiguously
affectionate response from people, something other kinds of wine will never get to. At a Burgundy
tasting years ago, we were asked to raise our hands if that wine had been our best experience;
most of us raised our hands. Then we were asked if it had been our worst, and most of us raised
our hands again, chagrined but smiling.
In
Dumas said it should be drunk kneeling, and with your head bared. Musketeers saluted as they
marched past the vineyards. And, lately, in California, the similes have been extended. Winemaker
Paul Hobbs said making Pinot Noir was like coming home to the indifference of a cat as opposed to
the welcome of a happy, tail-wagging dog, while Karen McNeill said a tasting of it was like
waking up in a strange bed at 3 a.m.—you don’t know whether you’re about to have
a good time or a bad one.
Karen and the Wine Institute hosted a tasting/seminar of California Pinot Noir
at the Culinary Institute of America in the Napa Valley recently, which was entitled
“The Needle Has Moved.” The point was well made, though the needle still isn’t pointing toward
Burgundy.
most of the wines cut were heavier, or tannic or over-extracted, the survivors chosen for power,
elegance, fruit and earthiness. Subjective, and certainly not definitive (I'd have included
the very elegant McMurray Ranch version and a solid, well-defined Schug "Carneros" we tried the day
before, and there are surely more worth trying), but most of the wines showed through beautifully
in those aspects, velvet with silk trim: 6 were from the Sonoma Coast, 4 from Santa Lucia Highlands,
2 from Santa Rita Hills, 2 from Arroyo Grande, and 1 each from Carneros and Santa Maria Highlands.
Terroir aside, the winemaking varied, some barrel-fermented, some aged on their lees; all were aged
in barrel; alcohol levels ranged from 13 to 15.2 percent.
I ranked half on my top level: Sanford Winery, Brewer-Clifton,
Peay Vineyards, Laetitia, Talley, McIntyre, and Siduri (the last three, incidentally, had the lowest
retail price, less than $42 a bottle.) One that got my attention, almost Burgundian, funky, edgy,
full—I wrote, “a flashback, loud, feral”—turned out to be, unsurprisingly, Au Bon Climat,
from the original Wild Boy, Jim Clendenen. It didn’t come tops for technical reasons, but it would be
the first one I’d want with dinner.
California: Sign of the times?
Billboard spotted just north of the town of Napa,
alongside Highway 29:
“Make the Napa Valley your lifestyle!”
According to latest statistics, less than half of the valley’s residents actually live there
full-time, so obviously it’s a dream come true.
“Make the Napa Valley your lifestyle!”
According to latest statistics, less than half of the valley’s residents actually live there
full-time, so obviously it’s a dream come true.
White is the new. . . news?
During back-to-back trips to California and
Greece last month, a few easygoing white wines caught—and held—our attention.
In the midst of work and seriousness, they stood out for sheer pleasure,
perfect diverting intermissions. At Seghesio Winery, whose Zinfandels from
Sonoma have become increasingly robust and bolder, a light, bright, and
refreshingly dry Pinot Grigio was a revelation, as was an equally appealing
Arneis. What struck me was that neither has an exact correspondent in Italy:
The Pinot Grigio wasn’t in the dilute style of so many in the Veneto, nor in
the fuller style of Friuli; the Arneis was also lighter (and crisper) than
those found in the Piedmont’s Roero, but without sacrificing any flavor. The
next day, at the MacMurray Ranch, also in Sonoma, we stopped on a hillside
overlooking a bend in the Russian River, above the afternoon fog line, and had
a glass of their Pinot Gris, dry, lightly fruity, and with the sort of
limestone finish that I can only think of as—I hate to say it, as it’s become
so traduced—minerality (and, again, unlike European versions such as Alsatians). As I wrote at the beginning, none of these were
“serious,” but all were seriously pleasant. Maybe California’s on to something
in terms of style, something unashamedly independent. If these are examples of that, it’s
welcome.
Greece? Moschofilero. A more elusive animal. Stay tuned, please.
Greece? Moschofilero. A more elusive animal. Stay tuned, please.
"Natural" or no?
In writing a book on the history of wine in America, I’ve
had to grapple with the national aberration known as Prohibition. One casualty
of the crusade by the Women’s Christian Temperance Union and other groups was
language: Their definition of “Christian,” for example, didn’t include
Catholics, and “temperance” meant abstinence rather than moderation. It still
does, in some dictionaries. Words matter.
