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.

Read the rest of this entry »

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.

Read the rest of this entry »

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.

Read the rest of this entry »

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?

Read the rest of this entry »

A friend sent me a YouTube link to a “Make Your Own Video” skit that hilariously tackles the myth and romance of starting one’s own winery and/or becoming a winemaker.

Once I stopped laughing, I started to really think about what it takes to be happy and successful in those endeavors (other than a ton of money in the case of starting a winery, incredible patience and a work ethic of steel). As the video spoofs, it’s not often about glam and glitter, but a serious, grass-roots devotion to creating an agricultural product that speaks of the place in which it’s grown and made. That’s no easy feat.

I turned to some sage voices in the wine business to ask them what kind of advice they would impart to a person seriously interested in pursuing a life as a winery owner or a winemaker. Here’s what they said:

“Winemakers and winery owners must have extreme passion and a huge connection to the wine. It’s a tête-à-tête relationship with a living organism, and like a human, it evolves over time. Through this personal, in-depth relationship, you’ll also get to know yourself better. Approach it artistically and do not cling too much to concrete objectives.” -Jean-Charles Boisset, owner, Boisset Family Estates

“Winery ownership is not easy. Pleasurable sometimes – but not always. Glamorous, maybe – but not as a rule. Winery owners are pretty hard. They like to go camping and sleep on the ground. They like spinach. They love young Cabernet Sauvignon. There is always a little pain to go with the pleasure. “ –Mike Ratcliffe, owner Warwick Wine Estate

“Vino is mother nature’s precious gift but to produce a beautiful wine is only one step in the process. The challenge is to get the fruit of your labor onto the tables of wine lovers across the globe. In a world full of great wine and thousands of labels, the focus is not on the wine you want to make but one that consumers will enjoy. Next, how to bring it to market with great value? Making and sharing wine is romantic but achieving distribution, brand building, marketing, and investing time, resources and finances is decidedly less so. Worth the ride? Yes, by the glassful!” –Cristina Mariani-May, owner, Banfi Vintners and Castello Banfi

“My advice to an aspiring winemaker? Know what you want. Are you interested in Chardonnay, Sangiovese, Pinot Noir or Verdelho? To make volumes of good wine; or small amounts of great wine? Do you want to incorporate both the vineyard and the winery? Go work at a winery doing what you aspire to do. And work overseas, too. To an aspiring winery owner: First, know how to sell the wines you want to make. Find the best site to make them. Focus on vineyards that can produce them. Use your capital carefully. Or, buy a winery that does what you want, and manage it carefully. For most, winery success requires persistance.” -Zelma Long, pioneering California winemaker and winemaker for Vilafonté Winery

“You must really love and be passionate about what you do, otherwise when the hours get long you will start to hate the job. It definitely is not a 9-5 job (more of a 5 -9 and that is on a good day in the harvest). Be prepared to put in many extra hours, not only during the vintage (6-8 weeks of the year) or when one needs to blend and bottle a wine, but when marketing and promoting your wines throughout the rest of the year. The upside of the job: all of the above if you love wine and live and breathe it, as well as the ability to travel for and with your wines. We have met wonderful people and made many friends through the common bond of wine. Wine is beautiful! –Cathy Jordan, Owner, Jordan (Jardin) Wines

What in your mind is the right approach for the aspiring winemaker or winery owner? Is it more grit than glamour, or a romantic ride?

He was the Indiana Jones of his day: As Davy Crockett, he was the star of our favorite adventure films of the 1950s. He was a hero to an entire generation of goofy kids. He was the calm center of a media and merch blitz. Very few people have worn that mantle with such grace.

Fess Parker died on March 18th at his home in the Santa Ynez Valley, California. He was 85. In his story on our Web site, Steve Heimoff did a fine job in sketching the biographical details. Steve noted that the man who played Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett was also a pioneer in Santa Barbara County wine country; he and his son Eli purchased 700 acres there in 1987.

If you want to toast Parker’s memory properly, Heimoff has plenty of suggestions.

Read the rest of this entry »

I’ll admit—I’m an amateur whisky (I’ll use the term “whisky” here to encompass Scotch, American and Irish, for simplicity’s sake) fan, but a dedicated one. I was initially drawn to the spirit because of the romance and glamour it evoked. Like many before me, I grouped serious male whisky drinkers—beyond those who just had a penchant to swing back Jack at the fraternity house—into two (very) broad and admittedly slightly vague categories: distinguished, swifter-collecting older men—the same breed that gravitated toward fine Cognac, Nantucket, tweed smoking jackets and cigars—and the more brooding, soulful artistic types (think James Dean, Jack Kerouac, Johnny Cash). Female fans of this “ultimate man’s drink” had even more cachet and consisted of dangerous femme fatales (Marlene Dietrich was probably a Scotch or Bourbon drinker), older, wiser Mrs. Robinson figures or hard-skinned, convention-flouting Joan Jett characters. Interesting company indeed.

 I was intrigued, though it took a while (as does any activity with a learning curve) before I finally decided to take the plunge. “Scotch on the rocks,” I said assertively to the mustached, suspender-donning bartender at a pseudo-speakeasy one evening. Whatever respect he may have had for me quickly vanished when I responded to his next question—“What type of Scotch?”—with a blank stare.

 Despite this less-than-auspicious start, I went on—I’m happy to say—to develop a more schooled appreciation for whisky. There’s the taste from the fiery, smoky single malt Scotches to the sweeter, mellower Bourbons, the abundance of different styles, terroirs even and blending techniques to which any wine geek can relate and—though this may be unique to me—the restorative, reflective, even intellectual feeling you have after a few good sips of the stuff.

 It’s never made me particularly giddy or excited (the way other libations have done in the past) but it often leaves me feeling calm and content—especially on a cold, blustery night—and even a bit reflective. If I were inclined to drink while writing or creating, whisky would be my chosen libation.

Share your own ruminations about whisky with me, and tell me what I should be trying in my whisky exploration.