Archive for the 'Opinions and Commentary' Category

If I had the power to change the wine world I would send one type of wine drinker to therapy. It’s a personality type we have all come to know and loathe. Let’s call them “The Misinformed Know-it-All”. Let me tell you a story:

“Côtes du Rhône Is a Grape”
A friend of mine was recently in a wine shop in Brooklyn, perusing some Côtes du Rhône. He asked the clerk about the varietals in a particular bottle and the clerk replied “That’s the grape, Côtes du Rhône. It’s a French grape.” My friend tried to politely inform the clerk that Côtes du Rhône is a region in France, but the clerk adamantly insisted that Côtes du Rhône is in fact, a grape. Rather than humbly admitting fault, he clung to his misinformation with both hands.

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The Australian Wine Research Institute (AWRI) has recently come up with a PinotG Style Spectrum, which is supposed to tell consumers what kind of Pinot Gris they’re getting, on a scale that ranges from “crisp” to “luscious.” As an industry response to the multitude of Pinot Gris styles now being made in Australia, it makes sense as shorthand, so that prospective purchasers don’t have to actually read descriptive back labels or know how to interpret technical notes.

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I recently had a serious flirtation with Argentinian Torrontés. The first few of these whites I tried (from Colomé, Lurton and Tomero) were rich on the palate, like Viognier, but cut with precise acidity; they exhibited floral and fresh citrus flavors—sometimes lemony, sometimes orangey or melony—and a nutty undertone. I enjoyed (though did not necessarily admire) every bottling I tried. Michael Schachner, who reviews the wines of Spain and South America for WE, warned me that I was heading for a fall, but I didn’t listen. And yes, Torrontés broke my heart.

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“I miss the days when we made fun of wine snobs for saying that a wine was ‘ingratiating without being obsequious’.” So proclaimed LA Times columnist Joel Stein in a 2008 article titled “Sip, and Shut Up.” The article was a critique of what Stein saw as the excessively micro-style of many wine reviews—reviews that listed every single flavor and aroma detected but never went on to say anything larger and more interesting about the wine.

He had a point. While it’s good for a reader to be exposed to all the aromas, flavors and textures the reviewer detects in a wine, it’s  the figurative language—the metaphors and broader comparisons—that makes the review more engaging, entertaining and, often, more revealing.

One of the most common and most entertaining forms of figurative language in wine reviews—as demonstrated in Stein’s comment—is personification. You’ll find anthropomorphism on almost every page of our Buying Guide.  The wine you’re considering might be a fun and bubbly Prosecco, a big and loud Napa Cab, a sultry and sensual Burgundy or an immature adolescent (from any region really), who needs a few more years to get his act together.

I was inspired to create five wine “personalities,” based around a fairly common adjective in wine review writing. There are of course many more out there—including entire genres yet to be explored (As Stein points out, Gary Vaynerchuk once referred to a wine as Roger Clemens because it seemed “overly pumped up.”). Feel free to offer some of your favorite wine personifications. Here are the ones I came up with.

Big and muscular: the Athlete
Athletes comes in all shapes and sizes, from the big powerhorse quarterbacks (See  Nickel & Nickel 2005 John C. Sullenger Vineyard Cabernet )  to leaner, more elegant dancer types (See Château Giscours 2005 Barrel sample Bordeaux Blend ). Which ones are best is a matter of personal preference though it’s generally agreed that the beefier, bodybuilders can be overbearing and, occasionally, clumsy and oafish.

Earthy: the Hippie Wine
Most people find hippies quite lovable. Most people also agree though that hard-core hippies—the ones who eschew deodorant and bathing on a regular basis—can be a little unpleasant, or—to use another common wine term—“funky” at times.
See JLC 2004 Spofford Station Estate Syrah (Walla Walla (WA))

Sultry, moody, dark: the Troubled Artist (or the Sensual Seductress/Lothario)
Though too intense for some people and/or situations, no one can deny that brooding artists are complex, soulful and, often, highly seductive creatures. See Muratie 2007 Shiraz (Stellenbosch)

Easy, fun, playful, easygoing: Everyone’s Friend
While not known for intellect or conversational depth, the guy or girl who’s  friends with everyone is predictable, rarely moody and fun-loving, so he/she always does well at parties (unless the gathering is of the intellectual, serious variety).  Of course, if you’re seeking more substance the excessively easygoing might come across as vacuous and vapid.
See Solemar 2006 Pinot Grigio (Delle Venezie)
Also see Funky Llama 2009 Chardonnay (Mendoza)

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?

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?

Well, sort of one, anyway.

I’ve been collecting wine for more than 20 years now, and I’ve heard the repeated complaints–largely from the French–about how Americans only buy wines in the greatest vintages. If we stipulate that greatest means possessing a unique combination of ripe fruit, extreme complexity, intense concentration and the ability to evolve positively over time, I’ll certainly plead guilty to that. Let me explain.

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I’ve always had a soft spot for Cabernet Franc. To me, it’s one of the more seductively refined yet pronounced grapes used to make great wine. It speaks of its terroir like few others, painting a landscape of its origins through varying characteristics and intensity. It is a significant component to some of the world’s greatest and most sought-after wines, particulary Bordeaux blends, like Château Cheval Blanc and Château Ausone. It can also be used to produce a single-varietal wine, of which there are stunning examples made throughout the world including California, Washington, New York, Italy and Canada, among others. Given its prominence and permeation, why does the grape get such little respect?

It’s time for us all to Franc-ify ourselves. But where to begin?

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