And in all this, with two rival “natural” wine fairs competing concurrently in London, a flurry of books, and Facebook navel-gazing, something’s been lost: The audience--consumers, those folks who are supposedly our collaborators in the adventure of wine. While we up in the choir loft are poring over our hymnals, murmuring over subtleties of the sermons and the correctness of the liturgy, the congregation down below are simply happy to be in church, and looking for some comfort.
My friendJoan , in her mid-80s, lives in a cottage in Sussex.
She’s a good cook, and has a glass or two of wine with dinner every night. It
will be red, probably Sainsbury’s own-brand, about a fiver a bottle, which is
all she can afford, and the sort of thing the naturalists revile. Does she want
a wine she might like when she “gets used to it,”, or to read a wine label to
know how it was made? No. Is she a wine-lover? You bet she is.
The wine trade has o’er-leaped the saddle, and fallen on the other side of the horse. We need to begin again, and ask what wine’s really for, and include the audience in the conversation. And we should be working toward civility, along with sanity.
The current
fuss in wine terminology revolves around “natural,” usually noted with an
asterisk, like disputed sports records: wine made from organic grapes, with
low-or-no sulphur, biodynamically. . . It actually encompasses a wide variety
of philosophies—and generalizations. “Emotional black magic,” says a
viticulturalist, “a hoax,” writes a Napa Valley winemaker, while a proponent of
naturalism ardently claims that oxidation isn’t a flaw, and skeptics are
demonized as being in favour of “mass-produced, manipulated” wines. You’d get a
more rational discussion talking about bankers.
Meanwhile, in
Alsace, the Loire, increasingly in Burgundy and lately Bordeaux, in Sicily,
Greece, Croatia, and Germany, good, honest dirt is celebrated; New Zealand’s
aiming at 20% organic soon, and Oregon may top that. Want a true taste of
terroir? Go to the Dry Creek Valley in Sonoma, where they’ve been messing with biodynamics for over 20 years, and find
delicious consistency. While the True Believers and Snarky Skeptics were
playing dodgeball dogma, the train left the station. And in all this, with two rival “natural” wine fairs competing concurrently in London, a flurry of books, and Facebook navel-gazing, something’s been lost: The audience--consumers, those folks who are supposedly our collaborators in the adventure of wine. While we up in the choir loft are poring over our hymnals, murmuring over subtleties of the sermons and the correctness of the liturgy, the congregation down below are simply happy to be in church, and looking for some comfort.
My friend
The wine trade has o’er-leaped the saddle, and fallen on the other side of the horse. We need to begin again, and ask what wine’s really for, and include the audience in the conversation. And we should be working toward civility, along with sanity.
Argentina 2, France 0
After accumulating some Cahors from the
2011 vintage, I decided to do a small tasting; it didn’t take long, and my
kitchen drainpipes are cleaner than ever. All were rather heavy,
over-extracted, and unyielding, in an expression of a certain style of
winemaking rather than terroir or
what the grape (Malbec) can do. The most interesting thing to emerge was the
prominence given to the grape name rather than the region—either Cahors was
completely omitted from the front label, or in smaller type than Malbec, which
has, of course, been popularized by some lovely wines from
Argentina. (Another sign of its popularity is the way
clothing retailers now refer to a deep shade of purple in their fabrics as
“Malbec” instead of “Burgundy.”)
Many of the Cahors also came in heavy bottles with deep punts and minimalist labels, imitating too many from North and South America trying to bull their way into the winner’s circle on appearance alone. (I’m beginning to be wary of the very deep indents in the bottoms of these ambitious bottles, intended to announce seriousness, but really just telegraphing the punchiness of their style—I think of them as “Parker punts.”)
Many of the Cahors also came in heavy bottles with deep punts and minimalist labels, imitating too many from North and South America trying to bull their way into the winner’s circle on appearance alone. (I’m beginning to be wary of the very deep indents in the bottoms of these ambitious bottles, intended to announce seriousness, but really just telegraphing the punchiness of their style—I think of them as “Parker punts.”)
