Archive for April, 2010

A pizza revolution has taken over New York and is quickly moving to the West coast and surely, everywhere in between. As the second-best-known pizza town (the boot across the pond being the first), New York has its share of historic pie stations, but there are new kids in town throwing the establishment off kilter.

With impeccably thin crusts, blistery surfaces and carefully-sourced toppings, artisanal pizza demands wine beyond basic, fruity reds. Pair this perfect pizza with a wine you want to shine, rather than a simple quaffer. Extra thought can take your bite from “Just OK” to the next level, like the pairing nirvana I recently experienced at artisanal pizza pioneer: Franny’s in Brooklyn.

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Years ago (before I started working at Wine Enthusiast in 1999)–and long before anyone had ever heard of the term social media–a lot of my interaction with fellow wine lovers was online via various forums, or bulletin boards. People would post notes on wines they had recently tasted, seek wine-related travel advice, maybe even organize offlines (in-person gatherings). It was a heady time for wine geeks, filled with open exchange of information and a spirit of generosity.

It was with great sadness, then, that I learned last night the wine forum billed as the world’s biggest, Mark Squires’ Bulletin Board on erobertparker.com, would no longer be an open community, but instead be reserved solely for paying subscribers. A huge number of participants (myself included) have lost one of our cyberhomes.

Thankfully, the online wine community is a large and vibrant one, and there are many alternative forums to which users can migrate. Here are some of my favorites:

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When writing their bios for WineMag.com, many of the editors here answered the question: What was you first “Aha” moment in wine?

The question—probably designed to elicit a more interesting response than “how did you get into wine”—refers to those climactic, cathartic drinking experiences after which you realize you really love wine and, for some, decide you want to make it an integral part of your life. The first time you sipped something truly spectacular, were exposed to a dynamite food and wine pairing or witnessed the rustic beauty of wine country. (See our Meet the Editors page for our editors’ responses to the question.)

I opted not to answer. I could think of no singular, magical moment that officially turned me onto the world of wine. Sure, I had plenty of fond early drinking memories, but nothing stood out as a watershed.

After mulling through my early wine experiences, though, I began to see that the most memorable were converging on a particular place—the North Fork of Long Island. And, during a particular time period—the summer in the immediate wake of my college graduation. It was a time for serious self-reflection and, perhaps more relevant to this discussion, for finding some diversions from all that serious reflection. Here’s a brief rundown of some of that summer’s standout wine experiences:

Pondering potential careers and Picpoul with a good friend at Vine, a wine bar-restaurant in the maritime town of Greenport whose selection, handpicked by owner and Manhattan transplant Joe Watson, spans the world (somewhat of a rarity out there);

Sipping Cabernet Franc with that same friend one early evening at Osprey’s Dominion, while listening to local bands perform beside the vines—a popular North Fork summertime pastime that makes you realize how beautiful a vineyard can be;

Discovering unoaked Chardonnay. My mother like so many other enophile locals works part-time in the tasting room of a local winery (Borghese), and she brought a bottle home to have with dinner. This was also one of the last home-cooked meals I would have (and not appreciate enough) before moving to Manhattan. 

These moments were not immediately life-transforming—that winter I took a job in travel publishing and would only enter the wine industry years later. And, since arriving in Manhattan, some of them might fall from the list of “most spectacular life wine moments.” But they are the experiences to which I always return when someone asks how I got into wine. Family, friends, food and wine. Perhaps it’s a pretty classic combination?

This summer, like almost every other native North Forker currently living in NYC, I plan on spending several weekends out east. I intend to do a considerable amount of wine tasting—this time with a more strategic approach—and will hopefully be able to add a few more Aha moments to my ever-growing list.

What about you? Do you have any singular moments that turned you onto the world of wine? Or any memorable experiences you’d simply like to share?

What is complexity in wine? I always thought that was a pretty straightforward proposition until a recent conversation with Joe Czerwinski, Wine Enthusiast’s tasting director and my YodaVino.

We were tasting a Torres Mas la Plana ’97, a Cabernet Sauvignon from Spain. Joe admired it very much, while I had a “meh” reaction to it. We sparred for a few rounds, neither giving ground, until Joe got me to entertain this possibility: that what I took to be a relatively simple wine actually exhibited what he called integrated complexity.

A complex wine exhibits different facets in terms of aroma, flavor and mouthfeel. Some of these may even change as the aerates or warms, which can be vexing to the reviewer who wants to nail it down but a great pleasure to the private citizen who finds a new evolution every few minutes. Eventually, it will offer a character with different nuances of spice, wood or caramel-vanilla from the oak; the tannins and acidity will be present—not intrusive, but rather coaxing a galaxy of potential flavors from the fruit.

My assumption has always been that in a complex wine, those elements can be isolated and identified, pleasurably.

What Joe was suggesting is that in certain wines, many of those elements are present, but the wine itself is so well structured, so very much itself, that it’s hard to discern the component parts. And you wouldn’t necessarily want to, because what all such wines do is: they knock you out. You love them, and may not necessarily know why.

This relatively simple revelation had me rethinking some stellar wine experiences, where I was in so much thrall enjoying the wines that I was at a loss (or couldn’t be bothered) to analyze them. Heidi Barrett’s Amuse Bouche; Riccardo Cotarella’s Falesco Montiano; any wine from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti in Burgundy; a Columbia Winery Red Willow Syrah from the late David Lake.

It’s similar to the reaction you get to a work of art that moves you in a way that you can’t quite describe, moves you far beyond how you would evaluate its component parts.

Have you had a similar experience, and which wines moved the earth for you?

From time to time, we receive inquiries about why and how we rate wines. As I’ve already addressed some of the questions surrounding individual tastings and reviews in a previous blog, I thought I would examine some of the macroissues here.

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I once went to a dinner where the hosts were promoting the idea of Mezcal as a quirky-posh accompaniment to fine food. Not even close, I’m afraid. The spirit was far too rustic to bring out the nuances of what was served. So I did a Loony Toons double take when I heard about Sushi-Teq, one of several restaurants in Boston’s InterContinental Hotel. It’s a sushi restaurant and Tequila bar.

Tequila being fiery and assertive; sushi being delicate, refined and steeped in tradition; and sushi chefs being vigilant guardians of tradition and also quite skilled with knives, I wondered how this happened, let alone whether it worked.

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I had a terrible wine the other night. Without naming names, let’s say it was a Viognier with 15% alcohol, from a region with little Viognier experience. Oh, and it had 5 years of bottle age. This wine was truly hard to swallow. In one moment it was hot, another sweet and then flabby. The melon flavors in this poor Viognier tried desperately to peek through the faults, but there was no hope.

Still, I had to finish my glass. And my friend agreed that it was bad, but he poured himself another glass, desperately trying to convince himself otherwise. He’d made the commitment and purchased it, after all. Even at just $9 a bottle, he felt compelled to consume.

I know the feeling. The logical part of my brain says: just because I’ve paid for something bad, doesn’t mean I endure further punishment by drinking it. But the thought of pouring wine down the drain pains me. With Passover this week, I’m inclined to think it’s my own Jewish guilt! I’m reminded of Sue’s post last week, about the sweat that goes into starting a winery. Pouring out a wine is a real insult to the producer, who’s invested tremendous time in crafting it, bad as it may be.

I’m curious what other people’s habits are. Do you treat your palate to just the finer things? Or have you been guilty of drinking plonk out of guilt?

At what point do you give up on a wine?