Sign of the times, part 2

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.
        In Hilaire 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.

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.

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.

"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.

        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 Joan, 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.