Barolo 2010: Coming up roses
The Collisioni festival, taking place all
over the town of Barolo, provided the opening round of tastings and
conversation about the 2010 vintage, which is coming on to the market now. It
was a year of only moderate drama, cool and somewhat wet during the summer, but
any anxiety eased with a sunny and warmer September, setting up a fine harvest.
(The coolness probably offset some of the effects of global warming, providing
the grapes with a better balance as they finished ripening.) The resulting
wines are forceful without being overbearing, and the best of them are quite
elegant (I want to say they're “without arrogance”—they’ll be quite gracious and approachable when
they mature, which will begin about 2020/2025).
My
personal picks follow, based on those tasted in Barolo as well as several subsequent samplings in London, minus show-offy tasting notes (the wines will change so
much over the years that intimations of exact flavors would be even more
ridiculous than usual; also, please note that the rankings are somewhat tenuous
for the same reason. That said, all the wines that follow are recommended, with
considerable enthusiasm, surely to be joined by many more as other wines become
available in the next few months.)
The
top tier at the moment are Vajra “Bricco delle Viole;” Chiarlo “Cerequio;” Pio Cesare “Ornato;”
Luciano Sandrone “Cannubi Boschio ;” Marchesi
di Barolo “Sarmassa;” and Cordero di Montezemolo
“Monfalleto.” A half-step behind are Damilano “Cannubi;” Giuseppe
Rinaldi “Brunate;” Vietti “Lazzarito;” Paolo Scavino
“Bricco Ambrogio ,” and Ratti “Rocche
dell’Annunziata.” Two others deserve mention: Pio
Cesare ’s Barolo, a blend of five vineyards that will
be ready to drink in a few years, enjoyed with lunch one day, and Fletcher,
also a blend, made by David
Fletcher , an Australian who has
made wine in several places there and in California, and for a few years in the
Piedmont. His 2010 is available in small quantities in the US and UK, and is
just fabulous. Another great choice from the Nebbiolo grape, deliciously ready
right now, is the Vajra “Nebbiolo delle Langhe.”
Rambling in the Piedmont: Vajra, Gaja, and the market for manure
Back in the Piedmont for the second
Collisioni Festival, Stephen
Spurrier and I were whisked
straight from Turin airport to the Vajra winery, for a welcoming reception with
several of our colleagues and, in the best Italian tradition, several
grandchildren running around the tasting room, extremely cute and happy to be
indulged. We started with a new addition to the line, a dry, full-bodied, and
minerally Riesling—a lovely and moderately serious wine that made its own
esthetic statement, not resembling either Germanic nor Australian styles, but a
firm, straightforward expression of Riesling character—and things got even
better after that. (I don’t know of another winery that so consistently makes
an array of wines as well as Vajra, from the relatively rare Freisa and
somewhat unfashionable Dolcetto all the way up to splendid Barolo. One reason, surely: at harvest time, all the grapes are carefully sorted by hand before
crushing, with busy crews swarming over tables laden with grapes, carefully culling. The winemaking is undoubtedly as meticulous.)
As a sidebar to the events, panel discussions, seminars, and visits to winemakers, the organizers put together a fairly formal tasting of a range of Barolos from the 2010 vintage, which were just being released. It wasn’t definitive, but several subsequent tastings in London confirmed our first impression—2010 is a splendid vintage. (Details updated above.)
Over lunch at Trattoria Antica Torre in Barbaresco,Angelo Gaja
made several interesting points. Global warming was a benefit, “a big factor,”
resulting in more good vintages; higher alcohol levels could be a worry, but
the wines are more supple. And so-called “natural” wines aren’t a fad, he said;
many Piedmontese, including him, are working hard to make cleaner, less
manipulated wines—not labeling it as such, but simply getting on with getting
along with nature. He showed me a picture of worms in soil—that’s what he
wants, he said, dirt that’s alive, that can truly nurture grapevines. “I give
you some investment advice,” he said with a laugh. “Cow shit! If you can get
any, there’s a good market for it in the Piedmont!”
As a sidebar to the events, panel discussions, seminars, and visits to winemakers, the organizers put together a fairly formal tasting of a range of Barolos from the 2010 vintage, which were just being released. It wasn’t definitive, but several subsequent tastings in London confirmed our first impression—2010 is a splendid vintage. (Details updated above.)
Over lunch at Trattoria Antica Torre in Barbaresco,
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copyright 2010-2018 by Brian St. Pierre